heard
the trailer break away from the truck, its hitch striking the tailgate with a
forcible jolt. Rayanne’s foot slammed the brake. The Chevy skidded and
fishtailed, smashing through tree limbs and against tree trunks. Bark and
leaves sprayed the windshield. Rayanne hung onto the steering wheel, no longer
in control, as the truck tore through a wall of thick bushes. She heard foliage
rip the undercarriage. Rayanne wrenched the steering wheel to the left. The
truck arched into empty air as the ground dropped out from below them.
Owen’s
unconscious body was slipping off the seat beside her. It was the last thing
Rayanne saw as she braced for the collision.
14
Rayanne
was unconscious, her eyes fluttering. She dreamt of Connor.
She
could hear his sobs as she sat against a cold block wall. She couldn’t see him.
Yet his cries carried into the small room as if he was just out of sight. She
wanted to reach for him, cradle him in her arms and soothe his tears, but she
couldn’t move. Her arms were wrapped tight around her core. She was locked in a
straightjacket. She was in the hospital again. It was a mistake. She was better
now. She was perspiring. Sweat ran down her forehead, dripped from the tip of
her nose.
Frustrated,
she struggled to free her arms. Fought against the restraints. Connor needed
her. His cries grew louder. She had to get to him. Rayanne fought to free
herself—then stopped. She looked up. In the narrow window above her, a white
dove was tapping on the glass. The bird hit it again. Then again. It smashed
its head against the windowpane.
Rayanne
opened her eyes and realized she was okay. Her face was pressed tight to the
hot airbag. Smoke drifted up from the steering wheel. The windshield had
splintered into a thousand cracks, but it held. She could tell the truck had
fallen into something and that the cab was facing the ground. It shifted her
center of gravity and made her feel as if she were trapped in a roller coaster
that had stopped suddenly on the downward slope.
She
looked over at Owen. He lay in the passenger seat, beneath the smoky, white
airbag. She touched his face.
He
opened his eyes. “Babe?” His voice cracked dryly.
Rayanne’s
eyes filled with tears. She didn’t care about her own pain. She reached for him
and placed a hand firmly on his bloody face. “Owen, I was so scared … I thought
I lost you.”
“What
happened?” He could barely speak.
“We’ve
been in an accident.” She looked around the vehicle. The dashboard was crushed.
The steering wheel was cracked. Something had hit it. She reached up and
touched her forehead, felt the warm blood running down her face. Her head had
hit the steering wheel and broke it. She looked at her husband. “Don’t try to
move.”
He
groaned, shut his eyes, and asked, “Where are we?”
Rayanne
turned. She could barely see through the shattered windshield. Her driver’s
side window was only cracked. Outside, she could see weeds, leaves, and the
spidery limbs of dozens of thin oak trees. They were at the bottom of a ditch.
She
tried to move, and felt excruciating pain in her elbows, her wrists, her knees,
her back. She cried out.
“Babe?”
Owen lifted his head.
“I’m
okay. Just sore,” she said, shifting in the seat. She looked at him. “Don’t try
to move, okay?”
He
changed his position anyway, stretching his upper body over the console toward
her. “Babe, I love you.”
“Owen,
you’re hurt. Try not to move.”
He
reached for her, took her hand in his. “You know I love you and I’m sorry for
everything I said. Everything I did.”
For
a moment she thought he must be out of his head. Either way, it was nice to
hear.
“I
love you too, and we’ll get out of this.” She squeezed his hand as tightly as
she could. Her joints ached, but she couldn’t think about that right now.
Gently, she pushed him back, deeper into the passenger seat. Then she twisted
her body across the console to be closer to
the trailer break away from the truck, its hitch striking the tailgate with a
forcible jolt. Rayanne’s foot slammed the brake. The Chevy skidded and
fishtailed, smashing through tree limbs and against tree trunks. Bark and
leaves sprayed the windshield. Rayanne hung onto the steering wheel, no longer
in control, as the truck tore through a wall of thick bushes. She heard foliage
rip the undercarriage. Rayanne wrenched the steering wheel to the left. The
truck arched into empty air as the ground dropped out from below them.
Owen’s
unconscious body was slipping off the seat beside her. It was the last thing
Rayanne saw as she braced for the collision.
14
Rayanne
was unconscious, her eyes fluttering. She dreamt of Connor.
She
could hear his sobs as she sat against a cold block wall. She couldn’t see him.
Yet his cries carried into the small room as if he was just out of sight. She
wanted to reach for him, cradle him in her arms and soothe his tears, but she
couldn’t move. Her arms were wrapped tight around her core. She was locked in a
straightjacket. She was in the hospital again. It was a mistake. She was better
now. She was perspiring. Sweat ran down her forehead, dripped from the tip of
her nose.
Frustrated,
she struggled to free her arms. Fought against the restraints. Connor needed
her. His cries grew louder. She had to get to him. Rayanne fought to free
herself—then stopped. She looked up. In the narrow window above her, a white
dove was tapping on the glass. The bird hit it again. Then again. It smashed
its head against the windowpane.
Rayanne
opened her eyes and realized she was okay. Her face was pressed tight to the
hot airbag. Smoke drifted up from the steering wheel. The windshield had
splintered into a thousand cracks, but it held. She could tell the truck had
fallen into something and that the cab was facing the ground. It shifted her
center of gravity and made her feel as if she were trapped in a roller coaster
that had stopped suddenly on the downward slope.
She
looked over at Owen. He lay in the passenger seat, beneath the smoky, white
airbag. She touched his face.
He
opened his eyes. “Babe?” His voice cracked dryly.
Rayanne’s
eyes filled with tears. She didn’t care about her own pain. She reached for him
and placed a hand firmly on his bloody face. “Owen, I was so scared … I thought
I lost you.”
“What
happened?” He could barely speak.
“We’ve
been in an accident.” She looked around the vehicle. The dashboard was crushed.
The steering wheel was cracked. Something had hit it. She reached up and
touched her forehead, felt the warm blood running down her face. Her head had
hit the steering wheel and broke it. She looked at her husband. “Don’t try to
move.”
He
groaned, shut his eyes, and asked, “Where are we?”
Rayanne
turned. She could barely see through the shattered windshield. Her driver’s
side window was only cracked. Outside, she could see weeds, leaves, and the
spidery limbs of dozens of thin oak trees. They were at the bottom of a ditch.
She
tried to move, and felt excruciating pain in her elbows, her wrists, her knees,
her back. She cried out.
“Babe?”
Owen lifted his head.
“I’m
okay. Just sore,” she said, shifting in the seat. She looked at him. “Don’t try
to move, okay?”
He
changed his position anyway, stretching his upper body over the console toward
her. “Babe, I love you.”
“Owen,
you’re hurt. Try not to move.”
He
reached for her, took her hand in his. “You know I love you and I’m sorry for
everything I said. Everything I did.”
For
a moment she thought he must be out of his head. Either way, it was nice to
hear.
“I
love you too, and we’ll get out of this.” She squeezed his hand as tightly as
she could. Her joints ached, but she couldn’t think about that right now.
Gently, she pushed him back, deeper into the passenger seat. Then she twisted
her body across the console to be closer to
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