His, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  “You’ve been e-mailing all that time? Do you ever see her?”

  I shook my head. “The therapeutic riding program was in the Kootenays. Kids came from all over. She lives in a small town in northern Alberta. So no, I haven’t seen her since then but we e-mail every week or so.” In fact, Anna was the main reason I checked e-mail.

  “Sounds like you’re pretty close.”

  I nodded, gave a quick grin. “We get along better than my sisters and I do.”

  “Maybe because you’re not her sister; you’re more of a mentor.”

  “A mentor? Me?” I was hardly typical mentor material. “No, just a good friend.”

  “Hmm.” After a moment, he said, “Any news from your family?”

  “Seems everyone back home’s in love.” I wrinkled my nose. “It’s like there’s an epidemic.”

  “Epidemic refers to a disease.”

  “Yes, Science Guy, I know that.”

  He laughed. Then, tentatively, “I asked you before how you felt about love, and you said you don’t do serious. So does that mean you don’t believe in love at all?”

  “Like I said, our species isn’t designed to be monogamous. So what’s the point?”

  “You mean, you think your sisters’ relationships are doomed? And what about your parents? From what you said, they’re happy together. My grandparents too, and they’ve been married fifty years.”

  “Okay, I guess for some people—really conventional ones—it works. My parents, your grandparents. Maybe it will for my sisters, at least for a while.” M&M had been together for almost fifteen years now … “Maybe if both people want it badly enough, they can commit to fidelity, to the long term.” When I’d been young, I’d believed in that ideal. Then I’d realized I was being naïve. I’d formed a new philosophy of life, and it hadn’t let me down.

  “It’s a waste, though, don’t you think?” I went on. “There’s so much else in life to experience. It’d be like … Okay, blue’s my favorite color. But do I want to spend the rest of my life only wearing blue?” Or being with Milos, or Carlos, or any other of the men I’d hooked up with? If I’d stuck with one of them, I wouldn’t be with Mark now.

  “People are more complex and interesting than colors.”

  “There are a lot of shades of blue,” I countered.

  His lips twisted in a quick smile. “Have you ever been in love, Jenna?”

  I’d created a monster. When I met him, I had to poke and prod to get him to talk. Now he was interrogating me, reminding me of my mom again.

  “Once I thought I was,” I said lightly. “My bad.”

  “What happened?”

  “I gave fidelity a try. He didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. I can see how that would make you cynical.”

  “Not cynical. Realistic.”

  “Hmm. How old were you?”

  “Seventeen. Why?”

  “A high school boyfriend?”

  “What is this, twenty questions?”

  “No, it’s called conversation.”

  I chuckled as he deliberately echoed the words I’d tossed at him yesterday. “Touché.” I’d tell him the basics. “Okay. I was in grade eleven when I met Travis. He was twenty, a dropout. Sexy, exciting. In June, some of his friends were hanging out in Kelowna, and he asked me to go along. The idea was, we’d goof off, go to the beach, party. My parents would never have let me go, so I kinda ran away from home. I did tell them I was okay, and I sent a couple postcards from other towns because I didn’t want them to worry or send the cops after me.”

  “Like they wouldn’t worry. Jesus, Jenna, you were seventeen.”

  “Seventeen and rebellious. At home, it was rules, criticism, curfews.” I stared out the windshield. “I loved Travis. He said he loved me. I had crazy, romantic illusions about love.”

  “You had romantic illusions about the wrong guy. Not about love. You said he cheated on you. Seems to me, if one person loves another, they have no desire to have sex with anyone else.”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be so conventional. Having sex doesn’t make you blind. You see other people, you’re attracted, why wouldn’t you have sex with them? Why tie yourself down.”

  “Is that Travis speaking, or you?”

  “It’s me! I’ve always …” Shit. “Okay, maybe he said stuff like that, but he was right.”

  “He was twenty. Ruled by his little head not his big one.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I snapped, “now you’re saying I’m immature because I’ll date more than one guy at the same time.”

  “I’m saying, if you met a man you loved, you wouldn’t want to date anyone else.”

