Fearsome (28 page)

Just as I cross the bumpy little bridge I see a vehicle up ahead coming from the direction of town. As I’m about to pass it, I recognize the Blackard delivery truck with Dylan at the wheel. Our eyes lock for a moment before he turns his gaze back to the road ahead of him. Something in my gut is crawling out of me, a sickening feeling that Dylan is headed to Carson’s home and he knows that I’ve just come from there.

Before I can put the thought of him out of my head, I hear a deafening crash. I pull to the side of the road and slam on the brakes. My car is at an angle, so I can see back far enough to the bridge where one side of the wooden rail is gone.

“Dylan,” I whisper to myself.

I get out of my car and start running back to the bridge. As I get closer, I know it’s Dylan’s truck that went through that railing. He saw me, his eyes were glazed over with indifference. The tracks from the truck are prominent where they left the dirt road and drove onto the wooden bridge. He must have stepped on the gas and then drove right through the railing instead of straightening out his wheels.

I run to the edge of the bridge where broken beams are hanging. The Blackard truck is lying on the driver’s side almost flipped over. The bile rises in my throat, but I can’t scream, there’s no sound in me and no one around to hear me if I could scream for help. I take my cell phone out of my cardigan pocket and call Carson.

“Get in your truck and drive to the bridge now! It’s Dylan!” I shout when Carson answers.

Next I call Archie and tell him to call for emergency help because I don’t know how to explain my location or the names of the crossroads. I tell Archie I’m at the bridge that enters onto Carson’s property and he immediately hangs up to call others for help. I’m no help. I’m the problem, not the solution.

Maybe it’s five minutes or longer, I don’t know. I’m crying too hard to even see. Someone leads me out of the way when a state patrol vehicle and an ambulance arrive. I see Carson down by the crashed truck with a team of men and then, through my blurry vision, I see people in uniforms carrying a stretcher up the gully to the waiting ambulance. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s Dylan strapped to the board, his body motionless. I don’t know if he’s alive.

I drop my head in my hands. It hurts and feels heavy with visual overload. The tears stop, I’m dried up. Then I feel a gentle hand on my back. It’s Archie who holds me tightly and walks my feeble body back to his car. I wait in his ancient Lincoln Town Car as he goes back to confer with Carson who looks back at Archie’s car before he quickly climbs into the ambulance after his brother. The ambulance speeds off ahead of Archie’s parked car, lights and sirens blaring. I watch it disappear down the road, hoping they can save Dylan.

Archie speaks to the officers for a while before returning to the car. My car is still on the side of the road, but I know I’m too shaky to drive it so I stay in Archie’s.

“We’ll meet Carson at the hospital,” Archie says to me as he gets in and buckles up. He is very calm and, in his three-piece suit and bowtie, he’s a pillar of comfort for me.

“Is Dylan alive?”

“Yes, but he’s unconscious. Carson said he was mumbling something when they pried him out of the truck. That’s a good sign. We’re heading to St. Francis.”

I nod without any idea where we’re going. I look out the window to watch the trees and houses pass by as if I’m stationery and everything else is moving. Archie pats my hand, yet is silent on our journey to the emergency room.

When we arrive, I jump out and run inside to find Imogene, Lauren, Bonnie, Lois and Eleanor along with the whole Blackard staff already there. We are relegated to a waiting room since none of us are blood relatives. Only Carson is allowed inside with Dylan.

“Is it true you were with Carson?” Lauren says in an angry low voice so others can’t hear.

“Yes, I was at his house. I was driving home when I saw… when I heard Dylan’s truck crash.”

Imogene approaches and puts an arm around me. “Carson is with him. I think Dylan will be okay. I do,” she says as if she’s trying to convince herself.

“Jess, everyone is saying that Dylan walked in on you and Carson… you know… and then he intentionally drove the truck into a tree or something.” Lauren is visibly upset and believes I have something to do with Dylan’s accident.

“That’s not what happened at all. Dylan saw me in my car, not in Carson’s home. Then Dylan drove the truck—or he lost control of the truck on the bridge. It went off the bridge. He didn’t drive it into a tree. I called for help.” I can’t believe everyone already has a manufactured story to go along with the incident where I’m the villain.

