Wealthy and Wanted
Without thinking it through, I grab the keys to my truck and my jacket. Temperatures drop fast out here at night, and if she didn’t take one she could be freezing. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing as I get in my truck and take off towards town. What if she’s just eating dinner with her fiancé and I show up looking like an asshole? I guess it wouldn’t be the first time I looked like that, but seeing disappointment in her eyes is something I don’t think I could stomach.
But what if she’s in trouble? The thought keeps tickling the back of my mind, and it’s the reason I’m turning on the long stretch of road between my farm and civilization. What if she’s in trouble and I’m not there to save her? I have to go look, even if it’s to just find a pot of disappointment at the end of her rainbow of sunshine.
I’m lost in thought on the pitch-black highway just as something catches the corner of my eye. I slam on my brakes and turn around to try and see, but I can’t spot anything right away. Sometimes deer run through this corn field, but I don’t think that’s what it is.
Following my instincts, I put the truck in reverse and back it up. As I do, I take out my flashlight from under my seat and shine it on the water ditch next to the road. To protect the crops from heavy rain, they have to dig out about five feet down on either side of the road and cars have been known to get stuck.
Just as I’m about to give up, my light shines over something light blue. I’m out of the truck before my next heartbeat and running towards the ditch.
“Dorothy! Dorothy!” I scream as I race to the edge. When I see the muddy vehicle turned on its side, I slide down and keep calling. “Dotty, are you in there? Dotty, answer me!”
I climb on the car, but I’m covered in mud now, and my hands are slipping. It’s pitch black out here with no moonlight anywhere to be found, and my flashlight is in a puddle on the ground. My eyes are slowly adjusting, but panic is threatening to take me under.
“Oh god, please, Dotty, answer me.” My hands slip on the door, but I finally get a grip on the handle and pull as hard as I can. Metal groans as I wrench the door open and bend it backwards to stay open. “Dotty!”
I look down and see her slumped to one side, the old seat buckle having blessedly held her in place. I grab my knife out of my pocket and in one quick slice free her from it.
“Dotty, baby, I got you,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms and carefully climbing down off the car. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”
It’s too dark for me to see if she’s bleeding, and I probably shouldn’t have carried her out of the car, but I couldn't leave her there. An ambulance will take too long to reach her, and some of the guys who work on the farm are part-time paramedics for the volunteer fire department. If I hurry, I can get back before they’ve left for the day.
I get into my truck while holding Dotty in my lap. She’s so damn small and cold, I can’t think about what that might mean. In the cab of my truck I turn the light on, but I don’t have time do anything except pull my jacket over her and hug her close as I drive like hell.
“It’s going to be okay, Dotty. I promise everything will be okay. Just keep on breathing, baby. Just breathe.” I hope this is a promise I can keep.
The truck tires eat up gravel as I race down the road with the pedal on the floor. I can see the lights of the big house and barn ahead, and I know help is coming. I go straight for the barn and see the guys all milling around outside talking to one another at the end of the workday. Thank god they’re all so damn chatty as I start honking my horn.
“I got you, Dotty. Help is coming.” My tires screech and I stop the truck. The guys come running over. “Her car flipped in the ditch.”
It’s all I can get out before the guys take her from my arms, and I stand there helpless as they call for what they need. Four of the guys are in motion instantly with a back brace and a triage bag ready to go. Someone hands me my jacket, but all I can think about is putting it on her so she won’t be cold anymore.