Lisa Gardner: The Next Accident

Quincy hit two balls in on the break and went on a six-ball run before missing. Leonard, the bartender, stopped by long enough to watch, then shrugged indifferently. Touche attracted its fair share of pool sharks and he'd seen better.

Rainie took over with a swagger. She felt good now. Adrenaline in her veins, a pleasant hum in her ears. She was smiling. She could feel it on her face. A light was beginning to burn in Quincy 's eyes. She could feel it on her bare arms as she bent over the table. His shirt collar was open, his sleeves rolled up. He had chalk on his hands and another light blue smudge on his cheek.

They were on dangerous ground now. She liked it.

"Corner pocket," she said, and the game truly began.

They played for three hours. He won the first game when she got cute and tried to hop the cue ball over the eight. She missed. He won the second game when she got aggressive and tried a triple bank shot to close out the table. She missed again. Then she won the third, fourth, and fifth games by nailing those same shots and giving Quincy 's meticulous nature something to consider.

"Give up yet?" she asked him.

"Just warming up, Rainie. Just warming up."

She gave him a huge grin and returned to the table. Game six, he surprised her by exchanging some of his finesse for power. So he'd been holding out on her. It only made things more interesting.

He got her game six; they settled in for game seven.

"You've been playing a lot," he observed halfway through a four-ball run. His tone was mild, but his brow was covered with a sheen of sweat and he was taking more time to line up his shots than he had in the beginning.

"I like it here."

"It's a nice place," he agreed. "But for real pool, you need to go to Chicago."

He went after the eight ball and missed. Rainie took the cue stick from him.

"Fuck Chicago," she told him and cleared the felt-lined table.

"What now?" Quincy asked. He was breathing hard. She was, too. The room had grown hot. The hour was late. She was not so naive that she missed the nuances in his question. She looked around inside, at the poor, beat-up room. She looked outside, where streetlights glowed charmingly. She thought of her beautiful, overpriced loft. She thought of her old fifties-style rancher in Bakersville and the soaring pine trees she still missed.

She looked at Quincy then, and…

"I should go home now," she said.

"I thought as much."

"I got a big job in the morning."

"Rainie…"

"Nothing's really changed, has it? We can fool ourselves for a bit, but nothings changed."

"I don't know if anything changed, Rainie. I never knew what was wrong to begin with."

"Not here."

"Yes here! I understand what happened that last night. I know I didn't handle it as well as I could've. But I was willing to try again. Except next thing I knew, you were too busy to see me when I came into town, then you were so busy you couldn't even return a phone call. For God's sake, I know what you're going through, Rainie. I know it's not easy – "

"There you go again. Pity."

"Understanding is not pity!"

"It's close enough!"

He closed his eyes. She could tell he was counting to ten so he wouldn't give in to impulse and strangle her. There was irony in that, because physical abuse was something she would have understood better and they both knew it.

"I miss you," he said finally, quietly. "Eight months later, I still miss you. And yes, I probably came here and offered you a job for that reason as much as anything – "

"I knew it!"

"Rainie, I won't miss you forever."

The words hung in the air. She didn't pretend to misunderstand them. She thought of Bakersville again, the house she grew up in, that big back deck, those gorgeous towering pine trees. She thought of that one day fifteen years ago, then that one night, fifteen years ago, and she knew he must be thinking of them, too. Quincy had told her once that getting the truth out would set her free.

One year later, she wasn't so sure. She lived with the truth these days, and all she could think was that there were still so many things cluttering the space between.

"I should go home now," she said again.

And he repeated, "I thought as much."

Rainie walked home alone. She turned on the lights of her cavernous loft alone. She took a cool shower, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed alone.

She had a bad dream.

She was in a desert in Africa. She knew the place from some wildlife show she'd watched one night on the Discovery Channel. In her dream, she half recognized the scenes as part of that TV program, and half felt they were unfolding in real time in front of her.

The desert plains. A horrible drought. A baby elephant born to a sick, exhausted mother. He rose shakily to his feet, covered in goo. His mother sighed and passed away.

Sitting too far away to help, Rainie heard herself cry, "Run little guy, run." Though she didn't know yet why she was afraid.

The hour-old baby leaned against his mother, trying to nurse a corpse. Finally, he staggered away.

Rainie followed him through the desert. The air shimmered with heat, the hard-baked earth cracked beneath their feet. The orphaned elephant uttered little moans as he searched for food, for companionship. He came to a grove of sagging trees and rubbed his body against the thick trunks.

"The newborn pachyderm mistakes the tree trunks for his mother's legs," Rainie heard an unseen narrator report. "He rubs against them to announce his presence and seek comfort. When none comes, the exhausted creature continues his search for badly needed water in the midst of this savage drought."

"Run little guy, run," Rainie whispered again.

The baby lurched forward. Hours passed. The baby began to stumble more. Collapsing into the unforgiving ground. Heaving himself back up and continuing on.

"He must find water," the narrator droned. "In desert life, water means the difference between life and death."

Suddenly, a herd of elephants appeared on the horizon. As they neared, Rainie could see other young calves running protectively in the shade of their mothers' bulk. When the herd paused, the babies stopped to nurse, and the mothers stroked them with their trunks.

She was relieved. Other elephants had arrived, the orphan would be saved.

The herd came closer. The baby ran to them, bleating his joy. And the head bull elephant stepped forward, picked up the infant with his trunk, and hurtled him away. The nine-hour-old baby landed hard. He didn't move.

The narrator commented again. "It is not uncommon for a herd of elephants to adopt an orphan into its midst. The aggressive behaviour you see here is indicative of the severity of the drought. The herd is already under stress trying to sustain its own members, and thus is not willing to add to their group. Indeed, the bull elephant sees the newborn as a threat to his herd's survival and acts accordingly. "

Rainie was trying to run to the downed infant. The desert grew broader, vaster. She couldn't get there. "Run little guy, run."

The baby finally stirred. He shook his head, climbed unsteadily to his feet. His legs trembled. She thought he was going to go down again, then he bowed his head, pulled himself together, and the shaking stopped.

The passing herd was still in sight. The baby ran after them.

A younger bull elephant turned, paused, then kicked the tiny form in the head. The baby fell back. Cried. Tried again. Two other male elephants turned. He ran to them. They slammed him to the ground. He staggered back up. They slammed him back down. The baby kept coming, crying, crying, crying. And they pummeled him into the hard, cracked earth. Then they turned and ponderously moved on.