Where We Meet Again

by Wilson, A. M.

  The flashing lights from the police cars already on scene illuminate the road. The crash is a two-vehicle accident on highway 31 leading out of Arrow Creek. Traffic backs up as the officers close the stretch of highway and redirect cars coming through. Nathan has to drive us around and up an exit ramp to park us close, adding to the organized fleet of emergency vehicles.

  From what I can see, an eighteen-wheeler parks a quarter mile up the road with hazard lights on. A single, white Ford Escort faces south in the northbound lane, having spun in the crash. Pieces of the car’s front end scatter across the road, and the parts left attached are crumpled, twisted metal. Fragments litter the concrete.

  En route, they informed us of three victims—the truck driver and the driver and passenger of the car.

  The truck driver stands outside of his cab, lifting his cap and running a hand over his hair repeatedly. He places the hat back on only to lift it up again seconds later.

  A young male sits on the shoulder of the highway with a police officer, and the driver of the Ford, an older woman, remains in the vehicle.

  “I’m going to the car. You go check out the kid.”

  Nathan nods and takes off in that direction, and I approach the totaled vehicle.

  “Ma’am, my name is Cami and I’m a paramedic. Can you tell me your name?”

  Her eyes are open, though wide with fright. Her chest rises with quick, shallow breaths. When I speak to her, she moves her eyes in my direction. That’s a good sign. She’s responsive.

  “Cecilia.” Her soft voice trembles. “We were going to dinner, m-my son and m-m-me. Where is he? I can’t turn my head. This man is hurting me.” Her eyes dart frantically.

  “Cecilia. Look at me.”

  Her gaze shoots to mine. I hold her eyes and keep my voice steady. “Your son is being looked at by my partner, Nathan. He’s really good at his job. You can see him soon. There’s a police officer holding your head steady. I need you to hold still and not move. You could have a neck injury. I’m going to put this around your neck.” I hold up the c-collar for her to see. Most people have seen these before, but that doesn’t make wearing one any less frightening. “It’ll help hold your neck still, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Hold still and don’t try to help us. We’ll get it on you.”

  She does as I ask and doesn’t move.

  “You’re doing great, Cecelia. I’m going to listen to your lungs and check your pulse, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispers as some fear drains away.

  The firefighters arrive on scene, ready to help lift her out of here. I unwind my stethoscope and listen to her breathing. It’s fast, but her lungs sound clear. I reach my arm through the driver’s side window and place my fingers on her wrist. Pulse is strong.

  As I pull my hand back, she latches onto my forearm with a firm grip.

  “Please don’t leave me.”

  I twist my arm so I can squeeze her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get you out and take you to the hospital. I need to back up so the firefighters can get you out, but I’m not leaving. I’ll be close by the entire time.”

  “What are they going to do with me?” Her lips quiver as she speaks.

  “We want to be careful with your spine, so they’re going to place you on a long, hard board to keep it steady. I don’t want you to help at all, unless you’re told to, okay? You let them move you. I promise they’re all big and strong. You hang tight, and you’ll be out of there in no time.”

  The officer in the car with her talks to her, so I run back to our truck for the long board. The tow truck arrives as I’m on my way back, and I wait to let it pass. A crowd gathers on the side of the road as passersby step out of their cars to watch the scene unfold. I roll my eyes at the amount of cell phones snapping photos and most likely recording videos. Nothing is private in this world of technology.

  A familiar truck parked in the chaotic line of cars catches my eye. My stomach squeezes and my heart leaps into my throat. Directly across from my ambulance is Law.

  And the bastard isn’t alone.

  I am grateful he isn’t one of the curious idiots standing on the side of the road with his arm wrapped around the woman beside him, keeping her warm from the cold as they look on at another person’s misfortune. The thought flits from my mind as the jealousy invades and forces it out. My job calls, but I’m having trouble tearing my eyes away from the big-haired blonde sitting in his front passenger seat.

