“Where’s your car?”
“I had to leave it.”
Her total confidence and lack of remorse at hitting my car brings out the smart-ass in me. “You hit somebody else after plowing into me?”
She looks behind her and back to me, and then shakes her head. “No. It’s not going to make it. Engine’s blown. Listen, can I have a ride or not? If you won’t give me a ride…”
I hesitate. There are dark shadows under her eyes and a harried urgency to her request. There’s something haunted about this girl. Something on an emotional level I recognize.
“Forget it.” She blinks, hitches a bag strap over one shoulder, and turns without another word.
The girl is several yards away before I realize she intends to walk to town. The highway is in the middle of an undeveloped area and she’s far from a bus station. Her long hair lifts in the wind and blows forward. She uses both hands to hold it off her face. Dark clouds move overhead and a storm brews, amplifying the heat of the summer day.
It’s mid-morning and the road is deserted with the nine-to-fivers at their jobs. The girl has walked so quickly, she’s a mere speck in the distance.
A boom of thunder brings my attention back to the sky. The wind sweeps the long grass along the ditch and the smell of impending rain hits me. Lightening spikes in the east and another startling clap of thunder sounds. In an instant, it’s like Mother Nature tips a bucket of water from the sky.
The girl stops in the distance and turns to look back.
I shake my head once and hop into my car, make a U-turn in the middle of the highway, and drive her direction. The rain is pounding on the roof as I pull to the side of the road. The girl doesn’t stop marching. I press the horn lightly to get her attention.
Damn if she doesn’t jump back like I’ve shot her. She wobbles for a second and loses her balance. There’s a deep ditch with a metal culvert on her side and she disappears down the incline like she’s on a slip-and-slide.
My gut takes a hit like being sucker punched.
I hit the brakes and jump out, water sluicing down my face and into my eyes. The rain drives into the earth and fills the bottom of the already waterlogged ditch. The girl turns my direction, scrabbling up the incline on her hands and knees.
“Take my hand.” I yell over the storm’s orchestra of wind and water.
She reaches out and I grab her slick fingers, hauling her up to more level ground. She drags her duffel bag with her.
Blonde hair hangs in clumps over her face and she’s coughing. We’re both drenched as we stand near the shoulder of the road. I swing the car door open, attempting to get her inside the car. “Get in,” I yell over the storm.
She pulls back and takes two backward steps onto the blacktop.
A semi appears in the distance. She’s not going to get out of the road. The rain hammers the asphalt. I hold my breath and adrenaline shoots straight to my heart. It’s one of those times I’ve read about where everything is in slow motion. Life flashes before my eyes but not with any of those happy moments.
I see the girl’s frightened face as she tried to grab hold of my hand earlier.
In seconds, I have both her upper arms and drag her to the car. The trucker honks and never slows his speed. She’s shaking.
Kaboom. Kaboom. My heart rivals the pounding rain and the booming thunder. I see the news headline: Man Dies From Mainlining Adrenaline.
“Are you nuts? You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I didn’t see him. I didn’t.”
“I tried to get you in the car so I could give you a ride. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
I open the passenger door and nod to the seat. She finally gets in the car. The cream seat is now a massive, dark water stain. I run around to my own side, as if running will make a difference at this point, and slide into the driver’s seat. The windows are fogged up and I wipe water from my eyes.
“This day has gone from an incredibly bad commute to Weather Channel hell in a couple of hours. What a record.”
We both sit staring at the onslaught of rain on the windshield. I’m positive my seats will need a restoration professional after this.
I hand her a kindergarten-sized Kleenex from the console and she stares at it. “I, umm…” She gingerly takes it with two fingers and rubs it across her forehead.
“What’s your name?” The car moves under the force of the wind sweeping around us. I turn the radio on to see if we are in the middle of a tornado. Welcome to Oz.
“Veronica.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Collin.” I extend a hand. Instead of taking mine to shake, she places the soggy tissue in my hand.
“Where did you say you need to go? Bus station?”
She stares ahead. Her tennis shoes make squeaky sounds as she moves her feet.
“Veronica? Where can I take you?”
She’s silent until she shifts uncomfortably. The sound of her water-soaked tennis shoes draw my gaze and I see red dripping onto my car mats.
“You’re bleeding,” I say. “Are you hurt?”
She bends and tugs her jeans up. There’s a deep gash in her ankle and blood streams down over the bone and onto the white canvas tennis shoe.
“I’m fine,” she answers with a shrug. “Sorry about getting it on your car.” She doesn’t make eye contact but instead scans the cup holder. “Do you have more tissues?”
I shake my head and turn the car back onto the road. “We’re not far from my house. I’ll run in and get something for your ankle.”
Hail begins to ping down on top of the car. Awesome. Add hail damage to the bumper scrape on my new vehicle. I’m more amused than upset over this.
Veronica gives a little gasp. “Do you think we’re safe in here?”
I don’t look at her. Instead I concentrate on the road and drive the three miles to my place. Mother Nature is definitely in league with the disaster of a girl seated in my car.
My roommates and I live in a three bedroom we rent from a builder who gave up on selling it. It’s nice and spacious—not your usual rental. The three-car garage sits empty. I pull inside and glance over at Veronica. “I’ll be back in a second.”
I grab my keys, jump out, and run to the door. My clothes are plastered to me, and I’m chilled now due to the air conditioning we keep at arctic levels. I try to visualize where I’d be if I were a first aid kit. Yep. We probably don’t own one.
In the upstairs bathroom, I rummage through the drawers in hopes of finding a bandage. I grab hydrogen peroxide and a washcloth. I’m down the stairs and going to the door when I realize I didn’t shut it completely.
“Hey, Guy?” Veronica stands in the partially open doorway. She looks vulnerable—hair plastered to her head and wet clothes molded to her body. “Can I use your bathroom? I wouldn’t ask, but I really need to go.”
It’s no longer hailing, but the rain and wind continue. I hesitate for a second. She’s a seemingly helpless girl, but I’m certain there’s been a show on Dateline that covers not letting crazy girls you’ve picked up on the side of the road into your house.
“Sure.” I point to a narrow hallway beside the stairs.
She makes her way inside, halts on the ceramic tile entry, and points at the washcloth. “You have a paper towel? I don’t want to ruin your stuff.”