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 turned to get in his car. Regan walked to her side of the truck and signaled to her to roll down her window by scrolling his finger. She did as she was told. They had sign language now.
“Is there anything you need out of your car?” He was bouncing on the balls of both feet as though he might be trying to dodge raindrops and it was definitely cute. He was definitely cute. Simply making an observation.
“Just the insurance papers in my purse. Front passenger seat I think. Could you grab the rental car papers there too?” He looked at her quizzically for a second. People probably don’t rent cars around Abilene as a rule. She was used to getting those kinds of looks because people associated rented cars with tourist areas, not small towns in the middle of nowhere, which was often where she ended up.
He soon climbed back in the driver’s seat, handing her the papers and her purse. They were soaking wet. “Window’s broken. Everything got wet. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault, really.”
“Hey, that’s what I told the officer.” He paused and looked her straight in the eyes. Very serious look on his face. Then he smiled.” Just kidding.” She gave him a mad look and they both laughed. She felt like laughing right now. Things were already too serious. She looked down at her lap and then got busy with the purse. She jotted down her insurance information for him, both insurance companies. Thank you very much, she thought.
“Now, where did you say you were from and what are you doing out here…in a rent car?” There was a knock on the window.
“I didn’t say…” He was rolling down the window. Asked the trooper if he wanted to get in the truck.
“No sir.” He looked down the road. Maybe thinking about it. “But thank you anyway, sir. I’ll just need both of your proofs of insurance and drivers licenses.” They complied and he returned to his car. Regan didn’t repeat his question. She was glad. No need for small talk. There was no point in it. He put his seat back a little and she stared straight ahead, focused on the raindrops and the police car lights.
The officer returned and went to the driver’s side again, handing Regan all of the papers. The licenses were stuck into a slot on the top of his small metal clipboard in the universal ticket writing position.
“Unless you object, I’m not going to give either of you a citation. Both of you may have failed to maintain control of your vehicles, and the weather certainly played a part. Do either of you have any objections?”
They looked at each other, as if to ask, “Do you?” Then, “No” from both of them.
He handed Regan his license. “Mr. Wakeman.” Next he handed Leslie hers. “Miss Cohen?”
“Mrs.” She took her license from his hand.
Regan looked at her left hand as she reached for the card. There was no ring. She was sure he noticed. She stopped wearing the rings on her finger about a year ago. They made people ask questions. “Where is your husband? Do you have children? How do you live away from your family for so long?” Answers led to more questions, curiosity and the worst, sympathy. It was easier not to wear the rings but they hung, always, on a strong gold chain around her neck. They were safe that way and it was convenient. She had to remove them frequently anyway to scrub her hands for surgery. She used to pin them to her scrubs but on more than one occasion had lost them in the laundry. She had to dig through bloody scrubs to find them.
“They’re going to tow the car to Abilene. Do you care where they take it?” She shook her head. “Then, if you’re ready, Mrs. Cohen, I’ll take you to town so you can check into a hotel or wherever you were headed.”
Regan looked at her like, “and you were headed where?”
“Actually, I already have a reservation.” There was an awkward moment, when she thought Regan might offer to drive her, and in a way she might have expected it. She quickly added, “Regan, I’m really sorry we had this accident but it was nice to meet you anyway, and thanks for helping me out.”
“Hey, no problem. Same here, I mean, glad to meet you too. Can I help y’all with her bags or something?”
“No, sir, that won’t be necessary. The tow service will take care of that in the morning when they get her trunk open.” He turned to Leslie. “Ma’am, if you’re ready.” She smiled at Regan and shook his hand. Again, a strong handshake and as she squeezed back he held it for a split second longer. Their eyes met. She saw brown eyes, smile wrinkles on the sides, a small vertical wrinkle in between soft eyebrows. He smiled, and there was something else in the smile. Regret? Did she want regret? The trooper was doing the hopping thing outside the window. Was that a Texas guy thing? Cute.
She got out and pain shot through the ankle. She tried not to flinch and held her ground. Pain is just pain. It can’t hurt you. She didn’t want Regan to come around and do the human crutch thing again. She stiffened up her foot and ankle and stepped with a respectable limp.
“Do you need help there, ma’am?”
“No, I’m fine.” And she was.
The tow truck, purple with black and gold lacey decals, itself a work of art, pulled out and for the first time she saw her rented Taurus on the flat bed. Its condition was shocking. It was totaled. It was
