by Alan Seeger
CHAPTER 60
As Settlemoir came to the entrance to the Town Pump’s lot, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to find the services he needed. Hell, he thought, I’m starving. I’ll stop anyhow and get a burger and a Coke. He began to turn in to the entrance.
Just then, he saw a splash of turquoise in his peripheral vision and started to turn his head, realizing too late that it was an SUV of some kind, an Explorer or a Cherokee, heading out of the same entrance. He slammed his foot on the brakes and heard the hiss of the pneumatics, but he felt them lock up, and the weight of the trailer insisted on obeying the law of inertia. He felt the cab shift around him as the trailer began to jackknife.
CHAPTER 61
Lynne and Nancy both saw the semi at the same moment. Nancy’s mouth opened, but all that came out before the impact was “Ly —”
Nancy had seen truck tires up close before. Her ex-husband, Roger, had been a trucker for more years than she knew how to count. She knew that they were huge.
This tire, however, the one that seemed to fill her field of vision, the one that was demanding in no uncertain terms that she give it her full attention, was monstrous, like the alien spacecraft in Independence Day. It filled the windshield. It filled the sky. It was the sky.
The tire, attached to a silver semi-trailer, struck the hood of the Cherokee and crumpled it like a sheet of discarded tinfoil torn off the top of a frozen dinner.
It was all in slow motion now. Nancy wanted to turn her head and look at Lynne, to see the face of her best friend before she died, but although the tire was in slow motion, so was she, and there was no time. No time at all.
The tire rode up over the mangled hood and Nancy saw the windshield disintegrate into a thousand shards of glass, which exploded like shrapnel from a grenade. Nancy threw her arms up in an attempt to protect her face, her eyes.
The passenger side roof pylon crumpled, striking her right forearm. She felt no pain as she was thrown forward against her seat belt and her radius and ulna snapped.
In the driver’s seat, Lynne gripped the steering wheel in a panic as she saw the semi. She had the flash of a thought that said to GET OUT OF THE WAY, whether by steering or braking, but her nervous system was utterly incapable of delivering information to her voluntary muscles fast enough to respond to a situation such as this. Quick as nervous impulses may seem, the panicked command had not yet left her brain’s command center when the impact came.
Lynne had neglected to fasten her seat belt, having been distracted by the good company of her best friend. Her body slammed forward into the steering wheel as the airbag of the aging vehicle failed to inflate. Her rib cage was compressed, and two of the ribs on her right side splintered, the shards tearing through the pleural cavity and into her right lung. Her head pitched forward, slamming into the steering wheel and the remains of the shattered windshield, as blood splattered across the dashboard, the crushed windshield, Nancy’s left arm and her face. Nancy’s screams could be heard echoing across the parking lot.
CHAPTER 62
Steven sat in front of the blank computer screen, willing an idea to come into his head, but his mind remained obstinately blank.
Just then, the kids arrived home and the noise level increased by 35 or 40 decibels as they told him about what had happened that day at school. Normally he didn’t mind taking time out to spend with them, but today they were simply more distractions from the serious business of writing. They ran off to the kitchen to find an after-school snack while Steven went through the mail, which Nikki had brought in. Bills, bills, free sample of doggie treats, bills. Oh, well. No one sent him a large check today to change his life. Perhaps tomorrow.
Then the phone rang. He sighed at yet another interruption and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Denver?”
“Yes, this is Steven Denver.”
“Mr. Denver, this is Sergeant Robbins at the County Sheriff’s office. Sir, I’m afraid there’s been an accident…”
CHAPTER 63
Steven arrived at the truck stop seventeen minutes later, frantic with worry and fear. He saw the bulk of the semi lying on its side with the front part of their turquoise Jeep Cherokee beneath the front of the trailer. He could see that the driver’s door was detached from the rest of the Jeep and was lying on the pavement nearby. Two sheriff’s vehicles and an ambulance were parked nearby, their lights turning the darkening parking lot into a red and blue kaleidoscope.
