Authors: Jessi Gage
“What! That’s in fifteen minutes!”
“I know. Please tell me you’re running early as usual. Do you have Mr. J dropped off?”
“Yes, but I can’t possibly make it all the way up to Mountain Lakes and back down to Sacred Heart in fifteen minutes.”
“Not fifteen, I know. But if you leave now, get to Mrs. E’s in ten then down to Sacred in ten, she won’t have to reschedule. I’ll call the clinic and let them know she’ll be running a few minutes late.”
Cami released a tense breath. Helping Hand’s motto was,
We’ll get you there on time and with a smile
. It killed her to fail Helping Hand and Mrs. E, but even worse, she hated to disappoint Ellen. She pictured the dispatcher at her desk, headset askew over her gray curls, a frazzled expression on her normally cheerful face. She didn’t want to make things difficult for Ellen, but to do what she asked would mean the unthinkable.
“Ellen, you know I don’t take the freeway. Ever. Can’t you call her a cab?”
“It’s the end of the month. Our stipend is bottomed out. Please? Just this once? It’s not like it’s rush hour or anything.”
Every hour was rush hour on that death-trap stretch of concrete. “Are you sure there’s no one else who can do it?”
Please, please, please let there be someone else.
“You and Ben were the only ones available today. I know you don’t like the interstate, but hon, lots of people use it without any problem. Look at me. I’m no spring chicken and I do just fine.”
At her silence, Ellen sighed. Cami could imagine her with her forehead braced in her hand. “Look, I don’t want to stress you out. I’ll call the clinic and let them know we’ll do our best but Mrs. E will likely be quite late. You take whatever route you need to and get her there when you can. Okay?”
Ellen had pulled out Cami’s Kryptonite. Guilt. By being sweet and understanding, she guaranteed Cami would respond with her absolute best. “Tell Mrs. E I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said.
I-5 ran north to south through Redding, California and was the best way to cross town, if a person didn’t have a crippling fear of merging at high speeds. But Ellen made a good point. Lots of people used the interstate without thinking twice about it. Didn’t Cami always counsel her kids that facing their fears was healthier than running from them? Maybe she should take her own advice.
Gripping the wheel, she steeled herself to do something she hadn’t done since she was eighteen. She pulled her Civic out of Solace Cancer Care and headed for I-5’s entrance ramp.
“Hang on, Mrs. E. Here I come.”
* * * *
“Yo, Summers!” The shout stopped Derek from pulling the door to his pickup truck shut.
Leaning a forearm on the ledge of the open window, he looked at the trailer to see his construction engineer jogging toward him. Fred had one hand braced on his hardhat, keeping the thing from bouncing off his head-full of graying hair, and the other snagged on his tool belt to keep it from sliding down around his knees. The CE had skin the color and texture of leather left out in the sun, and the personality of a contemplative sea captain. Whenever Fred said anything, Derek had a hard time not imagining him with a corncob pipe and a colorful bird on his shoulder.
Fred put a dusty boot on the runner of the truck and puffed a few wheezed breaths. “Glad I caught you, boss.” Fred always had a twinkle in his eyes when he called him that. They both knew Derek had only been promoted to site manager three years ago because Fred had turned down the position, claiming he’d miss being outdoors. Sometimes Derek missed the fresh air, but not today. The temperature had soared to triple digits. He wouldn’t have traded his air-conditioned office for anything.
“Make it quick, old man,” he said. “Got a Little League game to get to.”
“Rather be old than getting soft at a desk job.” Fred’s grin flashed a lot of sun-baked wrinkles and a gold tooth.
“Soft, my ass.” He worked out every night to make sure he didn’t get soft.
“That’s the first place to get soft, sitting in a chair all day.” Fred winked, then slapped the window ledge, getting down to business. “I know this ain’t a good time, boss, but phone for you.” He stabbed his thumb toward the trailer. “It’s the Trane rep. Something about a delay on the chillers.”
“Shit.” He glanced at his watch. 3:01. His daughter’s game started in twenty-nine minutes, and the field was all the way up in the Mountain Lakes neighborhood. Even if he got on the freeway now, he’d be lucky to make the first pitch–traffic through downtown always sucked on Fridays. But the chiller installation had already been shoved back twice. If they didn’t get those frigging banes of his existence installed by the walkthrough next week, he’d have a shit storm of angry engineers on his hands.
Resigned, he headed for the trailer. At least Haley’s team was the home team. If he hurried, he’d be able to make her first at-bat.
Fifteen minutes later and with steam shooting out his ears, he punched the gas pedal to make the light at the I-5 entrance ramp. Giving a covetous look to the HOV lane, he wove his way north until the density of traffic and the size of his F-350 forced him to adopt the same snail’s pace as everyone else. Forty-five frigging miles per hour in the fast lane. Frigging Fridays.
Finally, the brick and glass of downtown Redding gave way to tall pines and expansive parks, and the exit for Mountain Lakes came into view. He checked his blind spot to merge, finding a tiny red Honda in his way. He hit the gas to zip in front, but the Honda sped up too. That’s when he noticed the Honda’s turn signal blinking away. The driver also wanted to merge into the right lane, but wouldn’t pull the trigger.
Derek had to slam on the brakes as the traffic in his lane slowed. The Honda came up alongside him, all but invisible out his window except the tip of the antenna. “Goddamned idiot!” he shouted. If he didn’t get over right now, he’d miss his exit.
