That’s Not a Speed Bump
Despite the frigid temperatures and snow on the ground, major highways had been cleared and classes resumed. Walking back from class, I longingly reminisced about the August heat and humming cicadas. I awoke to a room filled with shadows, and as lunchtime approached, the sky hung in an almost unnoticeable cast of light-hued pewter. My legs draped over the arms of the upholstered chair in our room, and I squeezed a palm-sized ball filled with dried beans. Clay had stopped by the day after the loft incident to check on my shoulder. He showed me a few arm flexibility exercises and gave the squeeze sack to me.
The way I toyed with it, you’d think I had a nervous condition. It was mental, but I liked placing my fingers on something he’d given me. Okay, so he didn’t give it to me as a gift. It was supposed to help strengthen my shoulder, and the campus infirmary had charged me seven dollars. Regardless, it reminded me of his strong hands touching my shoulder and sent me into a dreamy fantasy of being with him in a hot and sweaty tangle. I had Clay’s handwritten phone number, which I kept in my pillowcase, and I knew where he worked. Now I needed a foolproof plan that didn’t involve stalking or anything obviously psychotic to get some quality alone-time.
Macy popped into our room and asked Katie Lee if she could borrow her electric typewriter. “Hi, Macy,” I said.
She ignored me and positioned her stance so I had a view of her back.
“I’m sorry I misplaced your hooded sweat shirt. If I don’t find it, I’ll buy you a new one,” I said.
The back of her head faced me. “Thanks for reminding me. It cost forty-eight dollars,” she said, then marched back to her room with the typewriter.
I shrugged at Katie Lee, looking for insight regarding Macy’s chilly temperament, but she was preoccupied abusing the push-button phone. She’d mangled the cord into something that resembled a macramé belt I’d made at Girl Scout camp, and when she slammed it into the cradle, her left ear coloration glowed like an atomic fireball. She complained, “Where the hell is he? It’s been five days.”
The night I’d slipped out of my loft, Nash had shown up on his way to a “gig.” Since I’d hovered in incoherence and Katie Lee was southern, our door had been unlocked. While I was at the infirmary, Bridget had let him into the dorm. He thought he’d surprise Katie Lee and waited. When I arrived without her, he’d paced around the room moving from the top of her desk to the dresser. My head pounded, I wore an ice pack under my bra strap, and my balance wasn’t exactly stable. Katie Lee’s boyfriend acted like the Energizer Bunny, and I threatened to pull out his battery. Once he anchored himself in a sitting position, I garbled semicoherent portions of an afternoon spent with my liquid nemesis. Nash half-listened. His eye wandered from the view of a passing student down below the window to our closed door. I’d sprawled on my bed. He’d offered me a soda. With the aid of a straw, I washed down three ibuprofen he’d fetched from a container of medicine in Katie Lee’s drawer. He gave me an extra pillow and tucked a blanket around me, not leaving any loose corners.
“Nash, how do you know when you love someone?”
He’d pondered that for a minute then chuckled. “They sizzle your insides, and you do the same for them.”
“Not sexually. I mean in your heart.”
The heater under the window made a clicking noise before it kicked on and blew warm air.
He turned out my desk lamp. “You know you’re in love when you do what’s best for both of you.”
My eyes felt heavy. Before I closed them, I said, “Katie Lee doesn’t care about money, she cares about you. Whatever scheme you’re in is going to backfire.”
He stayed quiet. I wondered what he was doing, but was too tired to check.
“Whisky swillin’ has you talkin’ crazy. So where is Katie Lee exactly?”
Without opening my eyes, I whispered, “Making nacho pizza with Hugh.”
I remember hearing our door click shut. When I awoke, shades of gloom streaked through open blind slats. Fully clothed, Katie Lee lay asleep on top of her bedding. Nash had vanished, and I wondered if I’d imagined seeing him, but Bridget verified that he hadn’t been a figment of my imagination.
Katie Lee slept into the afternoon. After she drank a Pepsi, she crawled back into bed, and I asked if Nash had found her.
“Rach, I never saw him. He didn’t tell me anything about a gig.” Katie Lee pressed all ten of her fingers into her eyebrows as though they were antennae providing clairvoyance. “My boyfriend shows up unannounced then leaves without a word or even a note?”