The ambulance is still here, Steven thought. Maybe she’s not hurt badly. One look at the Jeep, however, left him unable to believe that. He began to shake. Looking at the back of the ambulance, he saw the form of a woman sitting on the edge of the bumper, wrapped in a blanket. A paramedic stood next to her, tending to her injuries.
His heart leapt. Lynne!
He ran to her. She looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed and overflowing with tears.
It wasn’t Lynne. It was Nancy.
She saw Steven and began sobbing. “Steve… oh, Steve…”
The paramedic looked at him and said, “Are you Mr. Denver?” He nodded. She looked grim and said, “Please wait here one moment, sir.”
She approached one of the sheriff’s deputies that stood nearby. He walked over to Steven and said, “Mr. Denver?” Steven nodded once again. “Mr. Denver,” the officer said sadly, “I regret to inform you that your wife passed away a short time ago from injuries that she suffered in this accident.”
Steven stood speechless for a long moment. The paramedic took him into the back of the ambulance, where Lynne’s body lay on a stretcher covered with a sheet. They allowed him to see her face, which was battered and bruised, her right eye swollen like a prizefighter’s. There were bits of glass in her hair as well as embedded in the skin of her forehead and right cheek. Steven brushed the glass away as best he could, his touch tender against her cold skin. Blood was congealed where it had run down the side of her face from a gash in her right temple.
Steven’s world was ripping apart, everything forgotten but the overwhelming grief. Suddenly the faces of the children exploded into his mind. Oh, Jesus, how would he break the news to the children?
He stepped back down out of the ambulance and sat next to Nancy. They held each other, careful not to hurt her right arm, which was in a splint, and they both wept.
CHAPTER 64
Lynne’s funeral was held three days later. They laid her to rest at the Headwaters Cemetery not far from town. The children stood by the grave, dressed in somber black, their eyes rimmed with tears.
The faculty and staff of the school were in attendance, as were many of the children. Nancy was seated next to the family, her arm in a cast, the pale green sling out of place against her black dress and coat.
The minister, Rev. Simon Scott from the First Church of the Redeemer, delivered a rather generic but well-meaning eulogy that extolled Lynne as a wonderful wife, mother and teacher. Nikki had suggested him because she’d once been in his class at a Vacation Bible School years ago; the Denver family had no other religious affiliation. Steven had shrugged and agreed, in part because he was still in shock over Lynne’s death.
Each of the children dropped a red rose into the grave atop the turquoise steel casket. Turquoise had been Lynne’s favorite color, but now it only tormented Steven, reminding him of the Jeep Cherokee in which she had met her death. I’ll never own anything that color again, he thought.
CHAPTER 65
It was late 2005, and Steven and Lynne were at an auto dealer in Bozeman, standing in front of a shiny metallic turquoise 2002 Jeep Grand Cherokee. Lynne fell in love with the color in sight.
The sales rep, a thirtysomething, mustachioed ex-athlete named Brent, informed them that it was a custom paint job. “They didn’t come from the factory in this color — it’s called ‘Tropical Turquoise.’”
He grinned when he saw Lynne’s eyes light up, knowing they were hooked. “It’s four wheel drive, which you definitely need with the
winters we have around here,” he said. “It’s got a 3.7 liter V-6, decent on gas —17 in town, 21 highway is what it’s EPA rated. Five speed automatic tranny, A/C. power steering, power brakes, CD player… normally these babies run about seventeen grand, but this one’s got about 72,000 miles on her, so we have it marked down to just under $12,000. Were you planning to put some money down, or did you have a vehicle you’d like to trade in?”
Lynne and Steven glanced at each other. This guy was good. Very good. They both wanted to see the Cherokee sitting in their driveway.
“Well, to be honest, the car we have now is a piece of s—”
“Steven!” Lynne interrupted. She smiled at the salesman. “The car we have now is pretty old. It’s a 1989 Buick Regal.”
