Twelve
Twelve
Ellie is driving.
Racing, actually. Or, at the very least, barreling her white, midsize Volvo SUV (practical, classic, safe) erratically enough through her town’s quiet streets to no doubt make her Floridian driver, the one who deposited her family at the airport just one day ago, impeccably proud.
Everywhere she looks are fallen trees, downed wires, and broken-off branches—a hundred small obstacles. She doesn’t care. Ever since she left her house several minutes ago, said goodbye to her parents, and engaged in a brief chat with a man from the power company (“At least a few more days, ma’am”), she’s been speeding down the twenty-five-mph roadway like a stunt driver. There is no possible way she can slow down.
Beep! Beep!
Another driver pounds his car horn like a punching bag as Ellie passes. He’s right. Of course he’s right. Ellie should not be behind the wheel. And certainly not in this reckless way. She knows this. She can hardly think, let alone see straight or operate heavy machinery. Her palms? A sweaty mess. Her “fresh” shirt? Same issue. It doesn’t matter. She knows what she needs to do: retrieve her phone, call Jonah (likely already at work for the morning)—even though she’s not supposed to—and see if he can help her make sense of this lucid dream.
Ellie continues to careen the car along her town’s otherwise peaceful streets. Talk radio buzzes in her immediate background, the host of whatever program she left clicked on last night reminding listeners that the world is more or less on fire. Ellie stabs her finger against the stereo panel so the woman will vanish. Go away, go away, go away. She has no mental space available for the host’s harangue of bad news. Ellie has more immediate issues to solve. The climate, the dolphins, the ice caps, whatever political drama currently unfolds across the globe like a badly wrinkled-up map, all of it—much to Maggie’s likely disappointment—must wait.
Oh no, Ellie thinks as she barrels over another haphazard pile of fallen twigs. Maggie. She should check in with her, too. And say what? That another branch of her small family tree is about to break? That her grandmother (and possibly her grandfather) is in the midst of an overlooked neurological episode? Or, worse, that Ellie is herself? No, she decides. It’s best to leave Maggie alone so she can focus on exams, let the announcement about her own parents’ divorce sink in before Ellie adds any more uncertainty to her daughter’s plate.
Up ahead, a stop sign. Ellie skids the car to a dramatic stop. Her heart races a thousand miles per minute. She peers in the rearview, panting. Thankfully, no one is behind her. She jabs her fingers at the stereo one last time and finally hits the correct button, a minor win. The woman’s voice disappears. In its place, the soft, soothing (and maybe a little bit sad) sounds of an alternative rock station hum through the vehicle, a melodic sort of white noise. Perfect.
Another driver slows behind Ellie. She consumes a deep breath, neatly realigns her hands on the wheel, and mentally rattles off her plan. She’ll go to the airport, find her phone (or at least file the appropriate lost and found paperwork to retrieve it), call Jonah to discuss Bunny and Frank, and then, item by item, begin to make sense of this day. Easy.
But first— deep breath —before she begins her forty-minute highway drive back to the airport, she absolutely must stop and get a coffee. A very strong one. A very large one. Something to help her better focus and to see straight. Stat.
Ellie turns the car onto Main Street. Outside her windows, save for the power company trucks and damaged trees, the world mostly appears normal, an ordinary Monday. Locals are outside walking dogs. A few runners sprint past. The town’s elegant homes appear as always, a muted rainbow of desirable whites: dove, chantilly, lace. Another few blocks and the residential section fades out, giving way to a bustling downtown, a collection of shops and boutiques and tasteful window displays, cafés with wrought iron tables that spill out onto the sidewalks, and floral window boxes flecked with spring shades of pinks and whites and greens.
Ellie turns the car right, then left, then right again, weaving her way beyond the more crowded streets. Up ahead, she spots additional sights that soothe her—the bookstore where she once worked and still sometimes visits, and her favorite coffee shop across the street.
The quiet music still thrumming, she flicks on the car’s blinker, ready to pull into a vacant spot. But before she can, another driver—some obviously terrible human—cuts her off and steals her space. Ellie blares on her horn like it’s a bagpipe, but the awful person couldn’t care less. He offers a wave, slides out of his car, and then— chirp! chirp! —locks the doors and walks off on his merry little way.
