There were no such roads. But she thought she had an idea what he meant.
She fired questions at him, and at the same time, J.J. found her jeans and a sweatshirt.
My keys, I need my keys.They were in her bag.
In less than five minutes since she’d been awakened from a dead sleep, J.J. was in her car, trying to decide how to proceed. The clock on her dashboard showed it was 3:30 in the morning.
What was the law here? Am I supposed to call the police?
“D.J., you said it was near Rexford and Southard?”
“Yeah, sure. Yeah.”
The phone went dead then. He’d hung up or tried to ping her or whatever.
“D.J.!”
She was never one to track her kids with apps or tags. She always felt that was some sort of false sense of security. Like they couldn’t get into trouble if you tracked the trouble? But right now, she sure wished she’d have micro-chipped D.J. like they do pets.Where exactly was he? Was he close to his truck?
There wasn’t another car on the road. She was glad for that. Less likelihood for someone to hit D.J. because they didn’t see him.And God, please make it so he didn’t hit anything or anyone else!
She thanked God he wasn’t on 223, where cars drove fast, and no one would expect a pedestrian on the shoulder. Or maybe hewason 223?
J.J. needed to find him.
She slowed down when Rexford and Southard met. It was at an angle instead of a standard intersection.Is that what caused the accident?
Her eyes scanned the intersection, and there it was.
Her headlights illuminated the taillights of the truck.
Dean’s truck. The back end stuck out of the ditch. J.J. slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. The ditch was half-filled with runoff water.
The ditches served an important purpose. They kept the roads from flooding most of the time. But they could be dangerous. Her mind flashed to about a decade ago when a group of kids, playing after a storm, decided to wade in. One was swept under and drowned.
J.J. shook her head to erase the memory of what could happen here.
The front of the truck was smashed into the embankment. The body looked bent. It was a mess.
Where was D.J.? How could he have walked away and called me after this massive car crash?
She looked around. There was no sign of him.
“D.J.!” she called out.
No answer. J.J. got back in her car. She drove along the road slowly, with her eyes scanning toward the tree line on Southard.
D.J. was on foot. He’d said that.
She called his phone again. It went to voice mail.
“You’ve reached Tucker Construction. Leave a message, and we’ll get back to you ASAP. Thank you!”
It was Dean’s voice. D.J. had taken Dean’s business phone and never changed the greeting. It felt like a gut punch.
“I need some help here, Dean, really.”
Something caught her eye up ahead. It wasn’t moving.Oh God, what if he’s hurt? What if he got hit or hit his head?
