Part 2: Caleb

“I know you’re pissed, and I don’t blame you.  But I can’t apologize if you don’t pick up the phone.  Not that I’m the only one who needs to say sorry, by the way.  It doesn’t matter, just call me back, will you?  I love you.”

I hang up and let the phone slip out of my hand onto the table.  My stomach twists and acid rises in my throat.  The last three words were desperate words.  I didn’t realize I was saying them until they tumbled unwillingly from my mouth, before I could think to bite my tongue and stop myself.  Now they were saved on Margo’s voicemail.

It wasn’t the first time I dropped the L-word.  In fact, it was the third.  The first time I told her I loved her she punched me so hard in the face I nearly swallowed my fake tooth.  It was the night before our first big job together, the one that started it all.  She stood on the balcony, the city lights sparkling so brightly in the otherwise pitch black night, making her appear like she was standing in space.  She wore a simple black dress and hardly any makeup.  She didn’t need anything more to look beautiful.  Her cheeks were naturally rosy, her dark eyes alive with intelligence and confidence.  I knew I was suppose to be looking over our plans one last time, triple checking every last detail, but my eyes were drawn to her gazing out over the city like a queen surveying her kingdom.  I went out to her, putting my hand gently on her shoulder, turning her around to face me.  The anticipation for the next day, the excitement sparking inside of me dulled my inhibitions.  I placed my hand under her chin, leaning in close.  The words escaped my lips as I closed my eyes. 

Then I was on the ground, spitting out my tooth.

The second time was more than a year later, and I thought her feelings had changed.  I was determined to make her hear me out, to understand exactly how I felt about her.  We didn’t have a normal life.  We were…different.  I thought it was that simple yet unavoidable fact that pulled us together.  Over a year of doing the things we did, sharing experiences that neither of us would share or even could share with anyone else.   I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

She didn’t feel the same.  Instead of a romantic gesture on a balcony, I told her as she was about to get out of my car to go up to her apartment.  She didn’t hit me.  She looked out the window, focused on something other than me.  After a moment she opened the door and got out of the car.  “Goodnight, Caleb.”

“Wait,” I said, getting out and following her up the stoop to the door.  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” 

She finally met my eyes, and I knew before she spoke that she would never see me the way I see her.  “Caleb,” she said.  “You and I are a flawless team.  But beyond that, we’d be disastrous.”  She took her keys out of her purse, turned the lock, and disappeared behind the door.

I still mean it this time, the third time.  The argument we had still clings to the room, and I open the window like the fresh air drain the tension from the room.  She’ll be less likely to call me back now.  I spoke the forbidden words, and rather than put out the flames I had pour gasoline on them.  But this time I have a right to be angry, too.  This time she has to stop and listen to me.

My phone vibrates.  I grab it, expecting to see Margo’s face on the screen, but instead the caller ID reads unknown number.

“Hello?”

There is panting on the other end before a familiar voice speaks rapidly.  “Caleb, get out, now.  They’ve been tracking both of you for the last three days.  You’re not safe.”

The line goes dead.  A new sensation creeps into my gut, very different from the one I had felt moments ago.  I hit Send to warn Margo, one arm already in the sleeve of my coat.  She has to answer this time.  I barely notice that it had started to snow.

Part 1

It is snowing. The dark of the pavement on the road and the gritty grass in the ditch are being bridged slowly by a cold, white coating from the sky. It layers itself over and over, concealing everything from the telephone poles lining the highway to the slush in the gutter. I am waiting for it to cover me.

Something hot is running down my face. It’s blood. My blood. I feel compelled to find it’s source, but instead I let it roll down my temple to the curve of my neck. I feel that if I move, this stillness around me will never return.

Someone knocks on my window. He is yelling with startling precision, and I don’t want to make either of us feel like an idiot so I pull myself back up using the steering wheel as leverage and begin to open my car door.

“Whoa, easy now,” he says. “Just stay right there if you’re feeling weak.”

I ignore him and allow him to help me out as I check out the damage. He tells me that my head is bleeding a little. The cut doesn’t feel significant when I touch it, so I leave it alone for now.

“How are you feeling? You feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” I answer. He sighs, but I don’t know what he is relieved about. The front of my car is shattered. Smaller pieces of it scatter the snowy road. Larger pieces of my car fray apart and bend inward, retreating to the core of the vehicle, as if my car is cringing where it was hit from the cold, open, and startling world to which is has been exposed. It sits on the side of the road, one back wheel edging into the ditch. I realize now that it is facing the opposite direction from where I was heading. I can’t remember flipping around during the crash.

“Should get you a bandage for that.”

I look up from the damage but don’t respond. I’m not sure what to say, but I look at him anyway. The man is wearing blue jeans and a hooded Arctic Cat sweatshirt but he’s too old to be wearing it. His brown hair is thinning beneath his faded Chevrolet cap and his face is masked with graying scruff and creases. His eyes are blue and spry but forgetful. “I’m Andy,” he says.

“Margo.”

“You took that corner pretty fast,” he laughs.

I dust snow off the front of my pea coat. “Must have been quite the surprise when you blew through that stop sign.”

My head is beginning to hurt, just where the cut is, and I am wishing I had put the Emergency Car Kit in my trunk since my aunt gave it to me at Christmas. You never know, she had said. And she was right. I hadn’t woken up this morning knowing that a redneck would destroy my car.

“Well Margo, I don’t suppose you have a cell phone?”

I suddenly remember that my cell phone had been ringing right before I got hit. I had been digging for it in my purse on the passenger seat, but hadn’t reached it before the accident.

“One second,” I say. My car door is still open, and I crawl in. My purse is on the floor on the passenger side and everything has been thrown out. I grab the phone. One new voicemail. I get out of the car and Andy asks me if I know the number for the police department. I’m not from the area, so I hand the phone to him.