For four days, I’d witnessed Katie Lee unsuccessfully phone-stalk Nash. On day five, she slammed the handheld in its cradle, grabbed her pink ski coat, and tied a scarf around her neck. As she placed a hand on the doorknob, a tear escaped her eye. “That’s it. I can’t live like this. It’s over.”
Weighing the sincerity of her words, I waited a minute. I’d never seen her so rattled. She and Nash had fought before, but they never broke up. Nash, a professional smooth-talker, had always made nice before the breaking point. He’d have to dig deep in his bag of grovel to fix this one. Feeling that this was epic, I zipped across the hall before I lost my nerve.
Macy plucked typewriter keys with a single finger. I stood behind her and peered at the words she typed. The Third Gender, Somewhere between a man and a woman, a paper for her sex and gender sociology class.
“Katie Lee is breaking up with Nash.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“I’ll give you the money, I promise.”
“Rachael, I’m not mad about the sweater. I’m pissed that you told Hugh you knew we slept together.”
I puffed an air blast, thinking that Hugh was screwing things up on multiple levels. “I did not. Who told you that?”
“Bridget.”
“Whoa.” I motioned my left hand fingertips to my right palm. “Time out. Who told her that?”
“No one told her. She overheard your conversation.”
“Bridget needs to mind her own business or invest in a hearing aid. I didn’t tell Hugh. He blabbed to me when we were snowed in.”
“He’s bragging?”
“He wasn’t bragging.”
“What did that fucker say?”
“Macy, he likes you. He’s having a hard time reading your signals and wanted my take.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I lied. I told him it was news to me.”
“Good.”
I flopped onto Macy’s bed. “He knew I knew. I told him I didn’t have any idea what you wanted from him.”
Macy pulled the paper out of the typewriter. “Shit.”
“What do you want me to tell him?”
“Rachael, I don’t want a boyfriend. I want to have fun. Being tied to one person puts a crimp on fun.”
“How do you know Hugh wants a serious girlfriend?”
Macy slid a new piece of paper into the typewriter. “I can tell.”
“Did he say something in your moment of passion?”
“Can we talk about something else? Is Nash dead?”
Pulling apart a mini Russian stacking doll that sat on Macy’s windowsill, I confessed, “Not that I can verify.”
“Then I don’t believe they’re breaking up.”
“They haven’t spoken in five days—a Guinness record. This time his dufusness has cracked her shell. She’s a broken woman. It’s our obligation to take her out and get her mind off him.”
Poking her head in Macy’s room, Bridget asked, “Who’s going out?”
I hesitated to share, but figured she’d heard portions of the conversation. If I didn’t tell her the news, she’d construe a tale that would make me look demented. “Jeez, do you wear a Miracle-Ear?”
“I have something for Katie Lee. Is she around?”
Macy plucked typewriter keys and hit return. “It’s over with Nash. She’s going to dump him, once she locates his ass.”
Bridget’s enchanted eyes grazed past mine. “Is she now?”
We both realized that her secret had lost relevance. Telling Katie Lee that Bridget had slept with Nash would only be spiteful and result in one or both of us losing her friendship. The destruction of Katie Lee’s relationship wiped the board clean between Bridget and me, and she grinned a wide smile.
BRIDGET AND MACY WAITED in the hallway. I had on my coat, and Katie Lee flicked the light switch. We’d brave the cold to help my roommate dull the sting of her problematic soon-to-be ex-boyfriend at the tropical bar beneath the Holiday Inn. Nothing raging crazy. Just a few hours spent with friends, away from the dorm. My fingers encircled the door handle, ready to close it, when the phone rang. We all stood in a holding pattern and stared. On the sixth ring, Katie Lee spoke without southern. “Rachael, will you answer it.”
A raspy drawl greeted me. “Hey, Raz, how’s the arm?”
“Still attached.”
“That’s good to hear. Is Katie Lee around?”
I covered the receiver and mouthed “Nash.” Our minirefrigerator chided in a low hum, but Katie Lee kept silent. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I were her. Ignore the call or give him hell and hang up. If she went soft and listened, girls’ night would be ruined. What could he possibly tell her as an excuse? Maybe he’d pull out the old alien abduction to explain his five-day, couldn’t-find-a-phone disappearance. It was the best explanation I thought of—at least the one with the most potential for flexible interpretation.
Katie Lee closed her eyes and moved her lips in a silent chant. Her normally bright lagoon blues turned murky, and she disappeared down the hall.
“Sorry, Nash. She left.”
“Can you get her?”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Maybe she’ll talk to you later,” I said and unplugged the phone.
