Chapter 4

I should have called an Uber. I’m not so far gone that I can’t acknowledge that. But right now, I need to be the person driving. The one at the steering wheel, the one charting my course. I’m simply not in the right frame of mind to be a passenger.

I’m fuming. Dark, twisted visions spiral feverishly through my brain. Instead of the road, I see myself, this sad, pathetic fool of a woman. Trying and failing for months to seduce her own husband. Worrying she’s been too cold toward him. Agonizing over how to better meet his needs. And meanwhile, he’s been off screwing half the women in town.

I see Peggy, and her clumsy, conspiratorial gesture at school today. “So glad you’re making time for your marriage”—ugh! Fucking bitch.

And, I see my husband’s insufferable face. His nauseating contrition; his infuriating expectations for forgiveness; his subliminal, self-pitying air of ‘oh I had my reasons,’ and ‘a more understanding wife wouldn’t bust my balls so hard about it.’

I feel like if I drive fast enough, aggressively enough, I might be able to purge myself of all this anger and toxicity. Traffic is light, thank goodness. Still, the night is dark, and my eyes are blurred with tears, and the car keeps veering from one side of the road to the other ... But I just don’t care. I don’t. I don’t care.

And then it happens. All the years I’ve lived here that sharp curve on Holyoake drive has been banked wrong. They never fix it. And tonight I take it too fast, and just like that—wham! crunch!—my head is spinning, and the car is careening through the guardrail, and the grille is nose-diving into the gully beyond.

Everything comes to a sudden, jarring, crashing halt. The airbag deploys and my face whomps into it good. After that, the scene turns eerily quiet—motor stalled, car motionless, night noises temporarily stilled. The only sound is the frantic, thundering drumbeat of blood pounding in my ears.

My limbs shake violently as I try to extract myself from the car. I can’t elbow the driver’s door open more than a few inches, but I’m able to scoot across and get out the passenger side. The dome light is still working, and one of the headlamps as well, so that it’s dimly possible to survey the damage. I was lucky, I know that. The embankment at the side of the road has some slope to it, and the drop is less than ten feet. But the Honda is a mess—left side badly scraped and dented, hood all crumpled in.

I slump down against the fender, trying to breathe, cradling my face in my hands. And this, at last, is when it all comes pouring out.

I’m bawling, unattractively, unrestrainedly. The tears pour in rivulets down my cheeks. I’m mourning my marriage, and the death of the special thing Mike and I had together. I’m mourning my dignity, as I think about all the Peggys out there, laughing behind my back. I’m mourning my car. We’ve got a $3,000 deductible—how can we afford to fix it? And how can I admit to Mike that I’ve been so stupid and irresponsible? I’d rather die than give him the satisfaction.

Nonsensically, I even find myself mourning my makeup, which must be utterly ruined. I so rarely get to dress up.

Suddenly there’s a shout. “Hey! You need help?” I see the outline of a dark form up by the shattered barrier. I choke down my blubbering with some difficulty; but I’m still too dazed and overwhelmed to respond. After a moment the figure scrambles down the slope.

My eyes are dazzled by the glare of a flashlight. “Are you all right, ma’am?” Then, surprised, “Mrs. Tanner, is that you?”

Oh my lord, it’s the kid from next door, Kyle. This day just keeps getting better.

Trying to pull myself together and look like a respectable neighbor lady, I sniff and wipe my eyes, tugging the hem of my dress down closer to my knees. Then, after swallowing the glob of tears in my throat, I’m able to speak. “Kyle, what a surprise. I’m fine. Went around the bend too fast I guess...”

It’s only as I say it that I realize he’ll definitely be able to smell the alcohol on my breath.

Kyle leans back on his heels and runs the light over the car, letting out a whistle. Not a good kind of whistle. Next he scans the ravine, before apparently reaching a decision. “You’re in luck, Mrs. Tanner. I was just returning from my last call of the day. Taking my rig back to the shop. I think I can get you out all right.”

Maybe it’s the liquor or the shock, but I’m not following him. “Your ... rig?”

“Yeah, my truck. I can winch you up the slope. And I don’t think the guardrail will be a problem. Then I’ll tow you back to the shop. Uh, unless you’d rather I take it somewhere else.”

Now that he mentions it, I can see he’s wearing some kind of work overalls. And, peering closer, I make out ‘Jefferson Auto Body’ embroidered on the lapel. That’s very likely a clue. I guess I’d vaguely known Kyle had graduated high school, and assumed he’d probably be off to college soon or something. But perhaps he’s chosen the vocational route.

I just want him to go away. I don’t want to be viewed by someone who knows me right now. Not with my mottled face, and disheveled hair, and battered car, and wrecked life. “It’s very thoughtful, Kyle, but there’s no need. Not if you’re going off duty. I’ll call AAA.”

He shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Thing is, Mrs. Tanner-”

“Please, call me Jessie.”

“Je- ma’am, I think it’s best we get you and your car out of here ASAP. You, um ... well, you don’t want to waste a bunch of time answering questions, right? I mean, if a cruiser were to come swinging by here, say...”

An abrupt, icy chill gushes through my veins. Fuck, that never occurred to me. Any cop who happens along will take one look at me and whip out the breathalyzer. And it’s my understanding that there’s zero-tolerance for DUIs these days. Mandatory jail time.

“If you’re sure it’s not a problem, Kyle.”

I’m in the cab with Kyle, heading over to Jefferson Auto Body. The darkness between us forms a warm, safe, silken cocoon, floating easily atop the foundational hum of the engine.

I’ve known Kyle since he was probably ten or so. Never once in that time has he really entered my consciousness in any deep way. Just one of the kids on the street. Nice enough, as far as I could tell. Always polite. Never tossed baseballs through our windows, or candy wrappers in the gutter. I recall that he cut our lawn for several summers, and proved more dependable than your average teenage boy.

Tonight, however, he’s my shining knight. The expertise he displayed in plucking my car from the drainage ditch left me in awe. He made it look easy, but I know it was anything but. I mean, I’m being silly, right? That sort of basic practical competency isn’t so very impressive, is it? And yet, in the white-collar circles I frequent, surprisingly few men seem to possess such skills. Mike certainly doesn’t.

And it’s more than that too. For one thing, Kyle—well, he showed up. He was the right person at the right time. I know it was only one-in-a-million dumb luck. But he made some of that luck himself, didn’t he? By being the kind of person to notice a broken guardrail, and then stop and render aid. The kind of person to extend a helping hand even when off duty, merely from a generous and neighborly spirit. He certainly rescued me from having a disastrous run-in with the authorities.

Plus there’s another thing that’s striking about this young man, which is ... exactly when did he become a man? He’s gotten tall now—splendidly tall. Somehow I never noticed it happen. And not tall in a gawky teenager way, either. Those coveralls are hardly flattering, but they can’t hide that he’s filled out, with wide, masculine shoulders, and thick, capable forearms below his rolled-up sleeves. Any trace of high-school acne seems long gone—skin perfectly clear, with a dusky hint of five-o-clock shadow. And then, oh yes, those dark, lively, earnest eyes.

Mmmmhhh. The upshot is that when I glance over at Kyle right now, there’s a tender, fuzzy halo suffused all around him. And I don’t think it’s merely because I’m so sloshed...

The shop is dark and locked, so he pulls around out back to let my car down. That’s where his pickup truck is parked too. “I’ll tell the guys to have a look at it in the morning. We should be able to get you an estimate by end of day. But if you decide on some other place, I’ll haul it there free of charge.”