Chapter 2
Chapter Two
VIVIAN
Staying in the swath of churned up earth and snow from the truck’s deceleration leads me to the passenger side, which is better because steering wheels make for tricky extractions. Plus, if I can avoid wading through the deep snow piled up around the front of the truck while also keeping my car within sight, that’s the smarter move.
The icy wind bites at my sides where my coat rides up and whips strands of my hair from its braid to batter my face and eyes.
With my shoulder braced against the side of the truck and my back to the wind, I slip on my gloves. I can’t hear anyone from inside, but I don’t let it stop me from grabbing the handle and tugging the door open. I only get about six inches, but it’s enough that I’m hit with the sharp scent of the airbag powder.
“Hello?” I call into the space.
“In here!” a man calls out in a strained voice.
Relief washes through me.
I wedge myself in behind the heavy door to at least get out of the wind. “My name’s Vivian. I’m a nurse. EMS is on their way. ”
“Thank God. I can’t reach my phone.”
With the erratic shadows created by my headlights and the quickly deflating airbags draped like mini parachutes from the dash, steering wheel and sides, I can’t see the man’s face, but he’s against the other side. His boots and pant cuffs extending toward me, like he’s sitting on the upside-down roof, his back to the door-side window.
“I need you to stay where you are and don’t move, okay?” I call over the wind.
“Thank you for stopping. I don’t even know how this happened.”
“What’s your name, sir?” I ask so we can cover some ground before EMS arrives.
“Tucker.”
“Are you hurt, Tucker?”
“My shoulder.”
“Any other pain?”
“I’m cut somewhere. There’s…” He inhales a shaky breath. “…blood.”
Big bleeds are very bad. “Can you find where you’re bleeding without moving your back at all?”
“Nothing like this has ever happened to me.”
He sounds a little panicky. “Tucker, take your hand and move it across your forehead.”
“Okay.” He swipes across his head.
“Are you bleeding there?” I glance over my shoulder and squint through the swirling wind. Thanks to my failing wiper blades, most of my windshield is plastered with snow, but Matty is still in his car seat.
“No.”
“How about behind your head. Keep your neck straight for me though, okay?”
He’s breathing faster. “It’s not coming from there. ”
From the rasp in his voice and the wrinkles on his forehead, I’d say he’s an older male, probably sixties. “Okay. How about your chest?”
“I think it’s my leg,” he says after he’s done. “It’s startin’ to hurt real bad.”
Why didn’t I bring my phone, so I could use the flashlight? I’d like to find the source of this bleeding.
“Stay with me, okay, Tucker? Help is on the way.”
He puts his hand down like he’s going to try to pivot.
“It’s really important that you stay still.” I conjure the no-nonsense nurse voice I’ve used on tweakers and belligerent drunks countless times.
“Okay.” His voice cracks.
“Where do you live?” I squeeze further into the cab, the edge of the doorway biting into my thighs. I can see him a little better now, but with the way I’m backlit, I don’t think he can see me clearly.
“Cascade.”
“Where is that?”
“About sixty miles. North of Finn River.”
Knowing basic info like this is a positive sign. “Tucker, what day is it?”
“Uh, Tuesday.”
I squint from behind the door to my car. Through the narrow gap in my windshield, I can just make out Mateo’s torso, like he’s standing on the floor behind the seats.
“What’d you eat for breakfast today?”
“Oatmeal, same as always.”
Ideally I get in here and manually stabilize Tucker’s spine, but with his door jammed, I can’t get to him. And even if I could squeeze through the gap, the last thing I want is to get stuck in here. Not with my four-year old kid alone in the car in the middle of a blizzard.
My only other option is to gain access via the driver’s door, but he could fall out. Right now, the door is serving as a kind of backboard. As long as he doesn’t move, he’ll be okay for now. As long as this bleed he’s anxious about isn’t going to send him into hypovolemic shock before EMS gets here.
“I have to go check on my son,” I say. I want to do more for Tucker right now, but I have Mateo to think about too. “I’ll be right back.”
“Oh,” he says, but it comes out more like a grunt. “You got a kid with you? I’m sorry for bringin’ you out here.”
“It’s all right.”
I shut the door and squint into the storm while the wind whips my hair into my eyes and mouth. The glow of approaching red and blue lights gives me a hit of relief. The medic rig comes first, followed by a crash truck and a silver SUV.
I ignore the burn tightening in my belly.
Not all cops are like Kent.
And even if this one is, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again.
The ambulance pulls over while the crash truck descends into the median, red lights swinging, and parks with its headlights square on the truck’s cab. Two firefighters jump out in full turnout gear.
I poke my head into the back seat of my car.
“Fire truck!” Mateo shouts, pointing.
“Yep. They’re here to help the man who is hurt in that truck.” I point but I’m not sure what he’s able to see through my snow-plastered windshield. “Can you wait here a little longer?”
The squeak of boots in the snow and the heavy presence of someone approaching invades my awareness.
“Are you Vivian Reece?” a man asks.
