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A vintage car sits behind mine. I glance at the scene, already not entirely sure who I should blame. If I hadn’t slammed on my brakes, they would not have hit me. But doesn’t that suggest they were following too close?
The damage is not terrible, though both our cars will need some work. I already begin to process the fact that this is a mild inconvenience for me, but possibly a crisis for the other driver. Their car doesn’t imply that they had a lot of money, even before the accident.
It all quickly flies away as a minor detail when I realize I’ve been waiting too long for the driver to come out. Why are they still in the car? Though my ears are still ringing and my head aches, I go toward the driver's seat and tap on the window.
“Are you alright?” I call out.
We are on a desolate road, so no one is around to help. It seems no one is even around to have witnessed it. I tap on the window again when there is no response, my heart in my chest beginning to pump hard with fear.
What if the driver is injured? Or what if they had a medical emergency, explaining why they did not stop in time? My brain begins to conjecture wild possibilities as my imagination takes flight. Panicking, I pull on the door.
Unlocked, it comes open in my hand. It is then the truth of who slammed into me is revealed, in slow motion.
I nearly gasp when I see that it is the woman from the coffee shop. She is holding her right shoulder, squinting, with labored breathing.
“Oh, my God,” I mutter. “Are you okay?”
It sounds like a stupid question to ask someone who was just in an accident. But I want to assess her injuries before I put my hands on her and try to help her to the side of the road.
She doesn’t answer. She looks like she’s been crying, eyes red and swollen from grief. She leans out of the car and nearly topples to the concrete, but I am swift enough to catch her with both arms in a cocoon-like motion.
“Where does it hurt?” I plead, my annoyance at the accident already gone. “Tell me so I can help you.”
She must be in shock, because she remains silent. Her eyes may be swollen from crying, but I can still tell that they are distant; far away from here and unable to respond.
I have only received moderate injuries, so I keep my arms wrapped around her body and help her hobble over to the curb. She moves sideways while I walk backward, moving carefully to be sure I don’t exacerbate an injury I can’t see on her. There’s no telling what could be happening under the surface. Based on her behavior, I’m playing it safe.
“I’m going to lower you down, okay?”
She stares. Nothing.
I start lowering her down to sit on the side of the road, and she cooperates. Her muscles are moving fine, seemingly, yet she clings to her right shoulder with her left hand. I cautiously let her go, then look back at the scene.
Both cars are damaged. I feel for this woman, but I can’t help wondering what happened. I also can’t help thinking that if she was anyone else, I might not be so forgiving about it. Right now, I’m half tempted to just pay for the costs of fixing both cars.
I can afford it, after all. But is it reckless to be that concerned about a stranger, even if she does have a pretty face? For now, I push the thought aside. The most important thing now is to make sure she is okay, as okay as one can be in this situation.
“Did you hurt your arm?”
I have my hand on her lower back, keeping her steady. She finally looks up at me with her sea green eyes. They still look far away, but alertness is slowly returning to them.
I smile, trying to comfort her.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Everything is going to be okay.”
I say this without really knowing what it means. Everything about my father and the engagement has vanished out of my head. Right now, my mind can only focus on this beautiful woman in front of me.
Even if I’m not sure exactly what I’m promising, I mean it. The look on her face tells me she needs me right now, and I have every intention of making sure she’s okay. Whatever that means.
9
JOSEPHINE
Iam swirling through a rabbit hole of a nightmare. Once I think I have reached rock bottom, I always manage to unearth new depths.
My mind is spinning as someone helps me out of the driver's seat of my car. I feel a hand on my lower back. A reassuring, soft voice leads me to sit on the curb of the road. It is only when I sit down that the reality of what has happened comes to me, striking me like a freight train.
I look up to see that the person I have hit is Aiden. That gorgeous man with the engagement.
