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Cody?
“I just wanna talk.” His words slurring, he rattled the doorknob. “Come on. Open up.”
“Cody, you’re drunk. Go away!”
“I just wan—”
“Leave or I’ll call the police.” Hoping scare tactics would gain time, I pressed the phone’s power button, trying to turn it on.
“Maeve…marry me.” He called through the door. “New Mexico has no waiting period. We can drive to Las Cruses—”
“Cody, get out of here. I don’t want to see you. I’m not going anywhere with you, and I certainly don’t want to marry you. Now, leave!” Finally, the phone activated, and I dialed Luke.
He croaked, “Hello,” then cleared his throat.
“Luke, Cody’s at the door. Can you—”
“Be right there.”
Seconds later, voices outside made me peek through the window.
“You’re trespassing.” Wearing only jeans and huaraches, Luke pointed to Cody’s car. “Get out!”
“Butt out!” Cody took a swing, missed, and stumbled to the ground, moaning.
Luke turned Cody on his back and began dragging him to his car.
I pulled on a pair of slippers, ran out, and grabbed Cody’s feet as I helped load him into his car. Dead weight, he sagged between us. Did he pass out?
“If I ever catch you here again, I’ll press charges.” Luke slammed the door. “Now get out of here.”
Mumbling, Cody fumbled with the car keys before the engine roared to life. “You ain’t seen the last of me.” The car lurched forward, snaking down the drive. When he reached the road, he overshot the curve and landed in the ditch.
“He’s in no condition to drive.” I stifled a groan. “He’ll kill himself.”
“Or someone else…”
The sounds of Cody revving his engine and spinning wheels resonated from the road.
“He’s not going anywhere.” Luke shook his head. “Just digging himself in deeper.”
Then Cody began rocking his car. By switching back and forth between reverse and drive, the car’s mass gained momentum.
“Don’t be too sure…” I recalled M2 Bradley training.
As the tires grabbed onto the sides of the ditch, Cody stepped on the gas.
The car burned rubber crossing the road, knocked down a mailbox, and slammed into a boulder.
“I’d better see if he’s hurt.” Luke raced down the drive.
“I’ll call 911.” I punched in the numbers and reported the accident as I sprinted toward the scene in slippers and pajamas.
Slumped over the steering wheel, Cody snored in a dazed stupor. A half hour later, the police had trouble rousing him.
I waited on the caliche roadside until they finished the breathalyzer test. “What’ll happen to him?”
The officer checked his notes. “His BAC is 0.28%.”