“It’s been a good car,” said Steven, “don’t get me wrong; we’ve just worn it out,” he grinned. “I do have $2500 I can put down,” It was all that was left from Steven’s book advance after they’d paid off the house. “Could we do that, plus give you our old car too?”
Brent smiled and said that he was sure they could work a deal that would make everyone happy. They followed him inside, where he introduced them to the sales manager, a rotund fellow named Morty who smelled like Old Spice and cigars. He took them into his office and invited them to sit.
Twenty minutes later, after they had crunched the numbers, Morty told them that the dealership would allow them $200 for their trade-in. He smiled at them both from behind his massive oaken desk and went into his rehearsed spiel.
“This is a summary of the transaction. The purchase price of the vehicle is $11,995; this shows your down payment plus the $200 for your trade-in deducted from the purchase price; dealer prep fee is $195, and the taxes and registration fees are shown here,” he pointed to a figure, “and here. Your total loan amount comes to $9,867.45, at 7.5 percent APR for 36 months, which will make your monthly payment $306.93. If that all looks correct, just sign and date where it’s indicated at the bottom of the page.”
Steven picked up the pen that Morty offered him and began to sign.
“Steve,” Lynne said suddenly, “Uh… Morty, could my husband and I had a moment to talk?”
“Of course,” Morty said with a hint of disappointment in his voice, and went out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Lynne turned to Steven with a worried look on her face. “Steve, I don’t know,” she said, “Three hundred dollars a month is a lot. Maybe we should look around at some other vehicles, maybe something that’s not quite as much.”
Steven looked at her. “Honey, this is a good vehicle, and we’ll be able to swing the payment. I should have royalty checks coming in quarterly starting in about six months, and if they won’t cover nine hundred dollars worth of car payments every three months, I better quit writing and go back to work at the factory,” he laughed, “Plus, have you forgotten that we don’t have a $600 house payment any more? C’mon, you love this Jeep, don’t you?” Lynne smiled reluctantly and nodded. “Okay, then,” he said with a smile, “we’re buyin’ this puppy.”
And they did.
Now, four years later, the Jeep was in a salvage yard and they were putting Lynne in the ground.
Steven thought of an article he’d skimmed through in an old copy of Popular Science he’d been looking at while waiting for a dental appointment a couple of months before. It was about the possibility of small changes in events radically changing future events, as fictionalized in a movie called The Butterfly Effect that had come out a few months before.
Now he wondered whether Lynne would still be alive if he had bowed to her urging four years ago and decided to buy a different vehicle. Maybe if I’d bought that 2000 Expedition that Roger and Nancy had for sale, he thought. He’d never know now.
When directed to do so by the funeral director, Steven shoveled the first spadeful of earth into the grave, wincing at the sound as the gravelly dirt struck the top of the grave liner. He turned and walked toward the car that waited to transport him and the children home.
CHAPTER 66
For more than two weeks after the funeral, Steven did nothing but sit in his room watching television, eating chips and drinking beer. His hair was greasy, his bed unmade and he wore the same clothes for days at a time until Nicolette harassed him into changing them.
They had no worries about finances; Lynne had seen to that. The proceeds from the life insurance policy that she’d had through the school had been paid promptly, a check having been delivered personally and with many condolences by an agent from Bozeman. While it wasn’t enough to make them millionaires, by any means, it did ensure that Steven didn’t have to worry about paying the bills or feeding the children.
However, it also meant that he had no motivation to do anything at all. Nikki cleaned up the beer cans and tried to tidy up his room, but when she started to change the bed, he flew into a rage. The bedding smelled like Lynne, and he absolutely refused to let go of that.
Finally, Thanksgiving approached, and Nikki planned to take the entire week off from school to prepare for the holiday. On Sunday night, she walked into her father’s bedroom and pointed out that Thanksgiving was only four days away. He shrugged through his pounding headache and mumbled, “I got nothin’ to be thankful for.”