  As if he feels my eyes, his head turns in my direction. The only indication he gives to my existence. His eyes don’t flash; he doesn’t smile or wave. To him, I’m any other emergency person at the scene of an inconvenient crash.

  Turning on a booted heel, I jog back over to the white Ford. With the help of the firefighters, we get Cecilia out of her vehicle, onto the longboard, and strapped to the gurney.

  “Here comes your son, Cecilia. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

  “Thank you.” She holds out her hand, and I give it a reassuring squeeze.

  Nathan arrives with her son, who has a large bandage taped to his forehead, and together we get them in the back of the ambulance. The hospital is less than five minutes from the accident location, so we have them there in no time at all.

  I’m silent on the drive back to the garage. A little sad, but mostly trying to remain strong. Seeing Law with another woman has been a possibility in the back of my mind, but I didn’t think it’d happen now. The man kissed me just yesterday. Here I thought we had time to work things out between us. I guess I was wrong.

  Nathan parks in the garage, and after cleaning the back of the ambulance, we head inside.

  “You hungry? I could make you something to eat.”

  “I’m good. I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit. I didn’t sleep well last night, and if it’s busy tonight, I want to be well rested.”

  Concern flits across his face, and he grips the countertop. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yep. Don’t worry, I’m just tired.”

  One hand leaves the counter to scrub the back of his neck. “You want some company?”

  Is he asking what I think he is?

  The question must show on my face, because his blanches in response. He waves both his palms at me. “No, that’s not what I meant. Just friendly company. Nothing more.”

  To save him from himself, I throw him a lifeline. “Company would be nice. But if you turn on the TV, you better keep the volume down. I want to sleep.”

  He catches up to me and nudges my shoulder. “Then I won’t be able to hear over your snoring.”

  “I do not snore.”

  His teeth sink into his lower lip, and his eyebrows raise. “You do. You snore like a lion with a sore throat.”

  “Keep it up, and I won’t let you watch TV at all. And I’ll eat that piece of cherry pie you left in the fridge.”

  “Okay, okay, truce. Just don’t hurt the pie.”

  “You’re a dork.” I slip off my radio and curl into the couch cushion. Nathan sits in the leather recliner by my head.

  “You’re adorable.”

  I huff but don’t argue. The last thing I need tonight is another conversation about the non-relationship between the two of us. A nap is on the agenda.

  While Nathan watches TV, I do just that.

  Luck is on my side; the night is slow. I catch up on sleep and somehow keep Law from appearing in my dreams.

  * * *

  “I have to know the details. How have you been holding out on me for so long?”

  “I haven’t been. We’ve both been busy.”

  Kiersten glares at me over the rim of her wineglass. She swirls the dry red before draining it. “That’s crap and you know it.”

  I slide the bottle toward her with the side of my arm since my fingers look like chocolate drizzled pretzels. “You’re wrong. The only reason it feels like I’ve been holding out is–ˮ

  “Because you have bee
n!

  “Is because I have something interesting happening in my life and you’re impatient, is what I was going to say,” I grumble, pulling another piece of wax paper toward me.

  Kiersten watches the excess chocolate drip from the peanut butter Ritz sandwich she’s dipping. “That may be true, however, it doesn’t excuse the fact you didn’t tell me right away, busy or not. You could have called me. I would have driven through a freakin’ blizzard to hear you spill the deets on sex with that hottie.”

  Chocolate splatters on my cheeks. The cookie I dipped slips back into the bowl.

  “Are you a teenager? I swear, you’re a teenager.”

  “Why?”

  “Because who talks like that? Please stop before you refer to him as sex-on-a-stick.”

  “I was going to say I wouldn’t mind a good jean-jerking with him.”

  “You’re outrageous. What the hell is jean-jerking?”

  “Oh, my dear sweet Cami. Your innocence astounds me.”

  A chocolate-covered fork flies in her direction. “Drink your damn wine.”

  “Jean-jerking is like dry humping.”