OUTSIDE THE DORM LOBBY, night air levitated cold and quiet. I dusted off my shoulder, the good one, in case she broke down, and made a mental note to borrow a box of tissues from Macy. Despite my boyfriend inexperience, I’d help her sort through her emotional turmoil. But Katie Lee didn’t break down into an emotionally distressed ball of goo like I expected and instead emitted serene calmness. Her demeanor conflicted with the person I thought I knew, unnerving my internal equilibrium. Inside, my nerve endings flinched, and I wondered, would she really end her two-year relationship?
Katie Lee cupped her hands over her nose and mouth. “It’s too cold to walk. I’ll drive us.”
Bridget checked her camera film gauge and patted her pocket for an extra roll. As we walked to the parking lot, she brushed snowflakes off Katie Lee’s coat collar. “If you drink too much, I can always drive us back.”
Her accommodating offer jolted me with a dose of relief and annoyance. Relief that I could drink without chauffeur responsibilities—annoyance that she presented herself to be more considerate than the rest of us.
Except for the quick trip to the campus infirmary, Katie Lee’s car had been idle since the winter storm rolled in, and her windshield glistened like an iced sheet cake. Since Bridget professed a predisposed case of backseat carsickness, she automatically settled into the front. Katie Lee turned the key over. Shivering like popsicles in a flimsy cardboard box, we waited for Big Blue to cough into a purr. Bridget busied herself snapping photos of icicles that dangled below the side view mirror. Macy didn’t say much, and I guessed the cold had immobilized her inner smartass.
Katie Lee slid the defroster lever on high and flicked on the wipers. The plastic dashboard creaked, and the windshield blades complained as they swiped across powder and ice. Once vented air blew warmth, minipeepholes formed on the glass, eventually growing large enough to reveal the colorless landscape. I leaned forward between Katie Lee and Bridget. “I’m used to the white stuff. Maybe I should drive.”
Bridget veered to face me. Creases formed across her forehead as if I spoke a foreign language.
Shifting the car into drive, Katie Lee said, “Don’t be silly. Your arm is in a sling.”
Before we left the parking lot, Big Blue fishtailed, narrowly missing a row of parked cars. Covering my face with my nonsling hand, I whispered, “Tell me when we’re there.”
THE CAROLINA COLD SNAP broke the longest record for a consecutive winter chill and jailed most cars that weren’t kept in a garage until a plow or a thaw could rescue them. The Browns had given Katie Lee Big Blue because it was a large, safe vehicle—the kind that could take dings and scratches and not look the worse for it. She embraced the tank and mowed into unplowed snow that had drifted against the street curb, easily securing prime real estate in front of the Holiday Inn. My door opened into a hard-packed snow wall. Unsuccessfully straddling the drift, my shoes plunged into wet. In an effort to steady rubber soles on the slick sidewalk, Macy linked her arm through my free one. Max wasn’t outside on his stool, and no one carded us.
Inside, students milled about, and we spotted Hugh at a corner table. He asked no one in particular, “What’s goin’ on?” and I had to respect him for holding back his inner puma from Macy.
Spreading her coat on a barstool, Bridget sat on it. “One of us has news.”
He touched Bridget’s shoulder and met her eyes. “I’m not the father?”
Bridget smacked his arm. “None of us are pregnant, you nympho.”
Unstacking plastic cups, he said, “First pitcher’s my treat.”
Macy kept her coat on. Bypassing Hugh, she turned toward the bar. Katie Lee wasn’t the only one with man problems, and I wondered if we’d have an early night.
“What’s the news?” Hugh asked.
Katie Lee tucked herself on top of a stool next to him, and I stood. “Nash stopped by the night we made nacho pizza. He was in our room but didn’t wait for me. He went AWOL for five days. Who does that? He only called tonight, right before we left. It’s over.”
Always available to deliver thought-provoking commentary, Hugh sipped his drink and licked the foam off his lip. “Whoa.”
Since we’d driven, I hadn’t worn socks, and my bare feet turned whitish. I danced a jig in an effort to warm my bones and to bring back circulation. Hugh motioned his head like an opening and closing drawbridge. “Got your thong on backward?”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with my frillies.”
Macy didn’t return. She’d settled onto a corner stool at the bar. Stone, the bird-advocate bartender, chatted to her as he filled pitchers with beer and tipped liquor spouts into shot glasses. Tonight he’d traded his stiff cockatoo for a rigid macaw, perched on his shoulder. Macy wasn’t just pretending she’d never slept with Hugh, she iced him like he never existed, and I wondered whose feathers she ruffled the most.
