Oh, God. Help me. Forgive me. I was not being a good girl.
That night on the way home, I nestled up to Tim in the car, lethargic and in love. I’d probably hate myself in the morning—again—but at that moment, in the dark, private world in the car, I was happy. The radio was playing softly in the background and, as a song came on, I listened to the words, traveling along with them, until I realized I could have written the song. Every single word was true.
It can’t be wrong . . . The woman crooned, and followed the words with something about it feeling right.
“I love that song. I broke the silence that had fallen when we’d hit the highway. “Every word of it is true.”
“‘You Light Up My Life,’” Tim named the song. And then said, “You do mine, too.”
He smiled down at me and hugged me close.
Parking his brother’s station wagon in the circular drive in front of Tara’s house, Tim walked her to the door. It was late. After midnight. He had to get home—had to be at work at the deli in the grocery store in town at 6:00 AM
But when she said, “Do you want to come in? Maybe have a Pepsi, some caffeine for the ride home?” he hesitated.
There was a light on in the foyer of the house. Everything else was dark.
“What about your parents?”
“I’m sure they’re in bed. They won’t care. They’d rather you have some caffeine than fall asleep on the way home.”
He was in the door before she said another word. No way was he turning down a chance to have Tara in his arms again.
He wasn’t sure what happened to the Pepsi idea. One second they were standing together in the family room, and the next they were in a bean bag in front of a fireplace that still smoldered with embers.
“My folks must’ve had a fire tonight,” he heard Tara say, though he couldn’t be sure of that either.
All he knew was that the woman of his dreams was in his arms and he couldn’t get enough of her.
Ever.
The next thing he knew it was 4:00 AM.
Shit. He had to get Mike’s car back and get to work. Neither Mike nor his wife cared that he borrowed the car, but they’d care if they needed it and he hadn’t brought it back like he’d promised. They had little kids to take care of.
With a hurried goodbye, he started on the long drive that had very quickly become rote to him. So rote that by the time he hit his exit, still fifteen minutes from home, he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
“Just a few more miles,” he said out loud, rolling down the window for a bit of fresh air.
And when, a couple of minutes later, he started to nod off, he said it again. “Just a few more miles.”
More like ten. His voice fell flat in the car’s lonely interior.
The next thing he heard was tires on gravel.
Jerking, he woke up and realized that he’d missed a curve and was heading straight for a telephone pole. Fast.
He slammed the brake pedal to the floor and turned the steering wheel sharply. The car spun around and he held on, dizzy, scared.
He was going to die.
Suddenly the car came to a complete stop. With his head feeling like he was still spinning, he looked around. He’d landed about ten feet from the telephone pole, still upright. He hadn’t hit anything. Nothing was damaged.
Except his psyche.
Thank God. Mike would kill him if he wrecked his car. There’d be no forgiveness there.
Because it wasn’t the first time Tim had been in a spinning car. Shaking, Tim was suddenly back a few years, thirteen years old again. He and his brother Jeff had been out with a couple of buddies late one night. Jeff, fourteen then, had been driving. A sign indicating a coming turn was blocked, and they’d taken the curve too fast. The car had rolled, and they’d ended up in a farmer’s field.