happened—no, was going to happen—at just short of nine PM on Sunday night. Too late to report any details, although probably if they heated up Robbie’s computer and went to the Internet—
What was he thinking? The Internet did not predict the future; only the pink Kindle did that.
His hands were shaking too badly to enter November 24 th . He pushed the Kindle to Robbie. “You do it.”
Robbie managed, though it took him two tries. The Echo ’s Tuesday story was more complete, but the headline was even worse:
DEATH TOLL RISES TO 10
TOWN AND COLLEGE MOURN
“Is Josie—” Wesley began.
“Yeah,” Robbie said. “Survives the crash, dies on Monday. Christ.”
According to Antonia “Toni” Burrell, one of the Meerkat cheerleaders, and one of the lucky ones to survive Sunday night’s horrific bus-crash with only cuts and bruises, the celebration was still going on, the Bluegrass Trophy still being passed hand-to-hand. “We were singing ‘We Are the Champions’ for the twentieth time or so,’ she said from the hospital in Bowling Green, where most of the survivors were taken. “Coach turned around and yelled for us to keep it down, and that’s when it happened.”
According to State Police Captain Moses Arden, the bus was traveling on Route 139, the Princeton Road, and was about two miles west of Cadiz when an SUV driven by Candy Rymer of Montgomery struck it. “Ms.Rymer was traveling at a high rate of speed west along Highway 80,” Captain Arden said, “and struck the bus at the intersection.”
The bus-driver, Herbert Allison, 58, of Moore apparently saw Ms. Rymer’s vehicle at the last moment and tried to swerve. That swerve, coupled with the impact, drove the bus into the ditch, where it overturned and explodedc
There was more, but neither of them wanted to read it.
“Okay,” Robbie said. “Let’s think about this. First, can we be sure it’s true?”
“Maybe not,” Wesley said. “But Robbieccan we afford to take the chance?”
“No,” Robbie said. “No, I guess we can’t. Of course we can’t. But Wes, if we call the police, they won’t believe us. You know that.”
“We’ll show them the Kindle! We’ll show them the story!” But even to himself, Wesley sounded deflated. “Okay, how about this. I’ll tell Ellen. Even if she won’t believe me, she might agree to hold the bus for fifteen minutes or so, or change the route this guy Allison’s planning to take.”
Robbie considered. “Yeah. Worth a try.”
Wesley took his phone out of his briefcase. Robbie had gone back to the story, using the NEXT PAGE button to access the rest.
The phone rang twicecthree timescfour.
Wesley was preparing to deliver his message to voicemail when Ellen answered. “Wesley, I can’t talk to you now. I thought you understood that—”
“Ellen, listen—”
“—but if you got my message, you know we’re going to talk.” In the background he could hear raucous, excited girls—Josie would be among them—and lots of loud music.
“Yes, I did get the message, but we have to talk n—”
“No!” Ellen said. “We don’t . I’m not going to take your calls this weekend, and I’m not going to listen to your messages.” Her voice softened. “And hon—every one you leave is going to make it harder. For us, I mean.”
“Ellen, you don’t understa—”
“Goodbye, Wes. I’ll talk to you next week. Do you wish us luck?”
“Ellen, please! ”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “And you know what? I guess I still care about you, even though you are a lug.”
With that she was gone.
.
He poised his finger over the redial buttoncthen made himself not push it. It wouldn’t help. Ellen was wearing her my-way-or-the-highway hat. It was insane, but there it was.
“She won’t talk to me except on her schedule. What she doesn’t realize is that after Sunday night she may not have a schedule. You’ll have to call Ms. Quinn.” In his
What was he thinking? The Internet did not predict the future; only the pink Kindle did that.
His hands were shaking too badly to enter November 24 th . He pushed the Kindle to Robbie. “You do it.”
Robbie managed, though it took him two tries. The Echo ’s Tuesday story was more complete, but the headline was even worse:
DEATH TOLL RISES TO 10
TOWN AND COLLEGE MOURN
“Is Josie—” Wesley began.
“Yeah,” Robbie said. “Survives the crash, dies on Monday. Christ.”
According to Antonia “Toni” Burrell, one of the Meerkat cheerleaders, and one of the lucky ones to survive Sunday night’s horrific bus-crash with only cuts and bruises, the celebration was still going on, the Bluegrass Trophy still being passed hand-to-hand. “We were singing ‘We Are the Champions’ for the twentieth time or so,’ she said from the hospital in Bowling Green, where most of the survivors were taken. “Coach turned around and yelled for us to keep it down, and that’s when it happened.”
According to State Police Captain Moses Arden, the bus was traveling on Route 139, the Princeton Road, and was about two miles west of Cadiz when an SUV driven by Candy Rymer of Montgomery struck it. “Ms.Rymer was traveling at a high rate of speed west along Highway 80,” Captain Arden said, “and struck the bus at the intersection.”
The bus-driver, Herbert Allison, 58, of Moore apparently saw Ms. Rymer’s vehicle at the last moment and tried to swerve. That swerve, coupled with the impact, drove the bus into the ditch, where it overturned and explodedc
There was more, but neither of them wanted to read it.
“Okay,” Robbie said. “Let’s think about this. First, can we be sure it’s true?”
“Maybe not,” Wesley said. “But Robbieccan we afford to take the chance?”
“No,” Robbie said. “No, I guess we can’t. Of course we can’t. But Wes, if we call the police, they won’t believe us. You know that.”
“We’ll show them the Kindle! We’ll show them the story!” But even to himself, Wesley sounded deflated. “Okay, how about this. I’ll tell Ellen. Even if she won’t believe me, she might agree to hold the bus for fifteen minutes or so, or change the route this guy Allison’s planning to take.”
Robbie considered. “Yeah. Worth a try.”
Wesley took his phone out of his briefcase. Robbie had gone back to the story, using the NEXT PAGE button to access the rest.
The phone rang twicecthree timescfour.
Wesley was preparing to deliver his message to voicemail when Ellen answered. “Wesley, I can’t talk to you now. I thought you understood that—”
“Ellen, listen—”
“—but if you got my message, you know we’re going to talk.” In the background he could hear raucous, excited girls—Josie would be among them—and lots of loud music.
“Yes, I did get the message, but we have to talk n—”
“No!” Ellen said. “We don’t . I’m not going to take your calls this weekend, and I’m not going to listen to your messages.” Her voice softened. “And hon—every one you leave is going to make it harder. For us, I mean.”
“Ellen, you don’t understa—”
“Goodbye, Wes. I’ll talk to you next week. Do you wish us luck?”
“Ellen, please! ”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “And you know what? I guess I still care about you, even though you are a lug.”
With that she was gone.
.
He poised his finger over the redial buttoncthen made himself not push it. It wouldn’t help. Ellen was wearing her my-way-or-the-highway hat. It was insane, but there it was.
“She won’t talk to me except on her schedule. What she doesn’t realize is that after Sunday night she may not have a schedule. You’ll have to call Ms. Quinn.” In his
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