I whirl around just as a gust of wind sends icy snow into my eyes. It’s the cop. He’s tall and big, with a bristly beard, wearing a thick black coat beaded with glistening white snow pellets on the shoulders. He’s also wearing a cowboy hat.
A cowboy hat? In a snowstorm?
“Yes, and you are?” I grab at my hair and try to tuck it behind my ear but the wind just whips it free .
“Deputy Rum?—”
“Pooliceman!” Mateo cheers.
“Hey, buddy,” the cop says, ducking down so he can make eye contact.
Oh hell no.
“Be right back, okay, Matty?” I squeeze between the cop and the door, then shut it.
“I need to talk to the EMS crew,” I call out over the wind, and spin around.
The cop follows. “All right. Then I need your statement.”
I keep walking.
The firefighters are already hurrying toward the cab of the truck. The static of their radios and the deep rumble from their engine combines with the whistling wind and the cold, making it hard to think. Or maybe it’s my rising anxiety.
I beeline toward the firefighters, my bare ankles aching from the cold and the wet. Either my toes are numb, or the snow has melted through my shoes.
And I still have to pee.
“Hey,” I say to the closest firefighter. The man turns, the glare of the headlights on his reflective gear blinding me. I shield with my hand. “Patient’s name is Tucker. He’s A and O times four, though he’s anxious. Chief complaint is shoulder pain. He’s bleeding but I couldn’t get in there to assess. I had him check where he could. I think he got himself out of his seat belt. I couldn’t stabilize his spine because of where he’s sitting.”
The firefighter gives me a nod. “You a first responder?”
“Nurse.”
The firefighter’s partner is already opening the door and shining his flashlight inside the cab.
“We’ll take it from here,” the firefighter says.
I still can’t see his face, but do I get a hint of cocky in his tone?
Only a firefighter.
When I spin around, I nearly crash into the cop’s giant chest.
Jesus.
I step around him and speed walk toward my car.
“Ma’am?” The cop falls in next to me. “We’re going to need you to move your vehicle.”
“Okay.”
He cocks his head. “ After your statement,” he adds in a stern tone, like he was reading my mind. Because the minute I can get behind the wheel, I’m out of here.
“The guy passed me a while ago,” I say to get this over with, peeling off my nitrile gloves and stuffing them into my pocket. “Then I saw him flipped over. I pulled into the median and called 9-1-1. I’m a nurse, so I wanted to help if I could.”
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
“Finn River.”
“You from California?”
He must have seen my license plates. I don’t need to lie, but the temptation is so powerful I have to take a breath to center my thoughts. “Yes.”
“I’ll need to get your contact details,” he replies.
I wish I had a card I could shove into his hands and be done with this. “I need to check on my kid.”
“Why don’t you both come sit in my vehicle? It’s warm.”
“No.”
Shit. Now I’m really going to get on his nerves.
I open the back door. Matty’s bright blue eyes have a desperate edge to them. “I have to go to the bafroom!”
Of course he does.
“All right. Can you find your coat?”
Matty spins around and starts going through the clothes piled up on the seat next to his booster.
“Do you have snow cables?” the cop asks from behind me. He’s standing way too close.
“Yes, in the trunk. ”
“How about this,” he says over the wind while I kneel on the seat to help Matty into his coat. “I’ll put them on while you help him.”
My internal alarms are going berserk, but I don’t have another option. “Deal.”
It’s not spoken, but part of this deal is me sticking around to give up whatever information he still needs. Then I will be free to disappear.
I grip Mateo under his arms and lift him from the car. He’s not exactly dressed for snow either in a pair of cobalt-blue Crocs and thin cotton sweatpants. At least he’s wearing socks.
The snow blasts us head-on. I curl around Mateo and wrap him in my arms. His body gives a violent shudder against me.
“We’re going to have to go in the snow, okay, bug?” I shout over the screeching wind.
“Brrr,” Matty complains.
I carry him down the center of the median, the cold snow creeping up my pant legs, until we’re outside the circle of lights from all of the vehicles.
Turning my back to the wind, I set Mateo down but keep his back close to me, creating a tiny bit of shelter. We manage to get his jeans tugged down. The wind at my back is like ice picks, pricking the bare flesh at my ribs and making me shiver and huff. While Mateo gets busy, I give the scene a quick glance. Already the firefighters are working on the other side of the truck to extract Tucker. The cop is kneeling at my front tire, the metal snow chains flashing in the bright lights.
Mateo giggles. “It makes yellow.”
I press my cold lips to the top of his silky head. His lighthearted take on life in this moment is another example of why I’m the luckiest mama on earth. I may only have him, but he’s enough.
“Do you think the pooliceman knows Daddy?” Mateo asks.
Chills shoot down my spine. “No. Not all cops know each other. Even when they work in the same building. ”
Mateo doesn’t reply. I make a note to follow up with him on this subject later.
When we get back to the car, the cop has not only affixed my snow chains, but he’s cleared my windshield of snow too.
