Robyn Carr - Never Too Late

She struggled to lift herself in the bed. “I’m…Well, I’ve been better. But coming along. I was just thinking about you.”

“Well, that’s something. You’ve been on my mind, too.”

“About that night…I think I need to thank you. I was going to track you down, but I don’t know your name.”

“Sam,” he said. “Jankowski.” He glanced about the room. “Is there anywhere to put these? I’m such a dunce, I never thought about a vase….”

“Don’t worry. Just put them here,” she said, touching the tray table. “One of the nurses will bring an extra water jug later. So, thank you.”

“For…?”

“I don’t really know. For catching me speeding before I caused the accident. For not giving me a ticket when I deserved one. For—Were you the witness who said it wasn’t my fault?”

“What I saw was in my report. It was an awful wreck. I sure was relieved you made it.”

She giggled stupidly and then covered her mouth. “Sorry,” she said. “I might be a little loopy. I just had a pain shot.”

He stood right over her bed, where her sisters and Jason had all done so much time. But his presence seemed out of place.

“How much longer do you have to be in the hospital?” he asked.

“Actually, I’m going home in a few days. Depending on the doctor. And then I’ll have physical therapy for a long time. Probably months.”

“Jeez, good thing I stopped by. I didn’t want to miss you.”

“Thanks. But as you can see, even though I look like hell, I’m going to be fine. Eventually.”

“You look pretty good, as a matter of fact. Total recovery?”

“Probably. Ninety-five percent chance, as long as nothing weird happens.”

“Fantastic. Damn, that was lucky.”

“Well, depending on your perspective….”

“I mean, you could’ve been killed. Do you remember the accident?”

“Not a bit. Not a piece. I remember the light turning green. Otherwise, nothing.”

“Good.”

“I was unconscious….”

“Not the whole time,” he said. “You drifted in and out. Asked for someone named Jason.”

“My son.”

“And…Mike, I think.”

“Oh, God,” she said weakly.

“The husband?” he asked.

“No.” Could it be she was seeing Mike at that moment? At the accident and not later, in the hospital? Was time altogether different when visiting the other side? “Mike,” she repeated. “An old fiancé. Many years ago. Nineteen. He was in the Air Force and was killed in a plane crash.”

“Wow. He must be someone you think about all the time.”

“No. No, I don’t anymore. Years ago I did. I couldn’t seem to run him out of my mind, but then I married, had a child and…Listen, can I tell you something crazy? And you wouldn’t burst out laughing or tell anyone or anything?”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

“I saw him. Mike. Right before I woke up in the trauma center. I was in a foggy place with some light out there in the distance. And he came right out of the mist, said, ‘Hi, Clare,’ and then when I cried out to him and tried to reach for him, he said, ‘You have to go back. You have things to do. I’ll see you next time.’”

To his credit, his eyes didn’t take on that bug-eyed, shocked expression that said he thought she was nuts. Instead, he smiled. “I heard that sort of thing can happen.”

“Maybe I dreamed it,” she offered.

“Or maybe it happened,” he said. “I never rule anything out.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling back at him. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to be nice. Seriously, I’ve heard those stories. You never know, huh?”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet a moment, looking at each other. Then he cleared his throat. “Mmm. This is kind of awkward, but maybe after you get a little better, maybe we could meet for coffee.”

Dumbfounded, she stared at him, gape mouthed, until she realized she must look as if she’d just been hit in the back of the head with a two-by-four. “Coffee?”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “How about you give me a phone number where I can reach you. At the very least, I’d like to check up on you, see how your recovery is going.”

Oh, that was it, she thought. Her features recovered. It wasn’t as if he was asking her out on a date. He was bonded to her by that accident, which probably shook him up. “God, forgive me,” she said. “It must be the drugs. I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

There was that smile again. Dazzling. “Just coffee. Something like a date could take as many as two coffees.” Then he laughed. And she laughed.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” he said. “And you’re thirty-nine.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve gotten really good at that driver’s license thing,” he said. “So, when you’re up to coffee?” She nodded. “How about that phone number?”

That was kind of cool, she thought. That fantasy, though brief, that this drop-dead gorgeous young guy was asking her out, even though she was feeling really old, not to mention greasy haired and makeupless. But, he didn’t really look all that young. He could even pass for thirty-two.

Thirty-two, Clare? she thought. Get over yourself. The guy wants to have coffee to assure himself that the banged-up heap they pulled out of a wreck was going to be fine. Just fine.

“Sure,” she said. “Got a pencil?”

The nurse stuck her head in. “Visiting hours are ending, sir,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. Then to Clare he said, “I thought about badging her so she’d let me stay longer, but I’m really not here on official business. And you probably need the rest.” He reached over to the bedside commode where the clipboard and pen sat. Then like a kid, felt-tip poised over the palm of his hand, he said, “Shoot.”

She gave him a number and added, “That’s a cell phone.”

“Good then. So, take it easy and I’ll be in touch.”

Clare nurtured that little fantasy about the younger man for a good twenty-four hours. Then when Maggie dropped by the next day it got wiped away by a bigger matter. “Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you—Pete Rayburn called me. He heard about the accident and wanted to know if you were all right.”

Clare instantly turned her head away, almost a reflex now. That discomfort, that shame. She wouldn’t want anyone to see it in her eyes.

Maggie touched her hair. “Does Mike’s death still hurt so much? Even after all these years?”

Clare looked back at her sister. “Sometimes at the strangest moment it will come back—a suggestion, a name, like Pete’s—and I remember how much it hurt then. You know?”

“Sure.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were going to be fine—but there would be some serious recovering to do and it could take months.”

“Good. And how is he?”

“You know, I didn’t even think to ask. But I assume he’s fine. Divorced a few years ago I heard, and still teaching and coaching. Do you ever see him or his parents?”

“I’ve run into him a few times,” she said. In fact, if there hadn’t been that terrible indiscretion, she might’ve spent a lot of time with the Rayburns, when they could have helped each other get through Mike’s death. “That was nice of him. To call.”

And that’s another thing to take care of, she thought. Put it on the to-do list. Get divorced, find a job and make a point of seeing Pete to put that whole business finally in the past. He probably needed it as much as she did.

Sarah’s little shop was in the center of town, and she typically put in very long days there. It was customary for her to open the art supply store at around ten in the morning and close at six, but after dinner with her dad she would go back to work in her studio, which was behind the store, sometimes until quite late. In fact, she could get lost in some project—a woven throw, an oil painting, a sculpture—and forget time altogether, looking up only when her eyes burned with exhaustion, finding suddenly it was two or three in the morning. She was so focused when creating, the outside world seldom intruded.