53. Sean
53
SEAN
C hris, my driver, was guiding the sleek black Rolls-Royce through the crowded Manhattan streets.
The vehicle glided through the bustling roads lined with towering skyscrapers and a slew of yellow cabs.
The traffic was relentless with horns blaring all around us, only intensifying as we approached 59th Street.
“Have I told you that you’ve been looking better lately?” Chris mentioned as he turned the car smoothly from one lane to another.
I laughed. “Are you talking about the new buzz cut I got?” I asked, running my fingers through my very short hair.
Chloe had been very approving of the new look.
“No. You’re happier,” Chris said.
“And I’ve seen you with your buzz cut before. Maybe six years ago.”
I didn’t remember, but Chris had an excellent memory.
I latched on to the other bit of information.
Happy. I remembered telling Chloe she could be happily single when I met her.
What a fool I had been.
She made me so happy by being with me.
She wasn’t meant to be single, and with a woman like her around, neither was I.
But Chris and I never discussed such things.
“Thanks,” I said. “I hadn’t realized it was that obvious. The credit goes to Chloe.”
Chris nodded, like it was something he’d known already.
“She’s great,” he said.
“Honest and friendly.”
That was the shorter version of it.
I could add a lot more—gorgeous, made me feel better whenever she was around, mind-blowing in bed—but this wasn’t the time for it.
“I’ve known you for over a decade, and yet I don’t know where you got that scar above your eyebrow from,” I asked Chris.
He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to forget about that one. I was riding with my friend who was slightly drunk. He didn’t notice the pickup truck sliding to the next lane, and before we knew it, we flipped, the car in the air.” He turned the steering wheel as he deftly maneuvered the car to the right.
“I was lucky I was wearing my seat belt. Otherwise, I’d have a lot more scars than just this one.”
“That must have been traumatic. Did your friend do okay?”
Chris shook his head.
“He didn’t make it,” he said.
Damn. No wonder he’s such a stickler about me wearing my seat belt , I mused, looking at Chris with feeling.
Losing people close to us was always a shock, and I hated that so many people around me had been affected by death of their loved ones.
As I looked out, I saw couples walking down the street, crossing the road to Central Park’s south entrance.
One couple had coffee in hand, a dog in tow, and as I watched, they stopped to share a kiss.
A languid, easy kiss in the middle of the street before they resumed walking, the guy’s arm around the girl’s waist.
I grinned, picturing how wonderful it would feel to do the same with Chloe.
This weekend perhaps , I noted, planning to pick her up from her home and walking down the street with her, hand in hand.
Hopefully, the weather would be good.
It took me a moment to realize I’d never done something remotely similar with Helen.
The realization hit me like a freight train.
Had I grown closer to Chloe than I ever had been with Helen?
I closed my eyes with a groan.
I was imagining doing couple things and not just with anyone, but with Chloe .
My phone rang, and I opened my eyes to answer it when a sudden movement caught my eye.
Out of nowhere, a delivery truck veered into our lane, as though it was oblivious to our presence.
Time seemed to slow down as I braced myself for the impending collision.
The blare of horns built up around us as Chris swerved sharply, but not enough to completely avoid the massive truck.
I felt a sudden jolt as the truck hit the side of our car, tires screeched, and the car began to spin out of control.
The world outside the car window was a blur of flashing lights and frantic faces as adrenaline raced through my veins.
My hands reached into space, trying to grip something, while my heart pounded in my chest. The smell of burned rubber filled the air as the car hit a parked green Toyota with less force than I’d have expected before we came to a shuddering halt.
I took a shaky breath before I reached for the man in front of me.
“Are you okay?” I asked Chris, who could barely turn with the deployed air bag.
He nodded, his hands trembling as he reached to push the airbag away.
As the dust settled, I glanced through the window to see the massive truck swerving away, narrowly missing other vehicles.
The road was chaotic, and it looked like, apart from us and the parked car, no one else was involved or hurt.
For a moment, my world stood still as I realized the gravity of what had just happened.
We’d been inches from disaster.
I ought to be thankful to be alive.
Chris glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a silent understanding passing between us.
In light of what we’d just been discussing, this moment felt even scarier.
My heart still racing from the adrenaline surge, I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands as the sounds of an approaching fire truck reached us.
Getting out, I helped Chris out just as I stared at the dents in my car and the green Toyota parked on the street.
What if something serious had occurred?
What if I’d died?
I haven’t told Chloe that I love her.
The thought haunted me all night long, long after the paramedics gave us the go-ahead and we took a cab back home.