1
SANDY
The road stretches in front of me, empty except for a huge truck in the distance. It's hot, but the air-conditioning is keeping me cool. I'm thankful because I want to arrive at Connie's wedding looking fresh, not a sweaty crumpled mess.
I have a small suitcase in the trunk just in case I need to stay over. I haven't booked anything, which is stupid, but money is about to get tight. I figure there'll be a room available somewhere if I need one.
The music blasting on the stereo makes me tap my fingers on the wheel. I've always loved 1970s disco. The classics make me want to get up and dance, but it's been a long time since I hit a club. My friends are all settled down now with job responsibilities, boyfriends, or husbands. Now the only time I get to dance is at weddings, and each one that passes makes me feel more and more of a failure.
My mind wanders where I don't want it to venture, back to the last night I spent with Tyler. He's the last man I allowed into my bed and the last man I trusted with my heart. It didn't end well, and even just a fleeting thought about what happened four years ago sets off an ache in my chest that is hard to push away.
I focus on the song lyrics, starting to sing along even though I know I sound loud and tuneless. There's no one here to listen to my awful voice, and singing lifts my spirits. At least it lifts my spirits until the car fills with smoke, and I'm forced to pull over in a panic. As I scramble out of my old Lexus, I have the sense to grab my purse from the passenger seat. If it's going to go up in flames, I need my phone.
On the side of the road, I glance back the way I came, hoping a friendly person might be coming up behind me, and then reconsider. It could be dangerous. So many true-crime stories start this way, with a woman in a vulnerable position. I grab my phone from my bag, walking a little further from the car. There are no signs of flames, so I'm wondering if it's the car's cooling system that has ruptured. What I thought was smoke must have been steam.
Running a quick search, I find a local garage that's only two miles away. Deep Repairs. It seems like an odd name, but I couldn't care less what it's called so long as they can come and rescue me and the car and fix it up quickly.
A deep husky voice says, "Deep Repairs, how can I help you?" and I quickly explain what's happened. The guy tells me they'll be with me in twenty minutes, and when I hang up, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Twenty minutes feels like twenty hours standing in my silver heels and strapless dusky pink dress by the side of this dusty road. People drive past, but thankfully no one stops. I guess the good Samaritan is a concept relegated to the past. When the repair truck is visible in the distance, I practically sing again with happiness.
The driver pulls over in front of my vehicle, emerging from the cab of the truck hidden behind a baseball cap and sunglasses. The gray shirt he's wearing hugs his broad chest and muscular arms, leaving nothing to the imagination. There's grease on his forearms and a tattoo too.
A tattoo that looks familiar.
When he focuses on me, he stops dead like someone shot him in the chest, the ready smile on his lips falling away as he recognizes me at the same time that I recognize him.
"Sandy?"
His rich, deep voice sends a shiver through my whole body, not of fear but of awareness. It's like every molecule of my body knows this man and is drawn to him.
"Tyler?" It comes out as a question too, even though I know it's him. Tears burn behind my eyes and in my throat. Tears of anger, of betrayal, of disappointment so deep it cut me open so wide that I've never been able to fully repair myself.
This man was responsible for my happiest days and my most blissful moments. He filled me with light and laughter and hope, and then he disappeared, and all I was left with was the ghost of what we were when we were together and a million unanswered questions.
How could he leave me? How could he not tell me he was going? Did he ever love me? Was it real or all just a cleverly crafted lie?
My hands tremble at my sides, and I clasp them in front of me, not wanting to give anything away. Our days of sharing everything are so deep in the past that they feel like something I watched at the movies, not something that actually happened to me.