Page 38 of Bronx

I made a quick exit and was relieved to get outside into the crisp night air. Kingston had coaxed me out for the night, then abandoned me. I didn't feel too guilty about dashing out. My phone rang on the way to the jeep. I pulled it out as I climbed inside. My physical reaction was instant when I saw the name Ginger on my screen. I'd nearly forgotten about the silly nicknames we'd assigned each other to keep our relationship secret. A lot of good that did. All it took was a hankering for one of Moonpie's grand slam breakfasts, and the whole thing was out in the open like a zit on the forehead before prom.

"Hey," I said casually, even though I felt anything but.

"So, I'm working in ER tonight, and we just took a light bulb out of a guy's ass. Don't ask me what kind of fetish that has to do with because he insisted he thought he could make electricity with his gas."

We both laughed.

"Guess there's no shortage of crazy stories when you're working in the ER," I said.

"It does keep the job interesting." She grew quiet. "I just needed to tell someone because it was so ridiculous, and I scrolled through my phone and thought you're the only person I wanted to talk to. And not just because I knew you'd appreciate a good light bulb in the ass story but because—" she fell silent and her tone had softened, saddened.

"I miss talking to you, Layla," I said to fill the void.

"I miss talking to you," she said with a soft sigh, a sound I'd heard when holding her in my arms, and a sound that, even now, played the strings of my heart like a skilled violinist. "You know after Adam died, I lost a friend and a confidante. Even with his flaws, and there were plenty, if I was having a bad day, he listened. He was a good listener. It took me months to lose the urge to call him from work when something profound or weird or sad had happened. I finally got past that instinctual impulse to call him. I had no choice except to quash the urge permanently. Even if at times, I long to talk to him, I can't. Then I meet someone who I truly enjoy talking to, someone who listens, someone who gets my humor, and once again, I have to quash the urge to call him. As you might have guessed that urge won out tonight."

"Layla, I know we kind of both agreed that friendship, at this point, when our feelings for each other are still raw and strong, would only make things harder. But anytime you need to talk to me, I hope you call."

"Thanks, Jack. I'm glad." The hospital sounds once again intruded on our conversation. Her job was high energy, intense, like mine, which was another reason we understood each other so well. I inadvertently glanced in my rearview mirror and spotted Helix leaving the bar . . . alone. I felt slightly guilty for thinking he might be there to meet a woman with a wife, pregnant apparently, at home.

His hands were in his pockets as he walked blithely along toward his lifted truck. There he was—the guy who had made it his mission to strip away my happiness with one terrible rip of the bandage.

"Hey, how have things been, you know, online and with haters?" I asked.

"Things quieted down quickly and, get this, Adam's mom called me. I thought, oh boy, am I going to hear an earful. Instead, she was really supportive. She said they didn't expect me to grieve forever and that I was still young and needed to move on when I felt it was the right time."

"Wow, that's nice and also what anyone should be telling a young widow."

She made another soft sound, a sigh of sorts. "You're wise beyond your years, Jack Devlin."

"I wish."

Helix had climbed into his truck. The giant headlights lit up the dark night as if someone had just brought the sun back from the other hemisphere.

"I've got to get back. My break is over. Thank you for indulging me these past few minutes. I really needed it."

I wanted to keep her on the phone for the whole fucking night. "Anytime," I said quietly. There were a million other things I wanted to tell her, but they all stuck in my throat.

"Bye," she said and then she was gone.

I put down the phone and found myself pulling out in front of Helix and his monster truck. He knew my jeep. I briefly envisioned him chasing me down the highway with his giant Chevy.

His headlights, like the truck itself were overblown, one of those vehicles that was more suited to a rich teenager than a guy on his second marriage and heading around the corner to thirty. I had to flick up my rearview mirror to not be blinded by his headlights.

The bar was off a dirt road which connected to a twisting two-lane highway that hugged the mountainside. Sometimes it got so narrow, only one car could pass, but it was rarely filled with traffic until the ski resorts opened up. We were far from that. The autumn had been dry enough to assure us that our jobs were secure. The brush and trees on the slopes were thirsty and brittle.

Helix, it seemed, was not going to chase or tail me on the wavy road. It would have been too nuts even for him. Besides, my jeep was far more agile than his oversized, lifted to the sky truck. It only took a few dark curves before we caught up to another car, a small sedan that was going slower than necessary. The driver, with one passenger, a young person, it seemed from the silhouettes through the back window, was having a hard time following the curves of the road. Admittedly, the lines had mostly been ground off. Unless you'd traveled the road a lot, especially in daylight, it would be a challenging drive. Either that or the person was drunk, and that shed a whole new light on the situation. The driver overcorrected more than once. I hadn't spoken much to Helix the entire week, but I needed another opinion before I called highway patrol. Unfortunately, Helix's opinion was the only one available.

I picked up the phone and scrolled through the contacts on my Bluetooth screen. Helix answered. "Yeah, I see them," he said without me having to ask.

"Thought they were just nervous about the road at first, but I'm thinking I phone it in."

"Probably a good idea," he answered. I disconnected the call. Joint decision making or not, I didn't feel the traditional goodbye was necessary.

I scrolled through contacts to emergency. Just as my finger hovered over the number, the driver overcompensated, then overturned the opposite direction. The car disappeared over the embankment. My finger landed on the screen.

"What's your emergency?"

"I'm on highway 34 just about three miles north of Tucker's Village. A car just went over the embankment."

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