I reach over and take her hand in mine.
“No matter what happened with Xan, I need you know that you’re not the reason. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says the grin stuck to her face now. Out of the corner of my eye I see a car quickly approaching in the rear-view mirror. The black sedan comes up almost right into the back end of my truck.
“What the hell, asshole,” I say gripping the wheel as tight as I can. Millie frowns and follows my gaze. I tap my breaks lightly hoping the car will back off but instead they swerve into the other lane and speed past me. They angle sharply back onto the right side of the road but with zero clearance.
The reckless driver cuts me off and then slams on their breaks. I press my foot to the floor and Millie launches forward into her seatbelt and screams. The only place to go is in the ditch or hit the car in front of me so I choose the ditch. The truck bounces wildly as it comes to a stop in the grass. The black car hits the gas so hard it leaves black marks on the pavement as they race away. With a cop for a father, I have enough sense to look at the license. I only have time to commit the first two letters to memory. EL.
Adrenaline roars through my body and I shove the door open, screaming into the valley at the black car. Obscenities that no mother should say in front of her child pour from my mouth as I toss a rock toward the car, knowing I’ll never hit it. Suddenly Millie is all I can think about and I sprint to the passenger side, yanking the door with a metal groan that echoes off the mountains.
“Emilia are you okay?” I shout at her, startling her. Her blank stare remains, and blood ran down her forehead from a small cut on her hairline. I reach into the truck and begin touching her face, shoulders arms, knees, anything to be sure her body is all there. That her bones are still together, still holding her.
“I’m okay,” she says stunned. “I’m okay mom.”
My whole body shakes at the sound of her voice and I wrap her in a tight hug, crushing her to me like I could absorb her. That asshole could have killed us. Reckless and careless driving.
But was it?
I’ve been passed by some pretty terrible drivers on my decade long road trip. The motorhome was slower than a small car. I know impatient drivers when they think my rig is holding up traffic. The way they glare at me as they pass like I shouldn’t be driving.
Fucking women drivers, I can hear their rage, see their lips categorizing me into an absurd stereotype.
This car was none of those things. They came up on me with the intention of scaring me. They forced me into the ditch.
Sirens blare in the distance, one short whirl of noise and red and blue flashers forced me to let go Millie. The cop parks on the edge of the road and jumps out of his vehicle.
“Are you okay, Miss?” He calls stepping into the ditch. When he gets closer his face wrinkles. “Brigitte?”
It’s a Raston cop, so he works with my dad. Shit.
“Hey, I’m okay. Some idiot ran me off the road. Drunk or something I bet.” I lie. The driver was very much in control of their vehicle.
“My daughter hit her head. She’s bleeding a little.”
The cop follows me to Millie who was holding a small gauze strip to her forehead. She is still dazed but coherent. He inspects her and asked her a couple questions that she answered fine. I stand behind pacing, each step sinking me further into this hopeless feeling. Control slips from my grip and the realization that this situation might be further out my abilities than I thought.
I thought this would blow over. I thought if I disappeared for a while whoever was tormenting me would give up. That this guy would move on. It doesn’t make sense anymore, there’s no way one and a half dates with a guy on the other end of the continent would cause all this. Maybe Vince was just the easiest answer. Maybe the right answer is much more complicated that a bruised ego.
As the police officer helps my daughter I’m overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. I can’t protect her from something I don’t understand.
I need help.