11. Markus
CHAPTER 11
MARKUS
I’ve heard of the “Sunday Funday” concept, but I’ve never had the luxury of partaking. Well, that’s not entirely true. It’s not that I’m denied the luxury of weekends; I simply opt not to use that time for relaxation. In general, I’m not the sort of person who wanders aimlessly or sits still. I aim, and I achieve. Relaxing has always just seemed like a waste of time to me.
If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t close the clinic on Sundays, but this is a small town with more churches than pets. Folks around Krause wouldn’t take too kindly to a veterinarian who doesn’t observe the Sabbath. So I have Sundays off.
While I could certainly use a day of rest each week, the reality is that Sunday is the only day I have to run errands. And that’s the plan for today. I sleep in a little later than usual, and instead of going for a morning jog, I get Rufus into the car, and we take a drive down to San Antonio. Rumor has it there’s an office furniture outlet there with great deals. Today’s task is to upgrade the clinic waiting-area furniture with something from this century.
The drive is lovely. Fall in Texas is not much to speak of. We don’t get “leafers” looking for the riot of changing colors like you get up north. Here in Texas, the Red Oak leaves go red, and the rest of the leaves turn yellowish brown then fall off.
Still, the fall’s lower temperatures are a welcome relief after the kiln-like heat of summer. Today, it’s not supposed to get much warmer than the mid-eighties, and it feels fantastic. I roll the windows down in my car and take a windy two-lane route south.
Once we’re in the San Antonio metro area, the roads widen and clog with cars, and I use my navigation app to find our destination. The furniture outlet is in a wide, squatty building surrounded by an empty blacktop parking lot. On the door, a sign indicates that the furniture store, too, is closed on Sundays.
Okay. Change of plans. Guess it will be a Sunday Funday after all.
As quickly as we entered the big city, we leave it, taking rural roads northwest to explore the area, aiming in the general direction of Krause. Along the way, I find a fast food restaurant with a drive through and get some food, but I wait until we find a secluded turnoff before I stop to eat.
In the shade of a tall cottonwood tree, on the bank of a shallow creek, I eat my food while Rufus sniffs the water’s edge. A few bluegill fish eye him suspiciously from between rocks and reeds, occasionally splashing at him when he gets too curious. The dog hops backward, huffing with annoyance, and I chuckle.
It’s nice, just sitting here with nothing to do and nowhere to be. We should do this Sunday Funday thing more often.
Though, the slow pace has done little to keep my mind off last night’s wedding revelations. “Come dance with me, you big cock,” has been on repeat all day—an earworm without a tempo—and memories of that bouncy little redhead who draped herself across Adam’s shoulders like a fur stole lives rent free in my mind too. I try distracting myself, chatting with Rufus and skipping rocks across the creek, but it’s much too quiet to drown out all this noise in my head.
In the few weeks I’ve known Adam, I’ve formed an image of him in my mind, and in that image, he was gay. Apparently I was wrong, and the man I’ve been crushing on since I first laid eyes on him is completely unavailable to me. That’s nothing new. Plenty of the men I’ve crushed on have been straight. Though I don’t recall any straight strangers ever being as friendly as Adam. He’s given me jogging tours of the town. Taken me out for breakfast…twice. It really felt like something.
Enough! I need to stop fixating. It is what it is. He is who he is. And I am who I am, and if friendship is the extent of the relationship that can form between us, that’s okay. Really. It has to be. I like him too much to kick him out of my life just because I can’t get him into my bed.
So, enough! Enough fixating on him. Enough avoiding him. The day is growing long, and I need to get back home to balance the books and review my schedule for Monday.
With a heavy sigh—one that earns me a glance and a sympathetic whine from Rufus—I stand and wipe dirt off the back of my jeans, then call to him. “Rufus, let’s go home, buddy.”
Rufus hops a few times, excited to be moving again, and jumps right into the back seat of the car, sitting very prim and still so I can snap him into his safety harness. Then I slide into my seat behind the wheel, fasten my seatbelt, and?—
That’s all I remember.