  “So now you’re the big expert on love?” I taunted. “Have you ever even been in love?”

  He turned his head, sent me an assessing look, then stared back at the road. “Maybe not. But I’d like to think that, while love doesn’t turn you blind to other people, you wouldn’t follow through on any attraction you felt. Because you have something better, and deeper, with the person you’re in love with. You want to build something with them, and if you keep getting distracted by other people, that’s not going to happen. It’ll only ever be superficial.”

  I knew he was using you in the general sense, not meaning me, personally. Still, his phrasing reminded me that I’d once dreamed of finding that kind of love.

  But that was long ago, and I was no longer that girl. Quietly, I said, “Maybe that works for some people. Maybe it will for you. But me, I like variety. I like to experience lots of people and things.”

  “But never truly invest in any of them.”

  “Maybe I don’t have a lot to invest,” I retorted, stung into repeating one of the criticisms I’d heard from my family.

  “I think you do.”

  The certainty in his voice touched me, but also annoyed me. “Mark, you sound like my family. Don’t you get that I don’t want to be like everyone else, with traditional goals and a boring, conventional life?”

  Mark frowned as he watched the road ahead. They’d come out by the ocean again, so the view was great, but the Smart Car in front of him was poking along way below the speed limit. The Westfalia didn’t have a lot of get up and go, but if he could find an opportunity to pass, he’d take it.

  He wished he had as clear an idea of where to take this conversation. Jenna was an adult and seemed perfectly happy being footloose and fancy free. Yeah, he guessed he did get that. He just didn’t particularly like it.

  Yeah, he had feelings for Jenna. Or at least he could. But not if she continued to live life the way she was doing, flitting here and there without ever committing to anyone or anything. She had a right to be that way, but it wasn’t a lifestyle he respected. And he sure as hell couldn’t love a woman who needed to screw other guys.

  Was there any hope she’d change?

  A flicker of motion in the rearview mirror caught his attention and then—“Shit!” A black sports car flashed by on the left, going way too fast, a guy with spiky black hair driving, no passengers. Rather than tucking in ahead of the Westfalia, it blew on by the Smart Car too, cutting sharply in front of it with a squeal of tires to avoid an oncoming SUV.

  Automatically, Mark braked even before the Smart Car’s brake lights came on and it jerked almost to a stop.

  Checking the rear view to make sure no one else was coming, he accelerated again and passed the small car.

  “Jeez.” Jenna, who’d been holding her cardboard tea container, rubbed a splash of spilled tea from her thigh. “That guy’s insane. He’s going to cause an accident.”

  “We should report him before he does. I didn’t catch his plate number, did you?”

  “It happened too fast.” Hurriedly, she drained the last of her tea and set the empty cup on the floor, then rustled around in her big bag and came out with her cell. “Oops, it’s dead. It’s an old one and the batteries run down quickly.”

  “Use mine.” His was plugged into the battery charger on the dash. />
  “Where are we?” she asked as she opened the phone. “On the 101, but …”

  “Almost to the Oregon border.”

  She made the call, describing the vehicle and their location, then closed the phone. “They ought to take his license away and—”

  A horrendous sound—squealing, crashing, crunching—shattered the peaceful morning. “Goddamn!” A flood of adrenaline had him pushing the gas pedal to the floor on this straight stretch.

  “Oh my God, Mark. That sounded bad!”

  He crested a slight hill, slowed to take a corner, then cursed again at the sight before him. His brain took in the whole picture at once, and he realized what had happened.

  The speeder had tried to pass again, an old red Toyota in this case. But an oncoming pickup truck had been too close, or approaching too fast. When the black sports car cut in front of the Toyota, the speeding driver miscalculated or maybe skidded, and smashed into the driver’s side of the Toyota. Then the truck smashed into the speeder’s car, almost squashing the sports car between the truck and the Toyota. The three vehicles blocked the entire road in a huge mess of mangled metal.

  Mark jerked the Westfalia off onto the shoulder. “Call 911!” The moment the camper came to a stop, he was out and running, taking inventory as he approached the scene.