Two beers therapeutically relaxed Katie Lee enough to tell Hugh how insensitive Nash was to let her worry for five days. “After two days, his roommate wouldn’t even answer my calls. That, or the phone got disconnected.”
Hugh whistled. “Dump him.”
Some guys from Hugh’s dorm joined our table. He stood up, saying he needed to stretch his legs, and tweaked his head at me.
“What?” I mouthed. He waved for me to join him. Standing behind the table, he asked, “Is Macy avoiding me?”
“I don’t have clearance to discuss whatever is or isn’t going on.”
“Rach, talk to me.”
The creases around his eyes looked vulnerable, and I caved. “I’m going to have to speak anonymously. Anything I say, I will vehemently deny.”
“Does Macy hate me?”
“Hate you? She doesn’t know what to do with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s conflicted.”
Hugh guzzled his beer. “Women. Too much damn thinking.”
“She’s complicated.”
“What am I supposed to do? Play along with her childish deny-and-neglect game?” Shaking his head, he clunked his boots toward the pitcher and refilled his cup.
Katie Lee had an audience and took an opinion poll on the callousness of Nash’s disappearance. Having endured five days of her manic phone-dial- ‘n’-slam maneuvers, I backed away from the table of spectators who were about to hear the unabridged audio version and moved toward an empty barstool next to Macy.
Minus the psycho mind game play, I envied Katie Lee’s and Macy’s romances. I’d blown three encounters with Clay and had an unromantic dorm visit that amounted to a bundle of nothing. Hoping for a chance at redemption, I imagined batting my eyelashes, engaging him with witty conversation, and hoping that we both drank enough to disregard any inhibitions. Maybe I should have invited him out. I had his number, but I didn’t want to chase. Who was I kidding? Clay was smart, gorgeous, and just being polite when he jotted down his phone number. Sipping cold beer only dulled the ache that had relocated from my shoulder and settled into my heart.
Having had a conversation with Hugh about Macy, I determined silence would result in bad juju, so I decided to keep things honest and tell her.
I pulled a cigarette and a pack of matches out of my back pocket.
Macy spun a shot glass in small circles.
Sliding onto a seat next to hers, I asked, “What are you drinking?”
Pink dribbled down her wrist on the way to her mouth. She smacked her lips. “Sex on the beach.” Pulling her head back, she assessed me. “You don’t look so good.”
“You look better than good. How many have you had?”
She motioned for another. “I gotta stay warm.”
Stone placed a napkin in front of me and poured another. “Hey, Rachael, been a while. What happened to your arm?”
“Freak accident. I should have the sling off in a week. What happened to Lolita?”
He hustled behind the bar, giving some glasses a quick wash in an upright bristle contraption. “She’s molting. I brought Lester instead.”
I turned my attention back to Macy. “Why are you avoiding Hugh?”
She bent back and looked to the table where he sat. “He’s still over there?”
“His ear is busy listening to all things Nash.”
Macy stiffened her back. “If she’s not careful, he may want to date Nash.”
I stared at Macy.
“Hugh is probably the type to explore all sides of the tracks.”
“That’s ludicrous. Hugh is as ungay as they come. He likes women, especially you.” For emphasis, I raised my pointer finger. A trick I learned from my father—scary. “If you want to end what started, you’re doing a fantastic job. But if any part of you likes him, you need to admit it before it’s too late.”
She downed the shot that rested in front of me.
“You should be warm enough for sex in the snow,” I said and turned to look at Hugh for myself.
She clenched my arm. “Don’t look. They’ll see you.”
“Who will see me?”
“Hugh and Katie Lee are putting coats on.”
I waited a respectable three seconds. “I’m looking.”
Macy drummed her nails. “Well?”
“They’re gone. Probably went to move the car. It’s just Bridget and the guys from Hugh’s dorm.”
Staying put, we pondered everyone’s relationships: Katie Lee and Nash’s demise, if I’d ever hook up with Clay—or anyone—and what Macy should do about Hugh. I scanned the bar at regular intervals for their return. “They’ve been gone over an hour. They should be back by now.”
Stretching her shoulders, pretending not to care, Macy said, “Maybe they’re doing it inside Big Blue.”
