Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [35]
Did I even have collision insurance? Was it my fault? Jesus. Couldn’t life cut me some slack? Just a little slack for The Widow please?
There was a tapping on my window and I didn’t want to look up. But the tapping continued and I picked my head up, sniffed like a stevedore, wiped my eyes, and lowered my window. There stood the most gorgeous man I have ever seen, with the most sympathetic eyes.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Yes. No. Yes. No,” I began to babble. “Look, my husband just died like ten days ago and I just drove here the whole way from New Jersey to stay with my aunt on Folly and I’m just so tired. I’m so tired.” I took a deep breath and waited for him to tell me that I had caused at least a thousand dollars worth of damage to his car but he was just looking at me so I added, “And he left me with no money, too. Our house was foreclosed on and I lost everything, everything I ever owned except for what’s in the back of this stupid car that I bought because it was all I could afford.” I reached for the box of tissues I had on the passenger seat, pulled two out, blew my nose, and wiped my eyes.
“Holy smoke, ma’am, that’s awful. Sounds like you need a break.”
“Right? But no breaks for me! I still can’t believe what’s happened to me, but hey,” I said and tried to smile, “some days you get the bear, right?” I opened my door and got out, my knees somewhat wobbly with shockwaves from the accident. “Let’s see what happened to your car.”
“It’s no big deal. Really it isn’t.”
I closed my door and stood next to him. Good grief, I thought, this guy is electric or something. I mean, it had been years since I had been around raging testosterone. Well, I shouldn’t say raging really, more like any. Yes, any noticeable testosterone emanating from men would actually be the more appropriate way to put it. I was long immune to the allure of any of Addison’s friends or any other men who came and went in my life. Who was this guy?
“Wow,” I mumbled stupidly, looking at him and alternately appraising the scrape across his left rear bumper, hoping he would think I meant the damage. “Look at your bumper,” I said, thinking it might help clarify that The Widow wasn’t on the prowl. Yet.
“Entirely my fault. I backed out without looking,” he said. “By the way, I’m John Risley.”
His fault? I sighed with relief. John Risley. Nice name. Was John Risley trying to spare me the expense of the repairs? He was about my age, I thought.
“Cate. I’m Cate Cooper.” I smiled at him. I must’ve looked like a refugee from Fright Night. We shook hands and then stepped back to examine the cars again. My taillight was in pieces on the ground. And my bumper had a crack in it. “Have to fix that, I guess.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“Gosh, that’s okay. It’s nothing really.”
“Look, my car belongs to the college . . .”
“What college?”
“The College of Charleston.”
“Oh.”
“I teach there. Anyway, our insurance will cover it. I don’t know if your bumper needs to be replaced but it looks like a maybe. We can find that out. If you’ll just give me your number, I’ll call you tomorrow and get it all taken care of right away.”
He took off his gloves to pull out his wallet to get a business card and there it was. A wedding ring on the left hand. I knew this was completely ridiculous but something inside of me sank.
“I just need a good night’s sleep,” I said, which probably sounded like a stupid thing to say. I took his card while I dug around in my purse for a piece of paper, deciding to use the receipt from the Pig.
“You too? I haven’t slept through the night for about fifteen years,” he said. “Do you need a pen?”