“Thank you,” I call out over the wind.
I open the back door and help Matty inside. His Crocs track in snow, but we’ll just have to deal with that later.
“Get buckled up, okay?” I tell him while helping him unzip his coat. He can do it himself, but I’m all about speed right now.
When I close the door, the cop is there. He’s blocking the wind just enough so that I can take a deep breath without it feeling like I’m inhaling razor blades. There’s so much warmth coming off him, like he’s got a heater on inside his thick black coat. He’s wearing insulated leather gloves, the finger pads pale from use, like he’s no stranger to this weather or emergencies that require using his hands.
“Just need your contact info,” he says over the wind while removing a small notebook and pen from his chest pocket. He slips off his left glove and tucks it under his arm, then flips his notebook open and clicks on the pen.
I rattle off my phone number and address. I’ve had to use it so much in the last few weeks that I’ve got it memorized.
“Is this your current residence?” he asks, the pages of his notebook flapping in the wind. From somewhere inside his coat comes a burst of radio chatter. He reaches in and turns the knob down.
“Yes.”
He glances up, and for the first time, our eyes lock.
It’s too dark for me to get details, but the look of curiosity on his face is unmistakable.
I stare him down. I’ve told him everything he needs to know. If he wants more, that’s too fucking bad.
“Thank you,” the cop finally says. “For calling this in and stopping to help.”
“Of course. ”
He tucks his notebook back into his pocket and slips his glove back on. “Drive safely.”
I jump into the car and shut my door. My frozen fingers feel wooden, and my breaths are shaky and fast, but Mateo is safely buckled, so I get the car into reverse and gently press on the accelerator. The chains now hugging my tires bite into the snow and I ease backwards. As I pass the cop getting into his SUV, he slips off his cowboy hat and slides behind the wheel, revealing a head of thick dark hair.
I reverse through the gap between the cop’s SUV and the medic rig, the cop’s headlights illuminating my profile. Is the cop watching me? Do I look as flustered as I feel?
I never did get his name.
It feels weird backing onto the highway, but it’s deserted, and I creep into the lane and shift into drive.
The ambulance is already backing into place, its headlights swinging around, lighting up the snowy road and dancing flakes. I ease down on the accelerator, and we pull away from the scene.
Ahead, the road extends straight, disappearing into the darkness. There are no other tire tracks to follow, so I use the guardrail as my guide. The chains make a loud humming, but the car feels much more solid with them on.
The bright lights from the accident scene get swallowed by the night. No other cars approach from either direction as we drive. The next mile marker emerges from the darkness.
FINN RIVER 21
Okay. I can do twenty-one miles.
In the backseat, Mateo is munching on dried mango and playing with his transformer, humming to himself. I release a series of slow breaths, letting the last of the adrenaline flow out of me. Back when I worked in critical care, I learned the importance of taking moments to process. To feel the feelings before they get bottled up.
The ambulance overtakes me, its swinging red lights cutting the darkness. When it vanishes into the storm, the sense that I’m completely alone out here sinks through me. It’s like falling through another dimension. One dominated by a brutal winter that never ends.
Can I adapt to such a place?
We pass the exit for some town called Pinedale. The off-ramp is a thick sea of white, like it hasn’t been plowed. It must be several feet deep by now.
The white flakes flying past my windshield have a hypnotic effect. Or maybe I’m just exhausted after ten hours on the road, the last two fighting this storm and responding to the accident.
Headlights from the fire truck and the cop fill my rearview. When the fire truck passes, I don’t take my eyes off the road to look up at them, though I have a feeling they’re looking down at me. We’ll take it from here .
The silver SUV doesn’t pass me. I will him to leave me be, but he stays a few car lengths back.
What is he doing? Though I’ve broken no laws in moving across two states to start my life over, he can use “probable cause” to do pretty much anything he wants. Like looking up my license, which will list my old residence in Huntington Park. If he gets really curious, with a few phone calls he could find out more.
In the distance is the soft glow of lights, acting like a tractor beam. With each mile marker, the glow brightens, until I reach the off ramp for Finn River, this one thankfully plowed.
The cop follows me to the T at the end of the ramp. Is he going to follow me all the way to The Meadows? We pass over the highway and descend to the outskirts of town. The streets have been plowed, but I don’t pass any cars.
When a service station comes into view, I flip on my blinker and carefully turn into the lot. My bladder aches so badly my lungs are quivering. And I’m so done with this cop on my ass.
“Quick bathroom break, okay?” I tell Matty, who looks up from his toy when I coast to a stop outside the restroom doors.
The cop continues past the service station.
I release a shaky exhale, folding over my steering wheel .
We’re in the clear. No more hurdles.
While pulling on my coat, the cop turns right at the end of the block. Wait… why isn’t he going back onto the highway?
And then it hits me. The silver sheriff’s badge on his coat and the emblem on his SUV. He’s a county deputy, not a highway patrolman. Finn River is his town.
Which means my chances of never seeing him again are practically zero.