Chapter 27 Sydney #2
He swipes it from my hand and only spills a little, not that it matters, ’cause he’s already wet. “You’re a good kid. The best daughter any man ever had. You know I love you, right?”
“I love you too, but I wish you’d tell Little Mitch you like apple juice.”
Dad laughs and slaps the steering wheel.
I dig around for the big bottle of headache medicine, push down hard on the wiggly cap the way Dad taught me and twist, so I can get it open. I count out three ’cause he’s a big man and needs them, then pass them up one at a time.
He swallows the pills, then reaches for the gear shift.
I reach forward. “Wait. Aren’t you going to let me drive?”
He turns toward me. “You want to, Syd the Kid?”
If he’s had one too many, he gets tired when he’s driving. The car goes all over the place, and he needs me to sit on his leg and steer while he pushes the pedals. “Yeah, but I’m covering you in Howard’s blanket first.”
He scratches the back of his head. “The hell you are. It’s almost summer. Too hot for that shit,” he says in the voice that sounds like his mouth forgot he has a tongue. “Then we’ll both smell like wet dog.”
“You’re all gross.”
He chuckles. “You’re not made out of sugar, sugar.” He throws his hands up. “I’m melting. I’m melting.”
Figuring I might as well get it over with, I hitch my leg up through the middle of the seats to climb through, but Dad pats my knee with his big bear-paw hand. “You don’t have to get wet, honey. Your ol’ man is good to go. I haven’t had too much.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. Maybe it’d be okay. I seen him drive way worse.
“Trust me. Take a nap. I’ll carry you in the house when we get home like you’re still my sweet lil’ baby girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Dad.” He can’t carry me if he needs me to help him up the steps so he don’t fall down and sleep in the yard. Sometimes I wish I still was his baby, though, getting carried around, instead of eight years old and too big for people taking care of me.
I pull my leg in, then lay down on the backseat again. Dad turns on the A/C and the radio.
I drift off to an uneasy sleep . . . and jolt awake to screeching and skidding.
My whole body gets picked up clean off the seat and slammed against the door.
It’s the worst pain anybody ever felt and was still living.
Then I slam back the other way until I’m on the floor with my face smashed against the back of Dad’s seat.
The BOOM and crunch and crash and tinkling of glass and creaking of wood ring in my ears. Then there’s only the rain splattering inside the car, drip, drip, drip, and a weird hissing and squeaking, and Reba singing on the radio like nothing happened at all.
“Dad!” My head aches, and my arm burns, hanging loose at my side and bent at a weird angle. I can’t make it move at all. “Dad, help. I’m hurt bad.”
He makes a gurgley noise.
“Dad!”
I make myself climb up off the floor. It’s the hardest thing I ever did.
One of the headlights bounces light off a tree trunk and back into the car.
We’re not on the road, the front of the car dipping way down into a ravine.
The hood crunched up around a big tree. Branches broke all over and poke in the front windshield.
No window left in the front, just crushed-up glass looking like a spilled snow cone.
“Dad!” I gotta get up where he is. It hurts and hurts and hurts and I grit my teeth against it, tears pouring down my face, but I get myself upright so I can climb through the middle.
If the cops find us, they’ll put him in jail and me back in one of them houses with the people who make you pray your gratefulness over every bite that goes in your mouth and that you got a bed, never mind you ain’t got your dad.
I barely get one leg in the front before the smell of old pennies smacks me right in the face. Something inside me says, “Don’t look, sugar. Close your eyes,” but I have to.
The smell of fresh, green oak mixes with blood.
Light and shadows dance all over the silvery wet bark of a tree branch poking its way down into the driver’s side of the car.
Dad’s soaking wet dark blue shirt doesn’t show rips or nothing at all, except the branch, about as big around as my lower leg, attached into his chest like a stick in a lollipop.
His eyes move, opening and staring at me wide, white showing all around the brown part. I grab on to the wood with my hand that still works. “I’ll get it out. I’ll save you!”
Blood shines red where it dribbles out of his mouth like he’s a baby with spit up.
I yank and yank and scream with my teeth clamped tight together and my whole body pulling on that slippy wood, my fingers ripping up raw on the bark, but it won’t make a creak.
“Dad,” I cry.
He shakes his head, the movement so tiny it almost looks like an accident. Then he touches my side. “Stop.” The word whistles out, bubbly and choked and quiet.
I let go and stick my face in his shoulder like I’m still the baby he called me. “Dad.”
His hand flops onto my back. “Sorry . . . Shoulda . . . let you . . . drive.”
Someone approaches me where I lay trapped in light so bright that it blinds me. “Cooperate, and you can go home.”
I can’t move. Can only wait, strapped to a hospital bed and shivering in terror. Hold on a little longer. He’ll find me.
Get through one minute at a time. One more minute. One more. But he doesn’t come. He’s probably on a bender somewhere.
“Sydney? Are you okay?” he asks.
Nothing I did to keep him safe worked. Pretending made no difference. Forgetting didn’t save him. I was selfish. I wanted to keep him because when he was around my heart wasn’t pinchy and hollow. Now we’ll both die.
An arm tightens around me. “I’ve got you.”
My heart pounds and my skin feels too small.
The man presses his lips to my forehead. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay. Open your eyes for me, sunshine.”
Tall man, black helmet with the visor raised. Green eyes. My husband found me. He came for me. He never gave up on me.
I lift my hand to touch him. I open my mouth to thank him.
Awareness settles over me slowly as I wake fully. Fairy lights sparkle above us. McRae holds me against him, but the fingers of my memories are still here, digging in. My throat closes off. There’s not enough air.
He eases away from me. I drag him back into my arms.
He blows out a breath and returns to cradle me. “You don’t want me to go?”
Against his shoulder, I shake my head. “Why would I want that?”
“You used to ask me to leave after you had a nightmare. You said I reminded you of your father.”
I lean back just far enough to look into his eyes. “I slept while you flew the helicopter. You are nothing like that man.”