Bridget shared a pitcher with some guys neither of us knew, and we speculated whether she navigated the more-than-friends trail with any of them. At last call, I helped Macy stand, and we made our way toward the table.
Bridget pointed her camera at Macy and clicked. “Well, lookie who showed up.”
Macy wrapped her arms around Bridget’s neck and shouted more than whispered, “We didn’t want to disturb your private conversation.”
“Where did Katie Lee go?” I asked.
“She’s upset about Nash. Hugh walked her back to the dorm.”
Macy’s shoulders sagged. “How are we supposed to get back?”
Bridget slid her hand into the side pocket of her purse and retrieved a set of car keys. “I’ll drive us.”
“Haven’t you been drinking?” I asked.
“Only a few.”
Cupping Bridget’s face, Macy asked, “Do you know how to drive in snow?”
She pushed Macy’s hands away and slipped on her coat. “The dorm is four miles from here. How hard can it be?”
The lights inside The Lounge flashed, and Stone jiggled keys as he locked up. We were the last to leave. Bridget asked, “Do you need a ride?”
Stone looked at the bleary night outside the basement window. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
A little voice inside my gut spoke to me. The same one that had kept me company when I’d played alone as a child. It had shielded my ego when other kids said and did hurtful things. The older I’d become, the less often I paid attention. If my arm hadn’t been in a sling, and if I’d worn boots and mittens, I may have listened to myself. Walk home, it said. Walk home.
We climbed the stairs to the sidewalk that exposed us to a winter wind that ripped through our clothes and nipped at bare skin. Shielding my eyes from the elements, I deduced that the quickest way back to my warm bed sat on four wheels.
Macy curled into a fetal position on the industrial-gray interior of the frozen backseat and rested her feet on my lap. Stone sat in front, and Bridget adjusted the driver seat. Before she started the car, Bridget said, “Smile,” and blinded Macy and me with a flash. Immune to her photo compulsion, I never bothered to pose.
Bridget took the empty road slow and center. I didn’t care as long as I got home. The night was desolate, and as she approached a four-way intersection, she slowed, and below us, Big Blue’s tires ground and puttered in a sluggish slide motion until the car collided with a snowbank.
“Bridget,” I asked, “why’d you hit the brake?”
She pointed to a stop sign with only the letters OP peeking out from the white. We were idling in front of an empty corner lot, and the dark night rested still and cold. Big Blue revved and the tires spun, but the dormant branches of a snow-covered elm stayed in view.
Turning to Stone, Bridget said, “Somebody needs to push.”
He sighed. Stone used his mind more than his muscles. His frame was more suited for speed and agility than pumping weights. He stared at the mound of snow that pressed to his window, clouding his view. “The snow is deep. We may be legging it.”
Walking back to campus in sockless flats didn’t hold much appeal. “I’ll push too,” I said and got out of the car with him.
The cold had snared the night soundless. No traffic, no trees rustling, no night creatures. I took my arm out of the sling so I could better balance myself to heave the bumper. Bridget gunned the engine, and the Oldsmobile’s tires screamed resentment, spinning rubber deeper into the bank.
After tromping along the side of the car, Stone rapped on the driver’s side. Bridget jammed the electric window switch. It did nothing more than click when she pulsed it. Without sitting up, Macy unwound her window.
His breath sent fog clouds into the car. “I’m going to rock her. When I count to three, gas it.”
Crouching behind Big Blue, my numb feet stung when they flexed. Stone began to bounce the car and counted, “One, two, three,” and we pushed our weight forward. The force of my shove rippled down to my feet, and the plastic soles of my flats skidded from under me. In a swift motion, more complicated than an ass-drop, I landed facedown and embraced the wet, white stuff. Chunks lodged down my shirt and stung my cheeks. When I contorted my body off my shoulder, it twanged, and I knew I’d jacked it. I heard the crunch of snow under tires before a death-gripping weight pinned my leg. Unsure of what had happened, I howled in pain.
“Stop the car. My God, stop the car!” Stone shouted. It was too late. Big Blue had rolled on me, flame-broiling my lower leg on a snow grill. It took too much effort to scream, and I moaned between erratic breaths like a dog delivering a litter.
Above my head, the rear passenger door opened. Trancelike, Macy locked eyes with me. Throwing her hand over her mouth, she stuttered, “Sh-shit.”
