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As I beep my horn again, she swerves right, hitting the brakes so hard that I have to follow suit, yanking the steering wheel so that I’m on the shoulder. I can’t stop the collision as the bumper of her car taps the front of mine as she tries to avoid him. Gideon’s hand braces against the dashboard before we both come to a stop, her rolling their car forwards until she’s twenty feet away.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” exclaims a breathless Kennedy.
It takes me a moment to breathe through an image from long ago which blasted through my mind the second her bumper touched mine.
“You okay?” I finally ask, swallowing down the memory as I turn to look at my friends before spying the pick-up in the distance as it zooms away. I check that the dashcam camera was recording, which it was and still is and I turn back to look at Kennedy.
He shakes his head roughly. “Well, that’s one fucking way to get her attention.”
“Can one of you call the police?” I ask as I undo my seatbelt and open the door.
“On it,” replies Gideon, reaching for the phone in his pocket.
As I get out and close the door behind me, followed by my friends, the driver’s side door of the small red car in front opens and this shaken bird-like creature gets out.
She’s wearing some midriff revealing tie-dyed scrap of cloth which barely covers her breasts as a top and a pair of cut-offs that show all the way off to her upper thighs, but I’m quickly distracted from the sight by the tears rolling down her face and the phone gripped tightly in her hand as she walks back towards me as her friends get out of the car.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, her shoulders packed tightly against her frame as tears drip down her golden freckle-spattered skin and over the curve of her upper lip. “Did you see that guy—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I declare firmly, not wanting her to be in any doubt about that.
She peers over at the front bumper of my car which has the faintest of scratches, having barely touched hers.
“I’m so sorry.” My arms stiffen at the sight of her tears as I realize I’m fighting the need to hold her. “I didn’t check the rearview mirror before I braked. I thought he was going to drive into us.”
“You were right to brake. He was heading that way… I have it all on camera.”
Her teary eyes widen. “You do?” she sniffles, the muted pink ends of her dark blond hair caressing her bare arms, which I notice are spotted with goosebumps despite the Georgia heat.
“Yes. The police are on their way.”
She glances over at Gideon who I hear making the call as a thought begins to creep inside me insidiously. I’ve never been one to hold back what I’m feeling about a situation, and despite her tears, I intend to make sure I’m wrong…
“Indie… Could it have been…”
She frowns, clutching her phone to her cleavage and she begins to shake almost imperceptibly, searching my face as if to anchor herself to it.
She shakes her head, glancing behind her as if to check that her friends are out of earshot. “No. It… It couldn’t have been him… I…” She peers down at the gravel beneath our feet, as if dark thoughts are consuming her. “His family are cowards. He only does that stuff by text. He’s gutless when you have him face-to-face. He’d never do it.”
“The police can check the plate number when they get here. Just to be sure.”
Her arms wind around her waist as if to protect herself and for a moment, I wonder whether I should have asked the question as Fran and Rami approach, both visibly shaken. I don’t mean to scare her. I just know too well how these things can play out.
I wipe the image of what happened all those years ago from my mind as quickly as it came as she surveys the side of her and then the front of mine.
“We got fully comprehensive insurance,” she says as Fran walks up to us, and rubs her hands up and down Indie’s slim arm, the movement making me wish I had the right to do the same, or at least hold her until she stops shaking and the tears stop flowing. The sight of her tears is almost unbearable, a fact which twists in my gut. “I’ll make sure we pay for the damage to your car. Do I call the rental company?” she asks, “and tell them?”
I glance over at Kennedy and Gideon as they walk up to us. “You know a mechanic, right?” I ask Gideon who has been coming to the island with his family since he was a boy.
“I do. He’s very good.”
“I’ll sort out the cars,” I say. “No need to inform insurance.”
“What?!” she exclaims. “No! I have insurance for a reason.”
“Indie, your deductible will be at least five hundred dollars. The man who veered into you is responsible, not you. I don’t want the rest of your vacation ruined by this. I’ll sort it out. I can get you another car in the meantime.”
“Look—”