Her brief interlude with calm quickly deteriorating, like a beautiful cake left out in the rain, Ellie is forced to circle the block, not once, not twice, but three times in search of a new place to park. Before she turns back onto the street a fourth time, the light ahead of her changes to red. Ellie taps the brake pedal and stops at the busy four-way intersection. Beneath her, the car idles and vibrates, gently shaking her like a bad masseuse. With her eyes trained on a newly vacant space up ahead, a song Ellie remembers but has not heard in a very long time pipes through the stereo. The lyrics come back to her in a rush. She tries to recall the last time she listened to this band. It was ages ago. Another lifetime, practically. Ellie wasn’t even the same person then.
Up ahead, the crosswalk signal changes, a blinking warning. Finally, the traffic light that hangs overhead turns green. Ellie lifts her foot from the brake and eases it onto the gas pedal. She spins the steering wheel and sees that her parking space remains available. She smiles at this small victory— Yes, yes, yes —and completes her turn. The car moves forward. And then— Smash !
She punches her closed fists against the steering wheel. Of all the days in her life, why must this have happened today? One brilliant person’s choice—to steal her original parking spot—and look at the consequences.
Ellie opens her glove compartment and digs out her insurance booklet and a peppermint before she slides on her oval sunglasses. She inhales a minty breath, tells herself she will not dig into this person who has caused this entirely avoidable accident on this already terrible day.
Knock, knock, knock.
She turns back toward her driver’s side window. When she does, Ellie squints, like her glasses are smudged. She removes them—a double take—then buzzes down the window. She huffs loudly, emitting a puff of hot, angry air. Probably terrible for the environment.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says.
“I’m so—I’m so sorry!”
Jonah stands at Ellie’s driver’s side window, looking like a severely disheveled version of himself. His typically styled hair is rumpled, several unkempt strands dangling like too-short curtains above his eyebrows. His usual weekday office wear—a baby-blue button-down, maybe one of those silly bubble vests if it’s chilly—has been swapped with a wrinkled white T-shirt, which Ellie notes may actually be an undershirt. Apparently, based on the timing of things, as well as appearances, he’s decided on a personal day, too.
“I’m glad you found me.” Ellie clicks off her seat belt. In the rearview mirror, she sees flashing red lights a few blocks behind them. “Well,” she says, editing herself, “I’m not glad you smashed into me.” She tries for a smile, but he only half returns it. His mind, she can tell, is someplace else. “But I’m happy you’re here.” She twists to open her door, and when she does, she feels it—the familiar ripple of pain. That one stubborn muscle that hugs her spine, which has been in hibernation since she woke up, has been triggered from the impact of the crash. She doesn’t have time to think about it. She stretches her torso, hoping to subdue the sensation, and steps out of the car. On the sidewalk, onlookers have gathered, perhaps to serve as witnesses to this completely unnecessary event. “Anyway, I’ve had a horrible morning,” Ellie tells him, shaking her head just thinking about it.
“I’m very sorry.” Jonah looks at her with a somewhat blank—maybe a touch cold?—stare. Ellie can tell he’s trying to work some problem out in his head. “I didn’t mean to add to it. This is obviously my fault.” He squeezes the back of his neck, fuzzy with fresh hair growth. “I—I didn’t mean to cause this.”
“Honestly, in the grand scheme of today, this is the least of my problems.” Ellie massages the bones above her eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin.” As Ellie says this, she pauses, really looks around. Suddenly, the inherent strangeness of this accident hits her: the fact that it happened here, on the exact corner where they first met. Ellie’s brain does not process numbers in the same lightning-fast way Jonah’s can, though she imagines this is why he seems off. He’s preoccupied as he wonders about the likelihood of this repeat meeting.
“Huh.” Ellie puffs out her lips. “This is ... strange, isn’t it?” She lets herself smile. “Not exactly how I thought this week might kick off.”
“Yeah.” Jonah still has a glazed look in his attractive hazel eyes. “Tell me about it.”
Frazzled and confused, they’re both silent as they stand a few feet from each other, their cars pressed together like a mechanical kiss. Ellie thinks back to their initial crash here. They were both twenty-six, old enough to be considered real, functioning adults, yet still young enough that they were in the process of becoming other versions of themselves.