Snowflakes descended like a swarm of bugs. I drifted into a dreamy corridor, pushing away from the pain that skewered my calf. Stone shouted against the frozen driver window, “Move the god damn car. Rachael’s under the tire!”
Bridget’s words stuck on her tongue. “My camera strap got tangled. Is she conscious?”
“She’s blinking at me,” Macy said.
My mind crackled as if an electrical storm passed through it, and I felt the searing burn until Big Blue rolled forward, releasing the knotted pressure. With opened eyes, I hovered between reality and unconsciousness. Seeing, listening, unable to speak.
White dotted Stone’s dark hair like sprinkles on ice cream, and the frosty air had reddened circles on his cheeks. He threw his coat on me and gripped my hand. “Call 911! We need to get her to the hospital.”
“If we call an ambulance,” Bridget said, “the police’ll show up, and we’ll all get busted. Let’s get her to the campus infirmary. It’s closer.”
Stone began digging around in the trunk. He found a squeegee stick and some old towels that he used as a splint on my leg.
A car door slammed. “Macy. Macy!” Bridget yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”
RACING IN AN AMBULANCE with a roaring siren through the streets may seem thrilling, but speaking from experience, it’s overrated.
A buff medic with tanned skin, high cheekbones, and thin, straw-streaked hair took my blood pressure. She wore orange lipstick and in a German accent asked my name, age, and address before she severed my jeans with a swift splice. My paramedic had to be The Terminator’s sister. When I told her I was a student, she asked for my parents’ phone number.
Tears welled in my eyes. “My mom’s out of the universe, and my dad has a girlfriend.”
She nodded sympathetically.
At the hospital, she pulled the rolling stretcher out of the emergency vehicle and wheeled me across the Surgeon’s Medical loading dock. Stone trotted behind, and I asked, “How did you get here so quickly?”
He rubbed his hands together and checked his shoelaces. “I rode in the ambulance front seat.”
I SIGNED SOME PAPERWORK, got x-rayed, and swallowed two oversized codeine pills. Behind an encircling curtain, I lay on a mattress the same thickness as the one in my dorm, only this one had a remote control. Stone fidgeted with the buttons. “How about here? Or here?”
A beige blanket, all foam and no cotton, covered me. My feet had defrosted, and my plum-preserve-colored calf with a torn muscle rested in a Velcro contraption. Nurse Terminator said it would heal, and a doctor confirmed that’d I’d be released when the paperwork was completed. For eighteen years, the most injured I’d been was a skinned knee from falling off my bike. I’d only had the flu a handful of times and never had an injury that landed me in a doctor’s office, let alone a hospital, until now. Having been stupid-lucky, I said a heavenward thank you and promised to be more careful after I kicked Bridget’s ass.
Lester the macaw’s mangled body hung by one foot from Stone’s shoulder. His feathers had been considerably thinned. I could relate to the stuffed bird’s state of disarray. “Stone, you don’t need to stay. This is above and beyond customer service.”
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Squeezing his hand, I asked, “Your mother didn’t really name you Stone R, did she?”
His eyes twinkled. “The Holiday Inn issues every employee a name badge. My last name is Rogers. Someone screwed up, and I never said anything. The name gets me attention, interesting confessions, and way better tips.”
Stone barely knew me, but he watched over me as though I were on an endangered list. If there were more Stone Rs around, the world would be a nicer place.
I’d drifted into a fitful sleep and awoke when Macy and Katie Lee arrived. Katie Lee held a bag of clean clothes and a box of donuts. Behind them, Bridget cradled a bouquet of flowers. “Rach, how are you doing?”
“How do you think!? Were you trying to kill me, or are you a really horrible driver?”
Bridget’s voice crackled. “You think I drove over you on purpose?”
Macy sat on the foot of the hospital bed and rested a hand on my ankle. “It was an accident.”
“Accident?” I said in a squeaky pitch.
Silence gripped the air and Stone whispered, “Awkward.”
Katie Lee wrapped her arm around Bridget. “Come on, Rach. You don’t seriously believe that Bridget would purposely hurt you.”
Rage bulged my veins like aged molasses—thick and crystallized. I couldn’t look at Bridget’s sorrowful mask. Between clenched teeth, I seethed, “Get her out of my sight.”
NOTE TO SELF
Macy is the glue in a crisis. She walked two blocks to call an ambulance. I owe her.
Not speaking to Bridget, obviously.
Stone R. One rare bird.
The only silver lining of my leg having been a speed bump—physical therapy with Clay.