The cold air had done her some good. Time to go home. It had been a long day, most of it she spent in the bathroom, in a stall, trying to get herself together. It was just the way it happened sometimes, months of relative peace and then something insignificant—was it the fact that she had approached the deadline for the move?—would throw her off and she was a ball of yarn, every single strand tight, unable to find the beginning or the end of anything. In those moments, she went overboard, alcohol, spending, men, forgot to pay bills, as a matter of fact she had been evicted for not paying rent at her last place, that’s how she ended up living at home again. That posed a different kind of problem altogether. Her parents. She needed them but didn’t want to need them and that’s where she was stuck, between a rock and a hard place, or worse, going down a spiral. When she was like that, she didn’t always catch herself in time, though her father did—she could tell by the way he looked at her, stern and concerned—and now she had just days left to get it together. She chuckled. One month to get out of her parents’ house. As if she’d take that long if she knew how to get away from them.
Penelope started the car, followed the bike trail that ran along the lake, just to see if the car was where the people had shouted earlier. It won’t hurt to look, it won’t hurt at all.
There was a car with a driver’s door ajar. She kept her eyes on it and stepped on the gas. Her movements were sluggish, as if packed in cotton balls, and her foot was heavy, she could tell by the way the car jerked forward. She wasn’t buckled in yet, tried to untangle the twisted belt mess, free the buckle, and everything happened so fast that she didn’t have time to think, to take it all in.
There was a thump. Not like something getting caught underneath the chassis of the car, some armadillo or animal low on the ground. It was more like a dull and faint bang. It wasn’t a guardrail, it wasn’t a bike left behind—there was no sound of screeching metal—but she hit the brakes and the car came to a halt, its front tires digging into the asphalt. She instinctively ripped the steering wheel to the left to keep from hitting it full force, whatever it was. (She remembered stories of deer flying through windshields, yes, it was a deer, it must be a deer.) She reached for the belt but couldn’t find it, though she fumbled for it and what if a deer flew through the windshield? It would kill her for sure.
Her body propelled forward, and her chest made contact with the steering wheel. Penelope got out of the car and on a cloud she floated. She paused in the middle of the bike trail, the yellow line gray as if the world had lost all colors.
She saw something. On the ground. It looked mangled at first, some of it pointed up while other parts seemed to be stuck to the asphalt. It took her brain some time to catch up and she staggered toward it.
A woman.
She wanted to call out her name but she had no clue who she was. She wanted to tell her that she didn’t mean to hit her but that it was dark and that she didn’t see her, but the woman appeared fine. Dazed, yes, confused, yes, but moving, sitting up. A large purse, a tote, off to the side, items strewn everywhere.
Penelope bent down and she stuttered are you okay are you okay oh my God what happened, where did you come from are you okay are you? On and on she went, like a fountain, babbling along.
“Help me up,” the woman said.
29
PENELOPE
There was a woman on the ground, but she talked, made sense—help me up, she said—and it wasn’t bad if she could talk and wanted to get up, was it? She extended her arm, and Penelope put one hand in hers, the other underneath her elbow, and pulled her to her feet.
“What’s your name?” Penelope asked, wondering if this wasn’t a figment of her imagination, a name was going to make it real, and she wanted to commit it to memory.
“Rachel.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”
“I think so,” Rachel said.
She seemed fine, her trench coat was belted, she hobbled, but only because she had lost one shoe, the other one was still on her foot.
In a fog, Penelope gathered that Rachel was beautiful. Her lips were painted red, and her hair was shiny, and she smelled of something clean, like soap or shampoo, maybe detergent.
Rachel stood and parted her trench coat, exposing a bloody knee for Penelope to see.
“What were you doing here?” popped out of Penelope’s mouth before she could rein it in. She should offer to take her to a hospital, should do the right thing, make sure she got help and medical attention even though she looked just fine. “Can you walk?” she added quickly. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No,” she said, her voice fearful. “I think I’m fine,” but she was breathing hard. Really hard.
Penelope didn’t know if it was a no to the walking or a no to the ambulance, but the woman’s breathing became more labored by the second, maybe that was what made her sound timid.
“I need to sit down,” she said.
“My car’s right there. Let me help you.”
They walked together and Penelope held her up. Rachel staggered, still in that one shoe, but only two steps, then she kicked it off as if it just came to her that walking would be much easier without it.
Penelope opened the passenger door and the woman got in. Ladylike, she placed one foot just in front of the seat, lowered herself with her weight carried on her thigh, her head clearing the doorframe and she sat on the outer edge of the seat, then she bent her knees and brought her feet inside the car. She arranged her skirt to cover her bloody knee. Penelope couldn’t help but think that her mother would like this woman, with her tasteful trench and her perfect hair, the way she slid into the seat of Penelope’s car, so refined and elegant, even after what had just happened.
The woman’s head fell back, hit the headrest.
“Let me get your stuff and I’ll take you to a hospital. Just to be sure.” Penelope shut the door, ran and grabbed the shoe, scooped the keys and other items—mints, a lipstick, a wallet—into the tote, then made one more effort to grab the other shoe, but the heel had come off. She stuffed the shoes into the tote and rushed back to the car.
Getting in and starting the engine happened simultaneously. Penelope made a U-turn, no reason going in the other direction, she didn’t even know where it led and she must get the woman to a hospital. There was a medical center that Penelope remembered, on Highway 78, one of those urgent care centers. That was her best bet. It was urgent and the woman needed care, Penelope thought in a haze. She tried to be logical. No, that’s no good. Come to think of it, they do stitches and strep throats, nothing major. But was it major?
Penelope was unfamiliar with her surroundings. She needed to get to 78, but her head hurt, her eyes burned in her head, she could no longer concentrate on directions. Will they take her blood? She hadn’t been drinking but would they test for other substances? Her heart was calm, not a quiver there, but her mind did somersaults.