Jonah had felt so badly about that first accident (the one he’d caused after he briefly tilted his head toward the radio to search for a specific sports broadcast). Ellie had been so flabbergasted by her breakup that she couldn’t help but laugh. After they exchanged insurance information and spoke to the officer on the scene, Jonah asked if he could take her out for coffee. They drove their damaged cars two blocks, then shared a table in the window, a cascade of plants trailing over their heads.
Ellie had been so taken aback by Jonah. He was handsome and kind and gentle and warm and humble and apologetic and polite. He was every good adjective. From the second they sat, he made Ellie laugh over practically nothing. When Ellie asked him about where he’d been heading at the time he crashed into her car, he vaguely said he’d been on his way to meet a friend, but there’d been a detour. And wasn’t that true for her, too? When Jack had called her the night before and said he had something important for them to discuss, she foolishly thought he might propose. She had pictured a meal and a bottle of wine, maybe a picnic blanket laid out on the living room floor of his apartment. Instead, they’d argued straight through the night, until finally, the next morning on that terrible couch, she got dumped.
A detour. It didn’t take long for Ellie to forget about Jack. She fell for Jonah the way one might fall off a cliff—it was fast and hard and unexpected. In the weeks that immediately followed, she soon felt not like she was falling, but rather like she was arriving. She’d finally found her way to the right destination.
Now, back at the scene of the current accident, Ellie feels a tugging in her heart as she recalls those early days.
“So, I took a quick glance on my walk over, and it looks like the damage to both cars is minor.” Whatever thought had occupied Jonah’s mind a minute ago is gone. His tone is now flat, this event suddenly nothing more than a business transaction. “I have a good mechanic. I’m happy to pay for the damage out of pocket,” he offers, like they don’t still share all the same accounts. “I have a hell of a week. This will probably be easier than dealing with a dozen phone calls to insurance companies.”
Her wistfulness instantly gone, Ellie feels her eyes tighten. “Yup.” She makes a loud popping sound with her mouth when she arrives at the final p . “Would hate to inconvenience you.”
Jonah runs his sturdy hands through his thick mess of hair. “Great.” He pats his pockets, produces his phone, swipes the screen open, then meets Ellie’s gaze. “Do you—I’m sorry, maybe this is awkward.” He hands it to her. “Do you mind punching in your number?”
Ellie does not need a mirror to know her neck is all red, angry splotches. Her insides are fire—a heaping pile of burning orange embers—and yet simultaneously empty—cold, dead, black, as gutted as a fish. He’s already forgotten her number and deleted it from his phone? Already removed her from his favorite phone contacts, neutering her of the letters “ICE” beside her name?
“Sure.” Ellie takes his device, punches in her information, and hands it back. She’s fuming, nothing but flames, a fireworks display ready to burst. She’s going to get her phone. And she’s going to call that attorney the second she taps open the electronic screen.
“Again, I’m really sorry,” Jonah stammers, pulling Ellie away from her thoughts. His lips have parted, as though he is amused by some detail of the scene Ellie does not see. “Well, it’s that—” The bold May sun catches in Jonah’s eyes, the ones that, over the course of her life, Ellie has stared into a million times. “I—I just—” He pauses again—he’s like a bad TV signal today, constantly glitching. He tries to shake his thought away, but she can see in his expression that it is obstinate and comes right back.
Before he speaks anything further, Ellie can feel a change, the way you sense a storm coming just by the way the air shifts. “What?” she asks, already knowing he’s about to drop a soon-to-detonate bomb at her feet. She considers the bizarre ways her day thus far has trended. Every cell in her body begins to intuit something bad. He’s looking at her funny now, part of his lip curled, one eye in a squint, like a student who can’t quite see the blackboard. “Just say it.” Tick. Tick. Tick. “Really.” She prepares for the explosion. “My day has been pretty terrible so far. I can’t imagine that whatever you’re about to tell me can possibly top it.”
Jonah nods, considering Ellie’s statement. “Well, this may sound strange.” He pauses, bites his generous pink lower lip, the one she’s pressed her own mouth upon innumerable times. “I—I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” He scratches his presently unruly hair. “I just—I feel like I know you from somewhere.” Tick, tick. “Have we—have we met?”
Ka-boom.