No, that’s not true. Glimpses, watercolor images, shatter into shards of broken memories. The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the pain, the sudden panic.
Now, everything is silent. No, not silent, muffled.
As I try to focus on the noise, so many sounds come at me at once, like a new collision, a deafening cacophony. There is a high-pitched squeal that rings in my ear, and it’s punctuated with bursts of noise, like loud bangs. No, not bangs, barks.
Rufus.
He was with me. We were together in the car. There’s been an accident. Where is he now? Is he hurt?
My disorientation dissolves, my focus sharpening as I push through the confusion that blocks my view like wisps of smoke. No. Wait. That’s…the airbag.
I shift and move the fabric out of my face. Some of the deafening sound ceases too. I’ve been pressing on the horn. Now as I move, the shrill screeching stops. But other noises fill the void. More screeching comes from elsewhere, and closer…there it is again, that harried, frantic…barking.
Rufus!
Without the airbag clouding my vision, I focus and take in the disorienting images of my car, broken and wrapped all around me. There’s something wet on me, in my hair, on my face. And to my right, Rufus is whining and barking and moving around.
I turn to look into the back seat but yelp and wince as pain lances through my neck and down my spine.
Fuck.
But… Rufus. I need to see him, see that he’s okay. God, please let him be okay.
Slowly this time, I turn around just enough to see Rufus in the back seat, right where I left him. The seat belt strap I used to secure him has done its job. Though clearly upset—barking even louder now that he’s roused me, and I’ve turned to catch his gaze—he appears to be unharmed.
Feeling better about at least that little bit in this chaotic moment, I turn back to the front of the car, trying to see what happened elsewhere.
That’s when I notice the other vehicle—a bright orange Kia crumpled into mine where my passenger-side front end would normally be. And this close, I can see through the windshield and into the other car. Someone is bent over the steering wheel, not moving.
“Hello?” I holler, but my voice comes out rough and so quiet it’s barely a whisper. Clearing my throat, I try again, really yelling this time. “Hello?”
My throat feels cracked and shredded, like I’ve gargled with broken glass. But the windshield is intact, no glass to gargle with. Regardless, I’m not doing much good just sitting here yelling toward someone in another car. Instantly, my head clears, and my thoughts snap into order: I need to help.
With shaky fingers, I struggle to unfasten my seat belt, then fumble more when it comes to opening my door. Placing one foot onto the ground and then the other, I wobble. This is what I imagine a moonwalk would feel like, bouncy and unsteady.
Before anything else, I turn to my back door and open it. Rufus is anxious, whining as he whacks his tail against the seat and tugs at his restraint, clearly frustrated with being strapped into a broken vehicle.
Everything hurts as I lean in to unfasten him, and he whines as he licks all over my face, clearly happy to have me near. When I manage to unclasp his harness from the car, he practically pushes me backward out the door so he can escape. Stumbling, I struggle to recover my balance as he jumps down and swings around in a circle like he’s taking in the scene.
With him safe and freed from the wreckage, I walk quickly around the back end of my car to the driver’s window of the other vehicle. My shaky fingers fumble at my pocket, but I manage to pull my phone out.
Quickly, I call 911. When they answer, I explain about the accident and try to determine where we are so they can find us. As I talk, I approach the other car. The driver’s window is shattered, glass sparkling on the pavement all around. I command Rufus to sit and stay away from the wreckage. He’s a very good boy, whining but following the command.
The person inside the car is leaning over the steering wheel, so I can’t see their face, but I think it’s Mildred Koenig, the town’s librarian. I can’t be certain, but I can’t imagine anyone else around here drives a neon orange Kia. She doesn’t respond to my voice as I call to her. She doesn’t move at all.
