What you need to know:
Jennifer, while driving Fran home just before sunset, has been hit by an oncoming car. T-boned. This second near-death experience becomes a sharp wake-up call. She must make decisions but has run out of ideas…what can she do now?
Chapter Fifteen
Sleep Over
The paperwork is done. The cops gone.
Next to Frank’s fancy BMW, we stand together in the vacant lot.
Frank is slightly taller than Fran, built low to the ground, like a wrestler. Fair complexion. Thinning hair. He’s the kind of guy I think of as steady, solid.
Simon, her son from her first marriage, is a tall, thin kid with angular features. A dark swath of hair parted on the side.
“I’m going call a cab…” I say to this happy family that belongs to Fran. That I envy. That I want for myself and yet cannot seem to create for myself. As if I’m not miserable and sad, I dig my phone out of my purse. “…and get a hotel.”
“What? No way,” Fran says. “You’re coming home with us.”
“Of course you are,” Frank says.
“Jeez, it’s not even a question,” Simon says.
“She can stay in Mae’s room,” Fran says as if it’s all decided.
I look at them looking at me, swallow the thickness in my throat because I know this charity on their part. The last thing they want is me mixed into their perfect life. “I knew this might happen—that Rick would flake out—” I say, full of confidence I don’t feel. “I packed a bag half expecting I’d get a hotel.”
“You packed a bag?” Fran asks, incredulous now. “When?”
“Earlier,” I say. “Before I picked you up.”
“You never said…well, whatever,” Fran says, waving me off. “You cannot be alone tonight. You could have internal bleeding.”
Frank shoves his hands into his pockets, juggles change and keys. “She’s right,” he says. Frank’s the director of several emergency clinics in Portland. Or an administrator. I’m not sure.
“Go. Go get her bag,” Fran says to Frank, as if it is now settled and slaps his shoulder.
“I’ll do it,” Simon says. Like a greyhound after a rabbit, Simon darts to the tow truck. My crushed SUV is cranked onto the platform with a hard clanking sound. The driver stops the action, gives Simon a thumbs up. Simon vaults onto the back of the platform, opens the rear hatch, grabs my bag. He turns, hops down to the street again, hoists it over his head like a prize.
“See. There you go,” Fran says. “We’ve got you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says.
Frank opens the trunk of his car.
Simon drops my bag inside.
It is icy cold in Frank’s fancy BMW where I sit in the back with Simon feeling every bit a little kid. The sun set an hour ago, but the sky remains light. The West Hills outlined by a fading orange glow.
Simon sits forward between the seats, talks to Frank and Fran, says how weird it is that the accident happened on the tenth anniversary of 9-11.
“I mean, that’s wild,” Simon says. “It’s like an omen or something.”
He’s twenty-two? Twenty-three? That bursting energy of youth. The amazement about everything.
I lay my head back, close my eyes. Think. Think. Think. I need to call the insurance company, file a claim, figure out a rental to cover me for a few days. There’s also Rick to deal with because we co-own the SUV. That’s going to be a total hassle.
Mae’s bedroom is equestrian central: Horse quilt on the bed. Horsey drapes. An English-style leather saddle in the corner. A riding crop on the desk. Every imaginable horse figurine, too. Palomino, Morgan, Arabian. I study photos of Mae on various horses that have ribbons dangling from their bridals. She smiles proudly. Looks just like Frank. She’s off at college studying to be a veterinarian.
“Make yourself at home,” Fran says.
Simon hauls in my bag, tosses it onto a horsey chair.
“There you go,” he says, then stands there looking from me to his mom, back to me again. “I’m glad you guys are okay. That was a close call.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Thanks, honey,” Fran says.
Simon backs out of the room, thuds down the steps. His deep voice mixes with Frank’s. Then Frank calls up.
“Honey?” he says. “We’re going to finish watching the game. Is that good?”
“Fine,” Fran says over her shoulder, turns back to me, a slight roll of her eyes. “The Trailblazers. They’re obsessed.”
Her house is fancy, fancy, with a view of the river, the city, the mountains.
“Take a shower,” Fran says. “I’ll leave you towels. Then come down. We’ll figure things out.”
I sit on the horsey bed, take up a pink stuffed unicorn, juggle it between my hands.
