Endings. Barbara Bergin
there anything you need out of your car?” He was bouncing on the balls of both feet as though he might be trying to dodge raindrops and it was definitely cute. He was definitely cute. Simply making an observation.
“Just the insurance papers in my purse. Front passenger seat I think. Could you grab the rental car papers there too?” He looked at her quizzically for a second. People probably don’t rent cars around Abilene as a rule. She was used to getting those kinds of looks because people associated rented cars with tourist areas, not small towns in the middle of nowhere, which was often where she ended up.
He soon climbed back in the driver’s seat, handing her the papers and her purse. They were soaking wet. “Window’s broken. Everything got wet. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault, really.”
“Hey, that’s what I told the officer.” He paused and looked her straight in the eyes. Very serious look on his face. Then he smiled.” Just kidding.” She gave him a mad look and they both laughed. She felt like laughing right now. Things were already too serious. She looked down at her lap and then got busy with the purse. She jotted down her insurance information for him, both insurance companies. Thank you very much, she thought.
“Now, where did you say you were from and what are you doing out here…in a rent car?” There was a knock on the window.
“I didn’t say…” He was rolling down the window. Asked the trooper if he wanted to get in the truck.
“No sir.” He looked down the road. Maybe thinking about it. “But thank you anyway, sir. I’ll just need both of your proofs of insurance and drivers licenses.” They complied and he returned to his car. Regan didn’t repeat his question. She was glad. No need for small talk. There was no point in it. He put his seat back a little and she stared straight ahead, focused on the raindrops and the police car lights.
The officer returned and went to the driver’s side again, handing Regan all of the papers. The licenses were stuck into a slot on the top of his small metal clipboard in the universal ticket writing position.
“Unless you object, I’m not going to give either of you a citation. Both of you may have failed to maintain control of your vehicles, and the weather certainly played a part. Do either of you have any objections?”
They looked at each other, as if to ask, “Do you?” Then, “No” from both of them.
He handed Regan his license. “Mr. Wakeman.” Next he handed Leslie hers. “Miss Cohen?”
“Mrs.” She took her license from his hand.
Regan looked at her left hand as she reached for the card. There was no ring. She was sure he noticed. She stopped wearing the rings on her finger about a year ago. They made people ask questions. “Where is your husband? Do you have children? How do you live away from your family for so long?” Answers led to more questions, curiosity and the worst, sympathy. It was easier not to wear the rings but they hung, always, on a strong gold chain around her neck. They were safe that way and it was convenient. She had to remove them frequently anyway to scrub her hands for surgery. She used to pin them to her scrubs but on more than one occasion had lost them in the laundry. She had to dig through bloody scrubs to find them.
“They’re going to tow the car to Abilene. Do you care where they take it?” She shook her head. “Then, if you’re ready, Mrs. Cohen, I’ll take you to town so you can check into a hotel or wherever you were headed.”
Regan looked at her like, “and you were headed where?”
“Actually, I already have a reservation.” There was an awkward moment, when she thought Regan might offer to drive her, and in a way she might have expected it. She quickly added, “Regan, I’m really sorry we had this accident but it was nice to meet you anyway, and thanks for helping me out.”
“Hey, no problem. Same here, I mean, glad to meet you too. Can I help y’all with her bags or something?”
“No, sir, that won’t be necessary. The tow service will take care of that in the morning when they get her trunk open.” He turned to Leslie. “Ma’am, if you’re ready.” She smiled at Regan and shook his hand. Again, a strong handshake and as she squeezed back he held it for a split second longer. Their eyes met. She saw brown eyes, smile wrinkles on the sides, a small vertical wrinkle in between soft eyebrows. He smiled, and there was something else in the smile. Regret? Did she want regret? The trooper was doing the hopping thing outside the window. Was that a Texas guy thing? Cute.
She got out and pain shot through the ankle. She tried not to flinch and held her ground. Pain is just pain. It can’t hurt you. She didn’t want Regan to come around and do the human crutch thing again. She stiffened up her foot and ankle and stepped with a respectable limp.
“Do you need help there, ma’am?”
“No, I’m fine.” And she was.
The tow truck, purple with black and gold lacey decals, itself a work of art, pulled out and for the first time she saw her rented Taurus on the flat bed. Its condition was shocking. It was totaled. It was crushed on the three sides she could see. She wondered about the damage to Regan’s truck. Thank goodness she had not run into the horse trailer. She pictured their delicate legs getting knocked out from under them. Innocent animals, they were never meant to ride in an aluminum box. The truck labored up to speed, straightened out and headed toward Abilene.
Now Regan. Left hand signal light flashing, the truck slowly pulled up and over the ledge of asphalt on the shoulder, each tire rolling over it sent a lurch through the truck and trailer until all ten wheels were on the highway. The engine noise grinding to a higher and higher pitch until it slipped into the next gear automatically. The goose neck compartment over the truck slowly swung into place and the whole rig moved past like a ship. She turned to look at the capsule shaped tail-lights through the raindrops on her window.
Voices came across the police radio, scratchy, incomplete. Does the technology of police and taxi radio dispatching ever improve? She couldn’t make it all out but soon the officer responded with their location and his plan to take her to the hotel.
“Where’re you staying, by the way…chk, schk, chk, the irritating hen scratch from the two way…No I’m trying to get that information right now, hold on. Mrs. Cohen, your hotel?”
“Holiday Inn Express.”
“Holiday Inn Express, on Interstate twenty. No one’s hurt. She has denied emergency treatment so we’re on our way.”
“Mrs. Cohen, you’re gonna need to contact your insurance carrier in the morning. We’ll take care of the accident report.”
She was starting to feel sorry for herself and she hated herself for it. Tears began welling up in her eyes and there was that familiar tingling in the nose and under the eyes that preceded them. She was not going to let a tear roll down her cheek or sniff one up her nose. She started blinking. One single tear filled the corner of her right eye, stayed suspended there for a second, then fell over the edge. It rolled down the side of her nose and lost momentum when it reached her lip. She tilted her head back and forced the feeling out of her mind. Think of a funny thing or an angry thing. The tears that were marching to freedom, through a combination of will power and pressure from repeated blinking, were forced back into the tear duct to wait until later when they, and hundreds more like them, could flow freely as always.
The officer looked straight ahead and put the car into drive. He recognized the signs of a woman thinking about crying and did not want to help it along by asking if she was okay. Didn’t want to go there. No way. No how. It was never as simple as “Wrecking my car makes me want to cry.” He let her be and didn’t look over until they got to the hotel.
“Here we are. Abilene’s finest. The restaurant out front here’s pretty good. When the tow truck gets your trunk open tomorrow they’ll deliver your stuff here. I’ll make sure they know where you’re staying.” He handed her a wet business card. “Here’s their card if you wanna call