  “So why not just say dry humping?” I lick the red wine from my lips. “Ugh. I don’t know why I’m even participating in this conversation.”

  “This is why I wish you’d go on more dates. You get so flustered over the smallest sex talk.”

  “I do not.” I mumble around the rim of my glass.

  The oven alarm sounds, saving me from this conversation. The first batch of sugar cookies is done. I swap them out for the raw dough and place the cookie sheet on the stove grates to cool.

  Kiersten and I are having our annual Christmas cookie bake-a-thon. Really, it’s an excuse to drink wine and unwind. We started the tradition when Evelyn was five and I hadn’t had a single day without her since she was born.

  I worked so much that I felt guilty getting a babysitter, and even if I found someone to watch her, I didn’t have friends to hang out with. Once Kiersten entered my life, she took pity on my lack of social life and found me some kid-free time.

  That morphed into her becoming Aunt Kiersten, and she took Evelyn off my hands whenever I needed a break. I owe so much of my sanity to her, but I mostly just pay her in free alcohol.

  “You do.” She picks up the conversation where I hoped it stayed dropped. “Which I get. It’d be nice to see you try, though. You’re wasting a beautiful person on a life of loneliness.”

  “I’m going to try.” I keep my eyes trained on the sugar cookies I transfer to the cooling rack.

  “Wait, what?”

  I shrug. “I said I’d try. This thing with Law is whatever the hell it is. Only time will tell. On the chance it doesn’t amount to anything, I’m going to remain open to dating. I won’t shut down and self-destruct.”

  Kiersten squeals. “Oh, I can’t freakin’ wait to hear all your dating adventures. I’m open to hanging with Evelyn whenever you want to go out. Except, of course, if I have a date.”

  “Which is basically every weekend.”

  We grin at one another.

  “Are you really happy, though? If things with Law don’t develop any further.”

  “I’m about ready to kiss that possibility goodbye. I saw him around town with a woman in his truck. We haven’t talked in a while. We had this amazing, mind blowing sex and then… nothing. Not even a text.” The oven timer beeps again, so I move in that direction. “Seeing him again has been good, though. There’s some closure. And I am happy.”

  She eyes me skeptically and pops a chocolate-covered pretzel into her mouth.

  “I am. My life here with Evelyn… It’s more than I could have ever dreamed it’d be. What’s there to not be happy about?” I choose a white chocolate dipped pirouette cookie and bite off the end.

  “You deserve to have it all,” she says soberly.

  “With you and Ev, I already feel like I do.”

  “Okay, enough of the sappy. More wine!” Kiersten declares, topping off both of our glasses.

  I wash down the cookie I just devoured and set my glass down on the counter.

  “Just so you know…” Kiersten starts. I lift my eyes to hers. “When we go out next Friday for New Year’s, you’re going to find someone. I don’t care who, but if you leave that bar without at least a phone number, I’m going to be pissed.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug and smile. “But, I refuse to force it.”

  “I’ll force it.”

  Attempting to keep her calm, I pick up my glass and reply, “Okay, Kiersten.”

  18

  “Bye honey. Be good for Lori. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Evelyn rolls her eyes at my endearment but wraps her arms around my waist. “I will, Mom. Have fun with Aunt K and happy early new year.”

  I kiss her soft cheek and run my fingers through her auburn hair that now falls below her waist in soft waves. It flies wildly behind her as she jogs down the steps and climbs into the backseat of Lori’s black sedan where Maggie is waving.

  “Call me if you need anything at all.”

  Lori turns at the sound of my voice from where she also watches our girls. “It’s crazy how much they’ve grown up, isn’t it?” She tucks a short lock of blond hair behind her heavily pierced ear. “I couldn’t believe it at first when Maggie asked to stay in a hotel over break for her birthday. What happened to having a regular sleepover and playing with dolls?”

  I laugh. “No kidding. You’re brave for hosting a big co-ed party at a pool. You’ll have to let me know how many dad’s stick around to monitor those boys around their daughters.”