“Why is it so hard to pack a few boxes?” I ask her, as if she understands Rick.
The sounds from the TV rise. The whistle of a referee. The roar of fans.
“Maybe you should tell him about the crash?” she asks. “Maybe this can bring you guys back together. Things like this…a crisis…”
I look at her in the same way she looked at me earlier. Incredulous. I cannot believe she would think I would want him back now. I toss the stuffed animal aside. “I’ll text him later,” I say. “I can’t deal with him right now.”
A blow horn sounds. The frenetic rise of music and announcer voices. Fran seems about to say something but a flicker of pain passes over her features. “I’m going to need some Ibuprofen. And ice.”
“I’m so sorry, Fran.”
She holds to the doorframe, perplexed. “Why are you sorry?”
I open my now empty hands. “I just am.”
She takes the knob of Mae’s door. “An hour,” she says, tugs the door closed. “Then I’ll see you downstairs.”
Steve is right. I am sore all over. My right arm aches into the bone. I have to prop my elbow against the wall in the shower to support my arm enough to wash my hair. Once out, I stand before the misted mirror. Down my chest and over my hip, a map of angry dark bruises.
In sweats, I navigate a set of narrow stairs to the TV room; a low-ceilinged basement space furnished with a massive sectional and a big-screen TV. At the far corner, Fran leans into Frank, eyes closed, like she’s asleep. Frank looks at her again and again, concern etched into his stoic features. Simon, sitting on the floor, is fixed on the game.
The last step squeaks and I ease to sit on the far end of the sofa.
Fran and Frank have been my friends for a couple of years but I’ve never sat with them, dressed for bed, and watched TV. It’s weird. Disorienting. I’m utterly dependent on them right now—me, who depends on no one.
Fran opens her eyes, pushes away from Frank. Blinks.
While the guys continue to watch the game, Fran and I discuss what will happen in the morning, how we’ll go to one of Frank’s clinics for exams, call our insurance companies, find a reasonable accident attorney, replace my car.
Eventually, the game ends. Simon heads to bed while the three of us remain and watch the news. Obama calls for a new jobs plan. Romney wins a straw poll in Michigan. The Senate meets to pass a funding bill to keep the government running.
In the midst of this, I finally text Rick.
As I predicted, my phone explodes. He wants to see me. Wants to see the car. Wants to help.
“No. No. No,” I text back. “Just let me know when you are gone.”
Fran, leaned against Frank again, breathes heavily with sleep.
I push off the sofa. Whisper goodnight to Frank.
“See you in the morning,” he says, voice low. Glances at Fran for a moment, then at the TV.
Lying in Mae’s now darkened room, every sound catches my attention. The wind blowing against the house. The rumble of the occasional airplane passing overhead. The crickets.
After a long time of this, I drift back to the accident, replaying every detail of what happened to the moment of impact.
What did I say to Fran right before we were hit? Something is seriously off about me.
That is it.
That is the core.
All this time, I’ve thought it was Rick. Before him, I thought it was Steve who seemed to bring out the worst in me leading to fight after fight. But it’s me. Something is fundamentally flawed in my choices. I need to change. I must change. But I’ve done everything I know to how to do, I’ve tried and tried and tried.
Outside, the chop-chop sound of the blades of a helicopter passing overhead. A Life Flight perhaps, carrying a less fortunate accident victim to a nearby hospital.
The sound fades.
The wind presses against the house.
The timbers creak.
I lay there, wide awake.
I don’t know it at the time but this is the beginning of a very slow conversion that will take years to finally ripen into a full realization—a necessary one—where I understand that something much larger is in charge of me, my life, my destiny. Buddhism has been great, but all my studies of that system is like pre-school compared to the awakening that begins with the understanding that I am now at the end of my capacities. I need help. Transformative help. Life-changing help. And that if I don’t get this help, and soon, I’m going to be the one on the Life Flight, or worse, I’ll be dead.
It’s a moment of pure surrender to that which is higher than myself. “What now?” I ask the darkness, almost like a prayer. “What do I do now?”
Next:
Chapter Sixteen: Ambulance Chaser
It’s time to meet with an accident attorney to discuss the car wreck and while it seems things cannot get worse, they do as Fran goes cool and quits working at Jennifer’s fledgling school.