hash brown potato bags in Chris’ car in the junkyard. Silent sentinels of carefree eating. They weren’t among the valuables collected and given to her by a clerk at the police station. Who defines “valuables” anyway?
The truck had a step on the side and she had to climb up on the seat. He helped her in, shut the door and ran around the front to the other side. The truck was warm. The engine had been running. Diesel fuel. Dad always said it was cheaper to keep a diesel truck running rather than turn it off and on. Was that true or just diesel folklore? The engine was loud, but not like dad’s. More like a deep, smooth rumbling. White noise. She felt warm and comfortable.
The door opened, letting in a rush of rain and noise, the engine, the wind. He hoisted himself into the seat and slammed the door. “Man, can you believe this rain? Your car is bad. I can’t believe you only sprained your ankle. Are you sure we don’t need to get you to the emergency room?”
She smiled. “No, I’m fine, really. That was so weird. What happened? What happened with your trailer?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but, maybe I was going a little fast into that turn, and when I applied the brakes, well, it’s kinda hard to explain, but the dually with those tires, they just don’t have the same kind of traction as regular tires and they locked up on me. Then here comes the trailer. It can’t go over me, so it just starts to swing out to the side and since the road was wet, it just went sideways. It may have looked weird to you, but I’m looking out my side window at the mirror, and here comes my trailer. Well you know you’re supposed to turn in to a spin so that’s what I did. Fortunately, no cars were coming in the other lane, or we’d’ve been dead. That was pure luck for you. As soon as I started turning in to the spin, the trailer began to come around. Then, I swung back straight and figure I’m home free, except for you’re in that spot, and you know the rest better than me. You’ve been behind me a while and I didn’t really realize just how close you were. God, I’m sorry. I should have been paying more attention, with the rain and all. I’ve got my horses back there too. I’m sure they’re going, ‘damn.’ ”
“Damn” was a melodic two syllable word.
As he was talking, Leslie began to relax. She felt safe, and a familiar sound and sensation filled the cab. Horses, in a trailer, attached to a truck. They move, stomp and shift their weight. That movement is transmitted to the truck. It’s a good feeling. A sign that they’re there, and okay. Some horses get anxious standing still. They think it’s time to unload. They might kick the side of the trailer, just like one was doing now.
“That’s Gomez. He can’t stand to be stopped. I keep sayin’ I’m gonna have to hobble him in the trailer, but I just can’t do it. Imagine if he’d been hobbled tonight! I need to check ‘em out. Be right back.” He lowered his head and looked at her as one would look over the top of glasses. “Sure you’re okay?” He hesitated briefly for an answer and hearing none he continued, “Listen, I already called nine-one-one, and they’re sending a tow truck, but it’ll be a little while.”
The door opened and he jumped out, letting in another blast of diesel noise and rain. She looked around. Looked for hints of life. No hash brown potato bags. A black felt hat turned upside down on the back seat. Some kind of access sticker on the driver’s side of the windshield under the inspection sticker. She felt the slight shift in weight as he stepped up into the trailer. Very slight. Two hundred pounds compared to thirty-five hundred, if he had three horses. The horses began shifting. They think they’re unloading. Where were they going? There were two starched shirts hanging on the hook in the back and a canvas duffle bag on the floorboard. Standard issue key chain. Everything was clean. Spartan.
He was back. “Horses okay?”
“They’re fine. Listen, I’m Regan. Regan Wakeman.” And he put out his hand to shake hers.
She handed him hers. He had a firm handshake and she returned it. He smiled, “and you are…?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry. Leslie Cohen. Pleased to meetyou, although maybe not under the circumstances. This is so strange. I can’t believe we’ve had this big wreck and we’re just sitting here, uninjured.”
“You got that right. For a second, I thought about giving up. I figured the worst was going to happen anyway. It was like slow motion. Me and my horses were going to die. That’s rich. Me and my horses. Like a cowboy’s way to go.”
“So you’re a cowboy?”
In the distance lights were flashing, coming toward them. Reflecting off raindrops on the windshield, there were lots of tiny yellow sparkles. She could hear a siren. Now a police car with its red, white and blue lights flashing. Her question went unanswered.
“Here we go.” Regan reached down and flashed his lights. “We should exchange insurance information.” He reached in his glove compartment and handed Leslie a neatly laminated insurance card. “I guess I kind of lost control of my vehicle. You can copy this stuff down while you’re waiting and I’ll help them get your car situated. Paper and pen’s in there.”
She reached forward to open the glove compartment again.
“Is your insurance card in the car?”
She nodded.
“You stay put. I’ll go get it after I talk to this guy.”
“Listen, I’m probably at fault since I’m the one who ran into the back of your truck.”
“Well, I lost control of my rig.” He looked straight ahead, then turned to Leslie. “It all happened so fast.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, that’s what insurance companies and the police are for. We’ll tell them the story. One of us will probably get a ticket. The important thing is, we’re alive. It could’ve been a lot worse.”
The police car and the tow truck were pulling up. The police stopped in front of them and the tow truck went around back. The siren was turned off in mid-bleep, making a bloop sound instead. Just diesel engine and rain noise again. Regan jumped out of the cab and into the rain. He had taken control of the situation. Leslie wasn’t sure she liked it, but right now she didn’t have the energy to do much about it. So what was she going to say? “Now, let’s just hold on here Mr. Wakeman and don’t put the cart before the horse.” That would be putting things in his terms, wouldn’t it?
She watched him through the rain. He was a big guy, but not heavy. Maybe a defensive end in high school. She laughed at her habit of describing a man’s phenotype based on high school football player body types. Chris had taught her to identify football players by their build. They had loved to talk football. Especially after Vic started playing pee wee ball. So did Regan have a big gut? Offensive lineman? Hard to tell because he was wearing one of those gold canvas jackets with the brown corduroy collars that she had seen a couple of times in rural areas. She couldn’t tell if he had a beer gut or not. He had on starched blue jeans. They were wet and bunched up down at his boots. He shook hands with the policeman, pointed toward the car, then toward the back of the truck. He shoved his hands in the coat pockets and hunched his shoulders forward to shelter himself from the rain and wind. As if that would make a damn bit of difference.
Regan stood with his legs apart. They looked thick and strong. Defensive end. He had short hair but she couldn’t tell much about it because he had on a baseball cap. The bill was curved, hand curved, like Vic used to lovingly shape his caps. And hers. “Mom, you don’t wear ball caps flat like that. It’s gay.” Then he would bend the bill to the desired curve of stylishness.
Leslie thought to herself, he’s probably giving the policeman his version of me smashing into the back of his truck and I’m going to get the ticket. Insurance companies and policemen, my ass. Try good ol’ boys. Oh, well, that’s what insurance is for. It struck her funny because in the past, every other time she rented her cars, she initialed the part indicating she wanted the full coverage thing. Not every time. Just every other time. It was a rip off, really, she thought, but it was just something she started doing and this was one of the times she had signed for it. “Yyeess.”
The policeman