“But Dylan did see you driving, coming from the direction of Carson’s house?” Lauren pushes.

“Yes,” I admit.

“Lauren, enough with the questions. It doesn’t matter what happened. We need Dylan to be okay.” Imogene is protective of me and keeps her arm firmly across my shoulders.

“But it does matter,” I say softly. “How it happens, matters greatly. Was it an accident or did Dylan intend to hurt himself, or worse.”

Imogene hushes me as Lauren looks warily at me and then spends the next hour while we wait cautiously avoiding me. I feel ashamed. It’s an easy emotion to trap yourself into, especially if you deserve it.

While everyone is quietly waiting, drinking bad coffee and murmuring hopeful thoughts to one another, I consider what I have done to these two brothers who have depended solely on each other for the last twenty years. I think of how cavalier I was with Dylan’s affections and then how I moved on to Carson, accepting his love like it’s a lollipop. I’ve used them up and neglected to accept the consequences.

After another hour, Carson comes down the hall; his tall figure stands out among the doctors and nurses in scrubs. Everyone jumps up to meet him and hear the news. I linger in back, not really sure of my place in this close-knit group.

“Dylan is going to be fine.” Carson’s voice is solid, no wavering. He looks over the group at me as he talks. “It’s hard to believe, but his big fat head may have saved him. He wasn’t wearing the belt and took a good beating when the truck rolled down the ravine, but all he has are some superficial lacerations on his head. They’re stitching him up now.”

Archie asks Carson about the scans on Dylan’s head. Everyone is huddled around Carson, so I miss the rest of the story, but what I keep hearing in my head is “when the truck rolled down the ravine”.

I hope that means Dylan didn’t attempt to drive off the bridge, which would have been a straight drop down and could have been a more fatal prospect for him. I hope Carson is going to tell us that Dylan misjudged the turning circumference on the truck and ended up with one wheel off the bridge, causing it to roll. These scenarios play out in my head, different versions with different implications, however, I can’t bother Carson with this when the only thing that matters at this point is whether Dylan is alive or not.

At least thirty of the people in the waiting room are there for Dylan and they all wait their turn to hug Carson and give him some cheery words. Then he looks through the crowd again until his eyes settle on mine. He moves through the tight space towards me. Imogene gives me a little smile and pushes me towards Carson. His face breaks into a strained smile of relief before he embraces me. I hold on to him and collapse against his body.

“My brother is okay,” he whispers. I look up at him. A few feet away, I see Lois and Eleanor watching us.

“When can the rest of us see him?” I ask.

“Probably not until tomorrow. They shot him up with a lot of painkillers and they’ll have to do some more tests, but I’m guessing tomorrow they’ll move him to a regular room.”

“Good and will they let you stay here tonight with him?”

“Yeah. He’ll go to ICU for tonight, but they’ll let me stay as long as I stay out of the way and don’t fall asleep. Apparently, you’re not allowed to sleep in a hospital.” Carson attempts to lighten the stressful mood and tension. I try to smile along with him, yet it’s difficult to pretend that this is a normal trip to the emergency room.

“Hey,” he whispers to me. “You saved him. You called for help. It would have been much worse if you hadn’t been there.” Carson leans over to kiss me. Our lips linger together and I can sense others watching us.

“You go be with Dylan. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I want to get out of here now, but I also don’t want Carson to think I’m hurrying to leave.

“I will. I’m going to have Archie drive you back home. Leo told me he picked up your car. You left the keys in it, so he drove it back to your place.” He hugs me tighter and kisses my cheek. “Stop worrying, Jess. This could have been worse, but it wasn’t. Dylan got lucky.”

I just keep nodding along because I can’t put two intelligent words together.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” Carson says.

After Carson goes back to be with Dylan, the others have a group hug as if we all survived some terrible tragedy together. Imogene and Lauren pull me into the cathartic hug along with Lois and Eleanor. Even Leo and the other odd friends of the Blackard boys embrace me as though we’re all part of a whole. It’s meant to make us feel safer and we do.

