Page 23 of This Is How It Started
“You’re making this all about you, and it’s about me, too. But whatever.” He grabs his pack and bike helmet and heads for the door, slamming it closed before I can stop him.
Chapter 10
Fly With Me
Two weeks later, we’re in the car, driving to Campbell and Jessica’s engagement party. It’s in Jess’s parents’ backyard in San Mateo, and my whole family will be there. We’re running late because at the last minute, Josh had to take a call from a client who was flipping out over how much he was being “overcharged” for change orders on his project.
Josh had to talk him off the ledge. I know it’s his job, but I’m still peeved that it ate up so much time. The bottom line is that Josh doesn’t really want to go to the party and used his client as a handy excuse. He could have just let the guy go to voicemail and dealt with the issue tomorrow or Monday. By the time we get to San Mateo, which is forty minutes away, the party will be half-over.
“Sorry.” Josh gives me a sideways glance. He knows I’m irritated.
“Avoid Van Ness, or it will take us all day to get to the freeway.” Saturday isn’t as bad as a weekday, but still, the traffic seems to get worse every day.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“You’re not funny,” I grumble.
At least the day is gorgeous. You can’t beat August in the Bay Area. It’s the first month that truly feels like summer here. June is usually overcast and cold. And July isn’t much better. But August and September—mostly September—is perfection.
Josh manages to circumvent Van Ness, taking Cervantes instead. The traffic is lighter here, but there are still a good many cars on the street. He turns on the music, and Frank Sinatra blares through the speakers. Soon we’re singing along to “Come Fly with Me,” and I almost forget I’m angry at him for not wanting to go to Campbell’s party.
I roll down the window and stick my hand outside as if I can catch the sunshine. We’ve taken the hybrid with its padded leather seats and new-car smell. Although we’re only going thirty miles, it feels like a road trip. And suddenly I’m excited to be leaving the city. It’s as if the music reads my mind, because the next song in the queue is “It’s Nice to Go Trav’ling.” Josh turns it up before he hangs a right on Fillmore and a left on Chestnut.
“Did you bring the champagne?” I suddenly have a vision of the expensive bottle I bought as a gift still sitting on our kitchen counter.
“Of course,” Josh says smugly. “It’ll be lost on Campbell, though.”
He’s right, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing. I bought it for Jess anyway. She’ll appreciate it.
“It’s here.” Josh reaches his hand around the console to the mesh organizer on the back of his seat and holds up the bottle.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to use that to store your booze.”
Josh laughs. “Hey, it works.”
“I guess I should’ve wrapped it or put it in a gift bag.”
“Didn’t you get them something else, too?”
“Not yet, but I’ll have something shipped.” They haven’t registered yet. Who knows if they ever will? Somehow, I can’t picture Campbell standing in a department store, picking out china. At the same time, I can’t see myself sending Campbell, the man who taught me how to kiss and how to love, a butter dish or a salad bowl. Then again, stranger things have happened. For instance, Campbell getting married in the first place.
I cringe when Josh turns onto Gough. Talk about slowing us down, Gough is steep with a million stop signs. “Really?” I say.
“What do you want me to do? Drive halfway around the city to catch the freeway?”
“Yes, because it’ll actually be faster.”
“Fine.” He hops onto Pacific.
It happens so fast that I don’t see it coming. All I hear is metal on metal and something so loud it sounds like a gunshot. I lurch forward only to be caught by my seat belt, then punched in the gut so hard it knocks the breath out of me. I struggle to breathe, lost in a fog of confusion. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion.
I try to move but am pinned tightly against the back of my seat. And I can’t see. Everything is white, and for a few heart-stopping moments, I think I’m blind. No, that can’t be right. If I’d lost my sight, wouldn’t it be dark? That’s the way I’ve always imagined it. And I can see daylight squeezing through the top of the windshield.
Then I realize all that white is the airbags. I frantically shove at them, trying to free myself. From the corner of my eye, I see a flash of red. It’s on my hands. It’s everywhere.
“Josh,” I call, frightened. “Josh?”
But there’s no answer. No answer at all.