Nikki’s blue eyes flashed fire, like her mother’s had when she was angry. “You don’t have anything to be thankful for? What the hell do you mean? Daddy, I know you loved Mom. We all loved her. But you still have at least four other people who love you, and instead of living your life and dealing with things the way Mom would have wanted, you’re sitting here in your own stink, fucking off and doing nothing.”
Steven did a double take at the profanity, staring at his daughter with new eyes. Man, he thought, when did she grow up?
“Now, wait just a —” he began.
“No, I’m not waiting any longer,” Nikki hissed. “I’ve waited three weeks for you to pull yourself together. Three weeks. You’ve been in here, moping around, only coming out of this room when you need more beer, watching TV — and it’s not even good TV — and sleeping off your hangover every damned day. It’s time to get back to the real world. It’s what Mom would have wanted you to do.”
Steven looked at her for a moment as she stood defiantly, daring him to try to oppose her. He looked at the floor. “You’re right, Nikki. I’m sorry. I — I’m really sorry.”
He went to hug her, but she refused, saying he smelled like a garbage can. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll go get cleaned up,” he said, and went into the bathroom to take a shower.
Steven stood in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Taking a good look at his reflection, he realized just how far he had let himself slide. For God’s sake, he thought, you look like a homeless drifter or a resident of Skid Row, which made him wince. Nikki was right. How had he let himself get sucked into such a vortex of self-pity?
Sucked into a vortex. Something about that phrase struck a nerve. He had the most peculiar feeling of déjà vu.
He shaved the nearly three weeks of beard from his haggard face, feeling like he was fighting his way through the tangles of a tropical jungle. Finally he was at least semi-presentable; now for the shower.
He adjusted the water temperature, stripped off the rank polo shirt, stained sweat pants and soiled underwear he’d been wearing for days, and stepped into the stinging shower. The water felt incredibly good on his aching back. Why hadn’t he done this days ago? He began to scrub the sweat and grime from his weary body.
Suddenly he became aware of an intense amber glow that lit up the bathroom, shining through the Plexiglas shower doors, and of a presence. Somebody was in here with him; he was sure of it, although he hadn’t heard the door open. Besides, it was locked. He stood stock still as the shower beat against his skin, uncertain of what to do.
He heard the sound of a woman clucking her tongue. Tsk, tsk, tsk. His heart raced. It sounded like Lynne, but of course that couldn’t possi
bly…
“Hello?” he said, “Who’s there?”
The shower door suddenly slid open. There was a woman standing there, shaking her head at him, her hand on the door railing. She was surrounded in a halo of light, sparkling like a diamond, and was dressed in what seemed to be a champagne-colored silken robe. The hair color was a medium blonde, like Lynne’s, but the resemblance stopped there. This woman was most definitely not Lynne.
“Are you an angel?” he asked wide eyed, half expecting to find that a heavenly messenger had been dispatched to reunite him with Lynne, in some celestial realm. He wasn’t a religious man, by any means, but for some reason he had an odd feeling at this point that anything was possible.
“Naw, ‘fraid not,” she replied in a broad accent. “Believe me, I’m no angel. Ask anybody.”
He stared at her. “Who are you?”
“You don’t remember me, do you? No, of course you don’t. Technically, we’ve never met before,” she said, smiling. “You seem like you’re in need of a little guidance.”
Steven nodded. “God, ain’t that the gospel truth.”
She gave a crooked grin and said, “Oh, I know, honey. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He frowned, wondering who this person was, what she had up her silken sleeve, and how she got into his locked bathroom.
He heard Nikki’s voice in the hallway. “Daddy? Who are you talking to?”
“Uh… no one, baby. I was just… uh… singing in the shower,” he answered.
He stood staring at the unknown woman until she handed him a bath towel and said, “Here, maybe you better cover yourself up, big guy.”
He suddenly realized that he was standing naked in the shower; he turned off the water and wrapped the towel around his waist, his face flushing.