Pressure built in his lungs. No one was going to stand in the way of his getting to Haley’s game, especially some idiot who ought to have his license revoked. He hung back to give the traffic in front of him a chance to gain some ground. When he had enough room to work with, he hit the gas, trusting his 255 horses to power him past the Honda. The second his rear bumper cleared the nose of the matchbox car, he whipped his truck into the middle lane with a well-calculated yard to spare. He hadn’t bothered with his turn signal. Indecisive moron deserved to have the shit scared out of him. Without wasting another thought on the driver in the Honda, he zipped into the right lane and exited.
A crash sounded behind him. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror.
The green Cherokee behind the Honda had rear-ended the little car and sent it careening into the fast lane. The Honda skidded sideways and a blue Outback smashed into the driver’s side without braking. The Honda lurched into a roll. The roof collapsed as it rolled once, twice, started a third roll.
“Jesus.”
The Honda’s windshield broke out.
He glimpsed the white of an airbag.
Cars swerved to avoid the catastrophe. The traffic behind the accident ground to a halt.
He’d come to a stop on the exit ramp, his boot grinding down on the brake pedal, a kneejerk reaction. The momentum of the crash brought it up even with his window. It looked bad.
He should get out and see if everyone was okay.
There was no way everyone was okay.
“Shit.” His foot moved to the gas. He floored it, heart pounding.
Chapter 2
“Dad. Dad! Hey, Dad! Did you see my catch?”
Derek blinked away the image of the rolling Honda and turned with open arms to Haley as she scrambled up the bleachers. She hugged him around his neck and he held her a little tighter and longer than usual. “Yeah, honey,” he lied–the crash had been replaying in his mind, blinding him to everything except the double Haley had hit in the third inning. “You were great out there. That hit was awesome! I’m so proud of you.”
“Too bad we lost, though.” She sighed.
He lifted her maroon ball cap by the bill and ruffled her hair, blond like his. Deidre’s was blond too. Not naturally, but the color looked good on her. They’d looked like three peas in a pod when they’d still been a real family. He kept a three by five of their last family portrait taped to his plans desk wherever the job site happened to be. It had been taken two years ago. They’d all dressed in jeans and white t-shirts, sifting the cool sand of Crescent City Beach between their bare toes and letting the ocean breeze muss their hair. The only rich color in the picture had been Deidre’s fire-engine red toenails. He’d set the camera to take ten pictures, and they’d all made funny faces until the last couple of flashes. The picture taped to his desk was one with funny faces.
“Da-ad! I hate when you do that when I have a ponytail in.” Huffing, Haley yanked out her hair tie and redid the ponytail. She bounced off to chat with her teammates, waving at her mom as she went.
Deidre made her way over from the other side of the bleachers, looking expensive in designer jeans and heels. Her tablet rested in the crook of her arm–she’d probably been working during the game. If he’d tried that, she’d have nailed him for it. “Everything okay?” she asked. “You looked distracted the whole game.”
She hadn’t been working too hard to judge him for not paying attention and any number of other old sins. Same old Deidre.
“Fine. Just a long day at work.”
“Well, thanks for coming out. It means a lot to her.”
“I hate when you do that shit.”
His ex-wife’s eyes went from cordial to icy. “Watch your language. You’re at a Little League game. And no cursing this weekend. I caught Haley saying ‘D
ammit all to hell and back
’ the other day. Sound familiar?” Her red lips pressed together in the smug expression she’d mastered over ten years of marriage to him. “And do what, Derek? What did I do by thanking you for coming to your daughter’s game that bothered you so much?”
“Are we going to do this?” he asked her. “Here? Now?”
“You started it. You and that hair-trigger temper of yours. You take everything I say and make it some kind of judgment. I’m not judging you. I’m not your enemy.”
“Oh, I am sick of your holier-than-thou sh–Hey, sweetie! You ready to go?”
Haley skipped to his side, saving him from trying to put into words how Deidre always made him feel like he was trying to do her and Haley some kind of favor by acting like a dad. He didn’t care what Deidre thought of him. He didn’t come to the games for her thanks. He came because he loved his kid and wanted to see her play ball.
“Time for floats,” Haley informed him.
“You heard the lady,” he said with a smirk at Deidre. “We’ve got to run. Root beer and ice cream awaits!” He gestured dramatically, like a superhero in a cape, earning a giggle from Haley and an eye-roll from Deidre.
Mother and daughter hugged their goodbyes, and he had his Haley-girl all to himself for the weekend.
“Buckle up, sweetie,” he said after she’d scampered into the cab of his truck. Seeing her sitting there so small in the cavernous space made his throat tight. She looked so vulnerable with the big strap of the seatbelt slashing across her body. What if she’d been with him today when–no, he wouldn’t follow that train of thought. Besides, he hadn’t been hurt. His truck hadn’t even gotten a scratch. If Haley had been with him, she’d have been okay.
But she’d have seen the accident. She’d have known he was partly responsible.
Or was he? He’d been careful. He’d known he had the room to merge. It wasn’t his fault if other drivers on the road didn’t pay attention.
That’s right. It was the other drivers.
The indecisive idiot in the red Honda. The tailgater in the Cherokee. The driver in the Outback, who had probably been on his cell or something.
But still. Haley would have been scared to see something like that. Thoughts of what could have happened if she’d been with him sapped the joy he usually had with her.
Great. Now the idiot driver in the Honda was ruining his time with his daughter.
“Frigging timid drivers,” he muttered.
“Da-ad, mom says you’re not supposed to say that word.”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Sorry, hon.”
“S’okay,” she said with a shrug.
He vowed to watch his language for the next forty-eight hours. He also vowed to be more wary of idiots on the road. He had precious cargo to protect. “Ready to roll?”