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Authors: Randy Susan Meyers
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me for one minute? Is everything wrong in your life my fault? Am I some sort of monster to you?”
“I’m worried. About Emma. About us.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Oh, Christ, not now. I came to get you. I’m here.” He pounded on the dashboard. “Isn’t that enough?”
Now she began crying in earnest. She reached over to the backseat of the car, trying to grab something.
“What do you want?” Pangs of guilt fought with irritation. He took one of those damn deep breaths she was always forcing on him. “Look. I’m sorry for yelling. Can I help you?”
She ignored him, unbuckling her seat belt and then getting on her knees to rummage around in the back of the car. The disconnected seat belt began beeping.
“Maddy, get back in your seat. That noise is driving me crazy.”
“Just one second! Here, okay?” She connected the belt and went back to trying to reach for whatever it was that she wanted. Finally she hoisted up the huge suitcase of a briefcase she dragged everywhereand pulled it onto her lap. She took out a pad. “I wrote a list of all the things I’m worried about. With Emma. Things I want to prevent.”
Drugs? Pregnancy? Tattoos? Did his wife have a magic social work formula to keep it all at bay? Did she think he didn’t care, didn’t worry? “Is this all brought on because I made the huge error of bringing our daughter home? Should I have left her on the street corner and then given her a little lecture when she snuck back in? Talked it out?”
“Please don’t be sarcastic. I’m so worried about her.”
“And I’m not? You haven’t cornered the market on parental concern, you know.”
“I don’t want to fight about this. I want to be partners.”
“Then stop making lists about my faults, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s not about you!”
A Ford Expedition barreled down the road behind them, trying to push their car out of the left lane. Humongous piece of crap. Ben sped up. A blinding force of rain pelted the windows. The rear view on this car was awful in the best weather; with sheets of water sluicing along the glass, he could barely see out the back. He set the wipers on the highest setting and then opened the window to clear the side mirror. The Expedition tailed him closer, pushing him to go faster or move over. Ben hit the accelerator, but the Expedition stayed right with him. Ben threw up his middle finger—aware the idiot probably couldn’t see it but needing the satisfaction.
The air inside him expanded, pushing rational judgment out of the way and turning his moves to sheer instinct. He tapped the Camaro’s traction-control button twice to turn on competitive drive control, and then sped up, pushing an Accord in front of him to move to the right lane. The Expedition stayed on top of him.
All caution gone, he rocketed. Competitive driving let him be in charge. No car computer slowed him from his fast moves. Ben might not be the athlete of the century, but he knew how to drive like a motherfucker. What did the kids say? Oh, yeah. I got mad skills.
The Expedition got closer, almost kissing his bumper, both of them going 45 on a road posted at 25 mph. The road opened up, andthe speedometer climbed over 50, then 55, and finally hit 60, but he couldn’t lose the Expedition.
“Ben, move over!” Maddy said.
“ Shut up! ”
Just at the moment the guy seemed ready to ram into him, Ben suddenly pulled into the right lane.
At the same moment the Expedition moved right to pass him.
Metal scraped metal as the oversized SVU hit them hard. As Ben tried to straighten out, he hit a slick spot, hydroplaned, and the car spun out of control.
Cars ahead and to the right squealed, maneuvering away on the twisting road, as the Camaro careened toward the tree in the curve.
Maddy screamed.
He gripped the wheel as though death chased them.
• • •
He coughed.
Where was he? His rapid breaths jabbed his left side as he tried to open the jammed door. Sharp
“I’m worried. About Emma. About us.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Oh, Christ, not now. I came to get you. I’m here.” He pounded on the dashboard. “Isn’t that enough?”
Now she began crying in earnest. She reached over to the backseat of the car, trying to grab something.
“What do you want?” Pangs of guilt fought with irritation. He took one of those damn deep breaths she was always forcing on him. “Look. I’m sorry for yelling. Can I help you?”
She ignored him, unbuckling her seat belt and then getting on her knees to rummage around in the back of the car. The disconnected seat belt began beeping.
“Maddy, get back in your seat. That noise is driving me crazy.”
“Just one second! Here, okay?” She connected the belt and went back to trying to reach for whatever it was that she wanted. Finally she hoisted up the huge suitcase of a briefcase she dragged everywhereand pulled it onto her lap. She took out a pad. “I wrote a list of all the things I’m worried about. With Emma. Things I want to prevent.”
Drugs? Pregnancy? Tattoos? Did his wife have a magic social work formula to keep it all at bay? Did she think he didn’t care, didn’t worry? “Is this all brought on because I made the huge error of bringing our daughter home? Should I have left her on the street corner and then given her a little lecture when she snuck back in? Talked it out?”
“Please don’t be sarcastic. I’m so worried about her.”
“And I’m not? You haven’t cornered the market on parental concern, you know.”
“I don’t want to fight about this. I want to be partners.”
“Then stop making lists about my faults, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s not about you!”
A Ford Expedition barreled down the road behind them, trying to push their car out of the left lane. Humongous piece of crap. Ben sped up. A blinding force of rain pelted the windows. The rear view on this car was awful in the best weather; with sheets of water sluicing along the glass, he could barely see out the back. He set the wipers on the highest setting and then opened the window to clear the side mirror. The Expedition tailed him closer, pushing him to go faster or move over. Ben hit the accelerator, but the Expedition stayed right with him. Ben threw up his middle finger—aware the idiot probably couldn’t see it but needing the satisfaction.
The air inside him expanded, pushing rational judgment out of the way and turning his moves to sheer instinct. He tapped the Camaro’s traction-control button twice to turn on competitive drive control, and then sped up, pushing an Accord in front of him to move to the right lane. The Expedition stayed on top of him.
All caution gone, he rocketed. Competitive driving let him be in charge. No car computer slowed him from his fast moves. Ben might not be the athlete of the century, but he knew how to drive like a motherfucker. What did the kids say? Oh, yeah. I got mad skills.
The Expedition got closer, almost kissing his bumper, both of them going 45 on a road posted at 25 mph. The road opened up, andthe speedometer climbed over 50, then 55, and finally hit 60, but he couldn’t lose the Expedition.
“Ben, move over!” Maddy said.
“ Shut up! ”
Just at the moment the guy seemed ready to ram into him, Ben suddenly pulled into the right lane.
At the same moment the Expedition moved right to pass him.
Metal scraped metal as the oversized SVU hit them hard. As Ben tried to straighten out, he hit a slick spot, hydroplaned, and the car spun out of control.
Cars ahead and to the right squealed, maneuvering away on the twisting road, as the Camaro careened toward the tree in the curve.
Maddy screamed.
He gripped the wheel as though death chased them.
• • •
He coughed.
Where was he? His rapid breaths jabbed his left side as he tried to open the jammed door. Sharp
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