Joe DeLesseps, a salesman who regularly travels through Maryland, Pennsylvania and Virginia, agreed to talk to me via Skype in late June.
I operate in three states, selling just about anything that you can care to think of in the hardware line; there are still people out there who prefer to deal with a human being rather than a computer. I keep off the turnpike when I can. I prefer the back roads. Like my grandson Piper would say, that’s just how I roll. Over the years I’ve carved out several routes for myself, got my favourite places to stop off for coffee and pie, some of which I’ve been visiting for years, though more and more mom and pop outlets have been hit by the recession. I’m not a fan of those chain motels either, prefer the family-run joints. You may not get cable and Taco Bell on tap, but the company and the coffee’s always better and the rates are competitive.
I was running behind schedule that day. Wholesaler I’d seen in Baltimore liked to talk, and I’d lost track of time. Almost decided to take the interstate, but there’s this little roadhouse just before Mile Creek Road–one of my favourite routes which takes you near Green Ridge Forest–where the coffee’s good and the pancakes even better, so I decided to take the long way instead. My wife Tammy is always nagging me to watch my cholesterol, but I figured that what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
I made it there round about five, half-an-hour before closing time. Pulled up next to a new Chevy SUV with tinted windows. Soon as I walked in, I figured it had to belong to the small group sitting drinking coffee in one of the booths by the window. At first glance I thought they were just an ordinary family: a couple with their child, on a road-trip with grandma and grandpa. But when I looked closer, I could see they didn’t seem to fit together. There wasn’t that companionable ease you see with most families or holidaymakers; the younger couple especially looked on edge. Could practically see the creases on the younger fellow’s shirt where he’d just pulled it out of its packaging.
I knew Suze, the short-order cook, would be wanting to head home, so I ordered my pancakes real quick and put extra cream in my coffee so that I could chug it down faster.
‘Po Po wants to go to the bathroom,’ the little kid said, pointing to grandpa. But the old fella hadn’t said a word. I could see there was something not right with him. Had a vacant look in his eyes, like my pa got right at the end.
The older woman helped the old fella shuffle his way to the bathroom. I greeted her as she passed my table, and she gave me a weary smile. Red hair you could see was dyed, an inch of grey roots. Tammy would have said that there goes a woman who hadn’t found the time to take care of herself in quite a while. I could feel eyes on me; the younger fella was checking me out. I nodded at him, said something about how we could do with some rain, but he didn’t respond.
They left a few minutes before I did, but they were still helping that old-timer into the SUV when I made my way outside.
‘Where you headed?’ I asked, trying to be friendly.
The younger fella gave me a look. ‘Pennsylvania,’ he said. I could tell he’d just pulled that answer out of his ass.
The older, red-haired woman gave me a tentative smile.
‘Come on, Mom,’ the younger woman said to her, and the redhead jumped as if she’d just been pinched.
The little kid waved at me and I winked back at him. Cute little guy.
They took off at a clip, heading in the wrong direction for Pennsylvania. That SUV would’ve been equipped with GPS, and I could see the young fella knew what he was doing. Guess I thought, none of my business.
I didn’t see it happen. I came around the bend; saw the broken glass. The Chevy was on its roof on the wrong side of the road.
I pulled over, dug in the back for my first-aid kit. Driving as much as I do, you’re apt to encounter a lot of accidents, and I’d been keeping a kit in the car for years. Even did a course a couple a years ago.
They’d hit a deer. I figure the young fella musta yanked too hard on the wheel and flipped the car. Could see straight off that the two at the front–the driver, that young fella, and the young woman with the hard eyes–were gone, and it would have been quick. You couldn’t tell which parts was deer, which parts was human.
The old fella in the back was gone, too. No blood, but his eyes were open. Looked like he was at peace.
The woman with the red hair was a different story. There wasn’t much blood on her, but I could see her legs were trapped. Her eyes were open, and they were dazed.
‘Bobby,’ she whispered.
I knew she must mean the boy. ‘I’ll look for him, ma’am,’ I said.
Couldn’t find him anywhere at first. Figured he must have been flung out of the back window. Found his body two hundred yards from the vehicle. He was in the culvert, lying face up, as if he was watching the sky. You can tell when the soul is gone. There’s an emptiness. Looked like there wasn’t a scratch on him.
There was no way I could get the woman out of there–needed the Jaws of Life to do that–and I was worried she might have spinal injuries. She’d stopped crying by then and I held her hand as she drifted away. I listened to the sound of the engine ticking and waited for the cops.
I only found out who they were the next day. Tammy couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out sooner; that boy’s face was always plastered over the magazines she gets.
Didn’t seem right. What are the chances of that poor kid being in two fatal accidents? I’d been planning to keep on going right till Tammy forced me to retire, but maybe this whole thing is a sign that it’s time to quit. A sign that enough is enough.