Page 40 of Tinder Embrace
The glimpses of how affectionate Davis could be, contrasted against his coldness over text, hurt. I was ashamed to admit that I still wanted him to touch me. All over. But every time we managed a step forward, something destroyed our progress. It was messy and non-linear. I could get on board with that, weather the storms, if I only knew how he really felt. But the dratted man was elevating being close-lipped to an artform.
The drive to Spokane passed in record time, with me barely aware of the world outside my windshield, too preoccupied with my thoughts. Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I made the turn onto the access road near the airport. The small FAA-certified repair shop sat back from the road. It didn't look like much from the outside, but they had the expertise I needed to diagnose the problem with Bee-gonia's burner. After dropping off my precious cargo with Hank, who assured me he'd call after he had a chance to rip into it, I hopped back in my car for the drive home.
It was odd to think of Campfire as home after so many years in Spokane, but the city felt strange now. Even the outskirts felt foreign. Too big.
My folks would be disappointed that I didn't drop by, but they'd also understand the reasons why. Back roads were my friend.
Continuing to live in Spokane and drive on I-90 after my accident had been nearly impossible. Maybe the fear would subside over time, but multi-lane, fast-moving cars made my heart race and sent clammy chills through my body.
My actual memories of the crash were more like snapshots than a continuous replay, but even those flashes were almost more than I could handle. They still hit me at unpredictable times, even though it’d been close to ten years since my accident. For the longest time, driving was impossible, but as the fear faded, my memories kept me in a chokehold. I’d be happy if I never drove a major freeway again. That day snapped my tenuous hold on the belief in my own immortality, and driving in heavy traffic was still a stark reminder of my very human fragility.
I stared at the yellow and white lines, focusing on my breathing and keeping my car between them. I let the sameness of those unending lanes soothe some of the fear that jangled my nerves.
A truck passed me from behind, sending me hurtling into memories of the past.
At first, everything had been fine. I was buzzing along in the middle lane on I-90, singing along to my music. I’d been excited to meet some friends at a local water park, cruising on good vibes and anticipation.
In a flash, a car in front of me went airborne, caught mid-flip. It happened so fast, I couldn’t even process the horror. We collided, and my vision turned white, all airbag. Everything hurt. Pain pricked at me with a thousand knives. Then, nothing.
My fractured memories of the accident protected me, and I didn’t like to dwell on those lost hours.
The ride to the hospital, the police interviews, everything else was a blur. My car had been totaled, and I was grateful to be alive. The originating driver wasn’t so lucky. I tried to focus on how fortunate I was instead of how close I came to dying that day, but my gratitude only fed the underlying guilt I couldn’t quite shake.
I’d walked away with minor injuries, at least on the outside.
Since then, I white-knuckled it on any multi-lane freeway, sure someone was going to crash into me. Once had been more than enough for one lifetime.
I was thankful every day I hadn't been badly injured. Mostly, I’d walked away with bruises and cuts, all much less serious than they could have been. My gratitude was tempered by my ongoing dread. Driving would never be the same. I'd lost any belief in invincibility, or in the harmlessness of cars.
Shuddering, I pushed away the lingering memories of the crash, focusing instead on the road in front of me. I breathed through my nose,out through my mouth in attempts to calm my racing heart. I peeled my fingers from the steering wheel, shaking one hand then the other to return blood flow.
It had been a mistake to take the trip on my own. Driving solo always made the memories worse.
There was no one to distract me.
Davis would have been the perfect antidote.
I grimaced, making the familiar turn onto the final road into Campfire, trying not to dwell on my disappointment.
While Campfire's dating pool only consisted of men who'd throw me over for an equipment issue, it had plenty of rural roads where I didn't feel hemmed in by traffic and my anxiety.
Win some, lose some.
My apartment felt unbearable after an afternoon spent in the car, so I texted Gwen. Jo would no doubt be consumed by the chiller incident, and it felt awkward reaching out to her so soon after Davis bailed on our first date. Izzy was likely either working at Slice or getting loved up at home with Ivan. The newlyweds spent every spare moment together, and I didn't see her breaking away for girl-time halfway through a Saturday evening. Likewise, Eve had succumbed to Brady's charms. That left Gwen as my best option for my version of a rousing Saturday night: drinks at Sing-along.
Sophie: My date canceled. Can I talk you into a drink at Sing-along tonight?
Gwen: Sure. My dating life is like a corpse flower.
I cackled. I'd heard of the super-rare giant flowers. And given Davis’s move to cancel our date, I could relate.
Sophie: Dead on arrival?
Sophie: Stinking up the place?
Gwen: That too. I was going to say I don't HAVE a corpse flower.
Gwen: Also, they only bloom every couple of years.
