Gia stood at the corner of Second Avenue and Fifty-eighth and marveled at how good she felt today. She seemed to have regained most of her strength and ambition. She’d even done some painting this morning.
But now it was time for some fresh air. This was the first time she’d been out of the house in almost a week. It was good to know the city was still here. It even smelled good. A fall breeze was diluting the fumes from passing cars and trucks. And most amazing of all: traffic was moving.
She planned to walk up to Park, maybe head downtown for a few blocks, then circle back home. As she waited for the light to change, she felt the baby kick and had to smile. What a delicious sensation. Tomorrow she was scheduled for another ultrasound. Everything was going to be fine, she just knew it.
Finally, the walking green. She took one step off the curb but froze when she heard a blaring horn. She looked up and saw a delivery van racing toward her along the avenue. Gia heard a scream—her own—as she turned and leaped back onto the sidewalk. One of the front tires bounced over the curb just inches from her feet. The sideview mirror brushed the sleeve of her sweater as the truck slewed sideways and slammed into the rear of a parked UPS truck.
The rest of the world seemed to stand silent and frozen for a heartbeat or two as glittering fragments of shattered glass tumbled through the air, catching the sunlight as they showered the impact area, and then cries of shock and alarm as people began running for the truck.
Gia stood paralyzed, feeling her heart pounding as she watched bystanders help the shaken and bloodied driver from the car. She looked back to where she’d been standing and realized with a stab of fear that if she hadn’t moved, the truck would have made a direct hit. At the speed he’d been going, she could not imagine anyone, especially her and the baby, surviving an impact like that.
She looked back and saw the driver shuffling toward her across Fifty-eighth. Blood oozed from the left side of his forehead.
“Dear lady, I am so sorry,” he said in accented English—Eastern Europe, maybe. “The brakes, they stop working…the steering it no good. I am so happy you are well.”
Unable to speak yet, Gia could only nod. First the near miscarriage, now this. If she didn’t know better she might think somebody up there didn’t want this baby to be born.