I touch her neck, feeling for a pulse, holding my breath until… There! Like butterfly wings against my fingertips, it’s just a flutter, but it’s there. Relief washes over me as I count the beats and relay her pulse to the dispatcher. The woman on the other end assures me emergency responders are on the way, then she asks about my own condition.
“I’m fine,” I tell the dispatcher as I switch to speakerphone, set it on top of the wrecked car, and try to pry the door open. The metal is bent and twisted and doesn’t budge. So I do the best I can to comfort the woman through the window.
Gently brushing some of her hair aside, I finally get a good look at her. As I suspected, it’s Mildred, the chatty librarian I’ve met a couple of times. Early on, she learned I love ghost stories, and apparently she loves telling them, because?—
Suddenly, Mildred gasps and straightens in her seat, silencing the car’s horn at the same time that she scares the ever-loving shit out of me. I stumble backward, nearly falling onto my ass on the glass and other wreckage littering the pavement.
Rufus barks. The woman at the 911 dispatch center must hear my scream because she asks a whole string of questions about what’s going on and if we’re okay. But my focus is fixed on Mildred, watching her blink and frown at the destruction.
“Mrs. Koenig, are you okay? Can you hear me?” I ask her as I return to her window, angling my head so I can get a better look at her face. She looks dazed, but uninjured.
“Try not to move too much. The ambulance is on its way, so just sit tight.”
Mildred grimaces at me and squints to see where we are on the narrow county road. We’re right in the middle, blocking both lanes of traffic. And with the afternoon sun casting long shadows through the trees, I imagine it would be difficult for another driver to see us. If someone were to come upon us, would they see us in time to stop, or would they run right into the wreck? Should I pull Mildred out, just in case?
Before I can fret too much, I hear the sweet siren song of rescue.
We’re saved—Mildred, Rufus, and me. The shiny red fire truck grows larger as it nears us, and my relief grows with it. The driver stops abruptly about twenty feet away, angling to block the road, and sets the vehicle in park with the hiss of hydraulic brakes.
Several doors swing open at once, and legs encased in yellow pants hit the pavement. Then, from behind the driver’s door, he appears: Adam .
My breath hitches in my lungs at the sight of him. My savior isn’t just any ordinary hot firefighter, he’s the hot firefighter I’ve been thinking about nonstop since I first laid eyes on him. And now, here he comes to save the day.
Christ almighty, he looks so…heroic…and gorgeous .
“Markus, are you okay?” Adam asks as he approaches. Before I can answer, he lifts his hands to palm my cheeks. This is our first touch—outside of the few cordial handshakes we’ve shared—and the sensation jolts awareness through my body. He’s devastatingly gentle as he cradles my face between his blue palms and looks determinedly at my head, pulling my eyelids up to look deep into my eyes.
Wait. Blue? Why are his hands blue? I angle my chin to get a better look and realize he’s wearing sterile gloves as he inspects me for injury.
Oh. Right. The wreck. I’d nearly forgotten.
“I… Uh. I’m fine, never better. I’m more worried about Mildred’s neck,” I say as I push his hands away and try to direct his attention to the woman who really needs his help.
Adam doesn’t say anything, and Drew, the newlywed groom who passes us alongside Knox, tells me, “Don’t you worry. We’ve got her.”
“Shouldn’t he be on his honeymoon?” I ask Adam as he puts his gentle blue hands on my shoulders and moves me away from the cars, toward an ambulance. When did that arrive? I glance around to see that two ambulances and two fire trucks are here now. One man in firefighter pants snaps flares open to set on the road, while a couple of others pull gear off the closest vehicle. Dee stands to the side, speaking into a CB radio.
Adam moves me to the shoulder of the road, where Rufus presses his full body against my shins like he needs to lean on me.
Or…
Maybe I need to lean on him…
And that’s my last thought before lights out, last call, closing time.
No, wait, that’s not right. My last coherent thought isn’t about Rufus—it’s about Adam. I hear him speak, that intoxicating rumble in his low voice as he says, “I’ve got you, Markus. You’re going to be okay.”