“Can’t say as I blame you.”
She dropped her hand, leaned back in the seat.
“We’re almost there.” He cranked on the wheel, turning down a side street. A car rounded the corner from the opposite direction. Headlights blazed bright. Harsh. Blinding.
Just like before! On that mountain road!
Marla’s heart stopped. The air was suddenly trapped in her lungs.
A jagged piece of memory sliced through the lining of her mind. In a flash she remembered other twin beams, right ahead of her, blinding her. In her mind’s eye she relived the horrifying moment. Witnessed the impact. The windshield shattering into a million blazing shards, a woman screaming as if she was being tortured, the sound of screeching, wrenching metal.
“The accident . . .” she whispered, shaking. Horror tore through her. She relived that terror-riddled moment and tried to step on brakes that didn’t exist. Vividly she replayed the scene, saw the semi careening down the hill—faster and faster, roaring down Highway 17 and out of control. She screamed. The eighteen-wheeler swerved wildly, catching a man in its headlights. NO! OH, GOD, NO! The man would be crushed.
Marla’s eyes slammed shut and she was breathing, panting, crying . . . Again she saw metal wrenching upon metal, sparks flying . . . No! No! No! The guardrail gave way and the tires blew. The car hurtled down the embankment and . . . and then hit. Then there was blackness . . . nothing . . .
“Marla!” Nick’s voice was strangled with fear. A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her. “Marla!”
Her eyes flew open. She was in the pickup in San Francisco. With Nick. Trembling and sobbing. “I . . . I . . .” Tears rained from her eyes as she turned to Nick. “I remember the accident,” she said. “It was horrible . . . there was something . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut, remembered Pam. “Oh . . . oh . . . No, don’t die, don’t die!”
Nick stood on the brakes. He cranked on the wheel and nosed his truck into a loading zone on a side street. Marla was barely aware of him cutting the engine, but she felt his arms wrap around her and didn’t resist when he dragged her close to him. “Shh. It’ll be all right,” he said, though she knew he was lying.
He kissed her crown of short hair, folding his arms tighter around her.
“I killed her, Nick,” she said, her soul scraped raw as she remembered the horror of Pam’s body flying into the windshield. The blood. The screams. The darkness. She clutched Nick’s jacket in one fist and cried brokenly, gasping and sniffing, trying to find some bit of composure as she remembered being blinded by headlights . . . but there had been no car driving in her lane . . . or were the headlights from the truck that had suddenly rounded the corner? Was she confused? Her memory contorted? Her head throbbed, her jaw ached.
But the image painted in her mind was vivid. There had been a man in the road. A dark figure in the glare of her lights, and then suddenly, as if he’d pulled a switch, he was ablaze in light, harsh, blinding, painful light . . . shining so bright that she couldn’t see . . . And she’d swerved, just as the truck had rounded the corner and caught the man in its bright headlights.
Now, in the safety of Nick’s arms, she drew in deep ragged breaths. She realized how desperate she’d become, how she was clinging to Nick’s jacket, and slowly she uncurled her fingers and tried to push her body from his. Strong arms held her fast. “It’s all right,” he said again. “Now, what is it? Tell me what’s going on.”
“Please . . . let me go.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice low and she looked into eyes as dark as midnight. Somewhere deep inside she felt a stirring, a want, a need to connect, but she swallowed hard and nodded.
“Yes.”
His grip loosened and she extricated herself. Leaning back against the seat, she ignored the feel of him still lingering on her skin, the musky scent of him, the need she felt for his strength. Her blood was racing, her heart pounding, her nerves tingling with a million conflicting emotions.
“What I want,” she said slowly, “is to get my life back. Whatever that is.” She looked out the side window, watched raindrops fork down the glass. “Just now I finally remembered the accident, how I was driving, talking, laughing, I think, and then I rounded a corner and there was the truck coming down the hill in the opposite direction, but that wasn’t it, there was something more. A man, I think. In the road. And he . . . and he was suddenly as bright as day.” She rubbed her arms, chilled to her bones. “And then the truck swerved and I hit the guardrail and then . . . and then . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut again, the memory horrifying.
“Jesus, Marla, you don’t have to be so damned strong. It’s all right to fall apart.” He held her tight again and breathed into her hair.
“No, I can’t.”
“Let it go.”
Her throat closed and she stopped struggling, just sagged against him.
“Now. Tell me.”
“I lost control. Pam died.” Marla swallowed hard, knew she’d forever hear those horrid, tortured cries of agony as Pam gave up her life. “I . . . I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, but didn’t try to pull away.
“Just relax.”
She laughed without any mirth. “Is that possible?”
“Probably not. But try.”
He guided her forehead to the crook of his neck and his skin was warm against hers. For once she gave up the fight. Closing her eyes, she heard the strong, steady beat of his heart and she melted against him. His thumbs rubbed her arms and she thought of kissing his lips, of touching him where she was forbidden, of lying naked with him . . . oh, God, she couldn’t think such wanton, dark thoughts as the minutes clicked by. A car drove past slowly and disappeared at the far end of the narrow street. From out of the shadows a cat pounced on the hood of the truck, then disappeared into the night.