I bend down, almost losing my balance again, my hands catching myself as I feel around for my phone in the gravel. With the flashlight still on, I shine the light into the car just as a calm, firm voice tells me to step back.
“We got her,” another voice says, and I feel a hand on my shoulder, my eyes still adjusting.
Her?No. It’s Bennett. But I can’t form the words. I let the paramedic walk me a few steps backward while someone else wheels a gurney over, two of them carefully moving the figure out of the car.
No,I want to say.It’s him. They have to save him.
“Are you hurt?” the paramedic asks me, and I shake my head once, my eyes looking past him as they lay the body on the gurney.
“We heard you found her. You did a great job. Let us take it from here.”Her?
What is he talking about?
I push past the man in front of me, closing the space between me and the gurney.
I need to see him.
“Sir!” I hear, but I don’t care. I grab the side of the gurney, and I freeze.
Looking down, expecting to see the shaggy blonde hair and the navy eyes of my best friend, I see the lake at sunrise.
I see the reflection on the top of the water as it splashes against the side of my boat.
I see the calmness of the waves and the peacefulness of the small ripples when I cast my line.
And they’re looking right at me.
Her eyes bring me back.
The accident. The woman.
Thepregnantwoman.
“We have to get her to the hospital,” one of them says, but I can’t bring myself to let go of the gurney. I hear something aboutdistressandbabyandlaboras the gurney starts to slip from my grasp.
My lungs are finally filling with air again, and my vision clears.
She needs to be okay.
“She will be,” I hear, and I realize I said the words out loud. “Are you riding with us?” the paramedic I ran past asks from behind, and I shake my head, feeling like I just completed a marathon then got hit by a bus at the finish line.
A sense of numbness washes over me as I watch the paramedics load the gurney in the ambulance, closing the doors, and heading back the way they came.
I don’t know how long I stand out there on the side of the road before my body moves in autopilot, walking back to my truck and starting the engine—heading back the wayIcame, straight to my grandfather’s cabin.
CHAPTER 4
RUMI
ONE YEAR LATER
“I havean iced vanilla oat milk latte and a black coffee for Mia.” I set the two cups down on the “Pick-Up” side of the counter, the last order of a very busy morning rush. It has taken me the last six months working at Hey Honey’s to get through the hustle and bustle of the morning crowd without spilling at least one drink, and I’m proud to say I’ve made it through another without having to change my apron.
“Thanks, Rumi,” the blonde regular says from behind a double stroller, her twin girls in matching pink jumpers and mini black converse asleep in their seats. She reaches for her two coffees, setting them in the cupholders of the stroller.
“Anytime,” I answer, bending down to put away the carton of oat milk in the fridge underneath the counter. Mia is a friend of the owners here at Hey Honey’s, so her drinks are always “on the house”, but she slips a $20 bill in the tip jar when she thinks I’m not looking.
“Have you thought more about what I mentioned last week?” she asks, as I stand up, bringing her hand back to the stroller to push it back and forth to keep her twins asleep.