Archie drives me home and I have trouble keeping up with his perky conversation because I am as gloomy as ever. In front of my house, he turns off the car engine. “This is a time to count your blessings, Jessica.”

“I don’t think this would have happened if Dylan hadn’t seen me coming across that bridge. We still don’t know for sure if Dylan did this on purpose or if it was an accident, but I inadvertently had a hand in it, and for that, I am ashamed.”

Archie leans across the seat with a pinched face. “You don’t know that. Let me tell you, life is always full of pain and loss. Always, but this isn’t one of those times. Dylan is young and strong and he will be healthy again. Besides, now more than ever, Dylan needs all of us to help him through this dark time. You can
feel
however you want about this situation, but it’s a waste of precious resources. This is no time for self-pity, my dear.” His words come through loud and clear.
Get off your pity wagon
. Yet that’s easier said than done.

I will not sleep well tonight.

Twenty-Seven

I’m awake when Carson calls me early the next morning from the hospital.

“Are you still shaken up?” he asks. “I didn’t want to send you off with Archie, you looked so upset, but I had to be with Dylan.”

“Of course, you had to be with your brother. I’m fine, Carson.” My words are clipped. I’m trying to hide my anger and sadness from him.

“Visiting hours start at eleven. I asked Lois to bring you then and everyone else will come later in the day so we don’t overwhelm Dylan with too many visitors,” he explains.

It appears that he’s managing Dylan’s life and mine, too. I could drive myself to the hospital, but apparently he thinks he needs to organize my day. I’m getting angrier and angrier thinking about this. I want to ask him why he watched my relationship with Dylan spiral out the way it did while he did nothing to intervene.

If Carson really did love me from the beginning as he says, why didn’t he say something to me earlier so Dylan and I could have avoided this whole fiasco? Archie’s words ring true. I like neat and tidy packages, like the numbers a computer spits out. Sometimes there’s a bug, but I can find them and fix the problem. Unfortunately, people don’t fit into nice and tidy packages and blaming Carson for not being an accurate speculator regarding all things Dylan isn’t becoming on me.

Imogene and Lauren are working at the diner, however, they plan to come to the house later with some of their things so they can start moving in. I’m looking forward to their company, even if it’s a bit strained right now with Lauren questioning my antics with Carson. Are they antics? Or is this the real deal? He hugged and kissed me in front of everyone at the hospital; I can’t imagine what kind of gossip about us is roaring through this speck of a town today.

I feed Bert and then shower, scrubbing myself with the coarse loofah sponge until my skin is pink and blotchy. I wear a black sweater tunic with black tights and knee-length boots. Lois picks me up at ten to eleven sharp, just as Carson said she would. I buckle myself inside her clean, little, red sports car. It is quite a hot car for a senior citizen, but then she looks pretty great with her silver hair in loose curls and her bright red lipstick that matches the color of her car and happens to make her eyes really pop.

“Very nice outfit, Jess, but for the love of Jesus Christ Superstar, couldn’t you put on some make-up? And pull that ponytail out!”

Lois drives like Steven McQueen, so I grip the Hang-On-For-Dear-Life hand grip above my window as I yank the rubber band out of my hair with the other hand.

“That’s better,” she says. “Now, how about a spot of lipstick? It’s right there in my bag on the floor.”

“We’re going to a hospital, not a disco.”

“You should try to look your best.”

“For whom?”

Lois races through the town of Woodstock disregarding the speed limit. “Don’t be so pouty. You’re not five anymore. You should know that playing that pouty girl doesn’t help at this age.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m not pouty,” I say. “And you need to slow down before we end up in the room next door to Dylan.”

“Dylan and Carson should see you at your best. You need to put up a good front despite what is going on inside of that mixed up heart of yours.”

I pinch my mouth into a frown.

“Dylan needs to know you’re there for him as a friend, as we all are. While Carson needs to know you’re there for him. You have his heart. You know that, don’t you? That young man has been pining for you for a long time.”

I must have misunderstood her comment about Carson pining for me, or she’s a confused old woman. “We don’t need to talk about my love life right now, do we? Don’t you need to focus on breaking more speed laws and endangering innocent pedestrians and drivers?”