  A gray-haired woman emerged from the passenger side of the Toyota, legs wobbly, clutching the door frame for support. The driver of the truck was pinned by an airbag. Mark couldn’t even see the drivers of the Toyota and the sports car, the two vehicles were so mangled.

  As he ran up, the woman, still clinging to the door, tears pouring down her face, screamed, “My husband’s in there. Help him!”

  “I will.” He took her by the shoulder, noticing glazed eyes, blood on her cheek and arm, but nothing that looked life-threatening. “You sit down and I’ll do what I can. We’ve called 911.”

  He eased her away from the door then bent and peered inside. Shit, what a mess. The driver’s side of the car was crumpled inward, the window shattered and glass all over the place. The driver was squashed in by the side of the car, slumped forward with his head on the steering wheel, seat belt done up. No airbags in this older model vehicle.

  Probably a concussion, maybe spinal injury. He shouldn’t be moved.

  The smell of gas hung in the air, indicating a fuel tank had ruptured. Cars didn’t actually burst into flames after accidents, did they? No, gas wouldn’t burn without an ignition source. Of course, if batteries were ruptured …

  Damn it, where were the paramedics?

  Mark climbed in the passenger side and held his fingers to the man’s neck. Damn again. His pulse was fast, indicating more serious injuries than were apparent.

  “How is he?” the woman cried desperately behind him. “Can you get him out?”

  “Best not to move him.” He leaned over for a better look. “Oh, fuck!” The guy’s left forearm, pinned between his body and the door, was spurting blood. Bright red blood. An arterial bleed. He could bleed out before help came.

  Mark ripped off his T-shirt and wadded it up. Still no sirens.

  “What are you doing?” the wife yelled. “What’s wrong?”

  The only way to get to the arm and apply pressure was to shift the man back, away from the steering wheel. Risking further neck injury. But better that than bleeding out. Now if only the fuel didn’t ignite, and the car didn’t burst into flames.

  As gently as he could, he shifted the man—elderly, white-haired, with minor facial lacerations but no other major bleeding—back so his head rested on the padded headrest.

  “He’s bleeding,” he called to the guy’s wife. “He cut his arm. You should get back, move away from the car.” He didn’t want to mention the risk of fire for fear of panicking her even more.

  “Help him!”

  Yeah, that was the general idea. He leaned across the man and held the bundled shirt against the wound, applying as much pressure as he could in this awkward position. Best as he could figure, the man must have instinctively flung up his arms as the car hurtled toward him, then the window shattered and a piece of glass sliced the artery that ran down his forearm.

  “Hang on,” he whispered. “Help will be here soon.” Crap, if this man died right in front of him … No, he couldn’t think about that, he just had to keep applying pressure.

  The wife was sobbing, screaming, not heeding his order to move back. He sympathized, but her shrill voice only ramped up the tension. He wondered how the other accident victims had fared, but there was nothing he could do to help them. Nor to shut out the smell of fresh blood and gas fumes.

  What were the odds of a fire with three smashed vehicles, leaks and spills, overheated brakes, and people milling around?

  “Mark,” Jenna said from behind him, and a hand gripped his bare calf. “What’s happening? Someone says there’s a fuel leak; the cars might explode.”

  He swallowed hard. “Can’t let go.” He didn’t turn or let up the pressure. “He’s got an arterial bleed. Make sure no one smokes out there. And keep away, Jenna. Keep everyone away, just in case.”

  “Shit.” He heard her draw a noisy breath, then, “Yeah, okay. Can I help? I have your first aid kit.”

  She’d found the first aid kit he kept under the sink? “Just towels, I need towels.” His tee was already drenched in bright blood.

  A couple of minutes later, she was back, thrusting several towels at him. As he swapped a towel for the soaked tee, Jenna said, “The truck driver’s out and walking around, dazed but okay. The driver of the sports car is wedged in there, unconscious. No one can get to him. 911 says there’s a fire truck and ambulances on the way.”

  “Thanks.” The status report steadied him.