  “Something tells me it’s not the boys I have to worry about.” She makes a face of mock horror, and we both chuckle.

  “That’s because we were both once fourteen-year-old girls. Once they notice the boys, it’s all over. Teenage drama train full speed ahead.”

  She sighs and readjusts the strap of her purse. “I better get going. There’s a snowstorm coming in late tonight, and I know Mags is eager to get there.”

  “God speed, woman. I owe you a drink once this is all over.”

  “Bye. Have fun tonight.”

  “You too.” I watch her climb into the driver’s seat.

  Call it a side effect of parenting, but it never gets easier letting Evelyn go away without me. I didn’t have the typical experience of family sleepovers when she was a baby, but I did have to leave her with a sitter over night for my job starting when she was around four. The beginning of those nights were the cruelest form of torture. It took a solid month for me to have some semblance of calm at work, knowing she was at someone else’s house overnight, wondering if she woke up from a bad dream or wanted to crawl into my bed just to snuggle only to find I wasn’t even there.

  Would she cry for me?

  Would she think I abandoned her?

  She’s a teenager now, and I still wonder if she ever misses me while she’s gone, and if she knows she can always come home if she wants. I remind her of it frequently. When she goes to college, I’m going to be a complete mess.

  I wave until they’re out of sight, then meander out of the winter chill to get ready.

  It’s the night before New Year’s Eve, which means I need to pull out every piece of machinery in my beauty arsenal. This is the one night of the year I go full out. Styled hair, heavy makeup, expensive short dress, pencil-thin heels, and accessories up the wazoo. Drinks will be plentiful, and there’ll be no shortage of entertainment. I’m looking forward to this.

  My master bath turns into beauty salon times one hundred. The moss-green countertops are covered in lotions, powders, creams, tubes, bottles, brushes, clips, combs, bobby pins, elastics, sprays, and so on and so forth. A curling wand, straightener, and big barrel curling iron are all plugged in. I’m dressed in only a towel, and having just finished shaving all parts that need to be shaved, I reach for the lotion.

  I’m smooth, soft, and exfoliated. Time to get dressed.

  Turni
ng thirty must have messed with my head, because I went all out this year when picking out my dress. It’s the textbook definition of LBD. Little black dress. Short, black, and strappy with an open back, triangle cutouts beneath my breasts, and spaghetti thin straps that tie around mid-back. I have a cute little jacket to go with it for standing outside.

  The shoes are even better. High, like I’ll be lucky if I don’t break my neck high, with an open toe and an open heel. They lace up the front and tie around the ankle, and the front has cutouts going up the foot. They are gorgeous and match the dress perfectly.

  Evelyn and I had mani-pedis the day before, and I’d gone with fire engine red. I would have done French tips for my fingers, but I can’t do my job with long nails. This will do and adds a pop of color to my outfit.

  I slither myself into the tight dress and tie it behind my back. Then I move on to hair and makeup.

  Big and dark is the theme for the evening. Winged liner, smoky eye in purples and grays, cut crease, I even add a shimmering highlight to my contour. Mauve, matte lipstick goes on last. I transform my hair into a mass of big, wavy curls that I leave twisted down my back.

  My phone rings from somewhere within the sea of makeup. I find it beneath a bag of brushes. Kiersten flashes across the screen.

  “Hey, I’m almost ready.”

  “Rock on, bitch! I’m standing on your porch, and it’s freezing out here.”

  “Where’s your key?” I walk down the hall to let her in.

  “On my key ring. I just didn’t want to barge in. You’re unpredictable these days. Who knows who you’re hiding in there.”

  The deadbolt clicks, and I swing the door open. “Who I’m hiding in here? Good god, do you ever think about anything other than sex?” I tap the red ‘end call’ button with my thumb and step back to let her in.

  The chill from the late December winter blows across all my exposed skin. The air so cold that it almost burns.