  He heard her say to the wife, “Mark’s doing everything that can be done for your husband. Come with me, you need to sit down over here. Let me look after those cuts. And we should call your family.”

  The wife’s sobs faded, and he blessed Jenna for tending to her. Seemed his travel companion was good in a crisis.

  A siren sounded, growing louder. How long had it been?

  Maybe less than five minutes, but it felt like forever. Long enough for a man to live or die. He only hoped the one he was huddled over would survive.

  The bleeding was slowing. Mark hoped that was a good thing, and not a sign he’d expired. He couldn’t take the guy’s pulse because he needed both hands to press on the towel.

  The siren screamed closer, whooped, died.

  Seconds later, a male paramedic leaned into the passenger side, trying to see past Mark. “What you got here?”

  “Arterial bleed in his left forearm. I’ve applied pressure and it’s slowed a lot. I had to move him, his head was on the steering wheel and I couldn’t get to his arm.”

  “Okay, keep applying pressure but shift over so I can check his pulse.”

  Awkwardly, Mark moved, feeling glass slice a bare knee, and let the paramedic reach through to assess the man’s condition. “His pulse was fast when I took it.”

  The man felt his neck, then his wrist. “Still is. But you’re doing the right thing.” He shifted backward. “Are you okay? Were you involved in the accident?”

  “No, I drove up just after. I’m fine.”

  “Can you hang in a few minutes longer? We’re first on the scene and need to assess the others. There’s another ambulance and a fire truck on the way. Someone’ll take over in a couple minutes.”

  “Sure.”

  When the paramedic left, Mark shifted back to his original position, feeling glass grind under his knee. “Not much longer,” he said to the unconscious man as he settled in to wait.

  More sirens, urgent voices outside, then the same paramedic was back. “I’ll take it from here. Hang on while I slide in.”

  Awkwardly, they juggled positions in the cramped space, and did a quick, clumsy exchange. Then Mark backed out and slowly straightened and sucked in a deep breath. The air was foul with
the scent of fuel, but it sure felt good to stretch and feel the sun on his bare shoulders. He hadn’t realized how cramped and claustrophobic he’d been.

  A second paramedic joined the first as Mark turned away from the car. The driver’s wife sat on the grassy verge, face white as she stared at him questioningly. Jenna was beside her, one arm around her shoulders, her face pale too. “Mark?” She gave the woman a quick hug, then came to him.

  Softly, she said, “You’re covered in blood. His wife’s upset enough; she doesn’t need to see that.” Grabbing a towel he hadn’t realized he was holding, she quickly swabbed his hands.

  “Yeah.” He glanced down at the blood and swallowed against a surge of nausea.

  After the initial shock of the accident, he’d acted instinctively and adrenaline had pumped through his veins. Now, relief and reaction set in, draining him. Glancing around, he reassured himself that the emergency workers had everything under control. Then on wobbly legs, he went over to sit by the woman.

  Jenna came to sit on her other side. “The paramedic said Mr. Watkins is holding his own,” she said.

  He nodded, and said to the wife, “The bleeding is under control, and he’s in good hands. He’s a strong guy, your husband.” He wanted to promise that the older man would be all right, but he wasn’t positive and couldn’t lie to her. “How are you doing?” He noted small bandages on half a dozen cuts and scrapes.

  “I’m pretty shaken.” Her voice was hoarse. “It all happened so sudden, that car coming out of nowhere.”

  Something stung his knee and he realized Jenna had opened his first aid kit and was dabbing antiseptic on his glass cuts. “We called their son and daughter,” Jenna said. “The ambulance is going to take Mrs. Watkins and her husband to the closest hospital, and her son, who lives in the area, will meet them there.”

  She’d just finished bandaging his knees when a female paramedic walked over. “Hey, are you trying to do me out of a job?” she joked. “First Mrs. Watkins and now him?”

  Jenna grinned back. “I figured you had enough on your hands.”

  “Are you all right, sir?” the paramedic asked.

  “Yeah, just a couple of little cuts.” He glanced down at his hands, where the remains of Mr. Watkins’s blood had dried. “I need to wash up, get a fresh shirt.”