Frankie’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and her knuckles swelled. The sort of pressure shooting up her arms as if giving a warning. The July heat pressed against the car windows, turning her Mini-Cooper car into a coffin. Sweat gathered on her forehead. She wanted to vomit.
She glanced at her watch: 5:53pm. I really need to get home and get today over with. Keep it together dammit! Why did traffic feel like it was worse? Today has been one huge blur, I don’t think I remember it. Once I get home to my boys, I’ll make dinner, forget today happened, and it’ll be like normal. She relaxed, a little. I’ve always managed to brush things aside, but not today! Frances Elaine Williams, don’t lose it!
A flicker tugged at the back of her mind. A memory? She shook her head to dismiss it. Not here, not now. Frankie didn’t have time for whatever it was. She squeezed her eyes shut to think. Now what should I cook tonight my boys haven’t had before?
Frankie couldn’t make sense of the stalled traffic. It just felt…off. Four lanes of cars halted and baked under the brutal sun. Engines ticking, other drivers staring straight ahead like they were afraid to look anywhere else. The air inside her car clung to her sweaty blouse like a hand she couldn’t wait to brush off.
In her rearview mirror, a sharp flash cut through – quick, jagged, weaving in between the endless rows of cars behind her. Frankie blinked twice, hard. The mirror showed nothing but heat shimmer and warped bumper stickers. I’m sure I saw something, she thought.
Another flash. Much closer.
Frankie’s heartbeat pounded, so loud, it drowned out the muffled horns and distant rumble of engines.
I’ll turn on the radio. I could use some Beethoven or Tchaikovsky. This time, Frankie resolved, with shaky hands. When the soft music drifted through the speakers, she leaned back, relaxing her shoulders. Letting the sounds wash over her. But the tension didn’t ease. The air felt wrong. A lot felt wrong. Well, I just need to get home. Frankie repeated. My boys need me. Of course! And whatever this memory is just needs to stay buried.
Frankie tried not to look at the driver in the next lane. She couldn’t make sense of his expression, except for a cocked brow giving her the shivers. She turned her gaze away.
Boom! Boom! Boom! The pounding sounded as if breaking down a door in a fight, each hit sharper and angrier than the last. Frankie jerked upright. She must have drifted off but didn’t realize it. Her eyes felt blurry from her micro-nap.
Boom! And then another loud Boom!
Frankie shuddered, as the flash in her rearview mirror approached her window. People don’t really come up to others’ cars, do they? Not in this small town!
The strange man stood hovering, with pursed lips.
Don’t roll down the window, Frankie warned herself. Probably wants a handout or drugs, or something worse.
His stare pierced the window as if trying to break glass. There was something off about him. But she was stuck in traffic for who knows how long. The most entertaining part of her day she could tell her boys. Something to look forward to!
Frankie lowered the window just a crack. The man leaned in close enough she could smell the dense cigar breath. When his gaze met hers, her stomach tightened. He looked like he’d been waiting for her for hours.
“Y-y-yes?” Frankie stammered.
The man’s voice was gruff. “My name’s Rod.” As if they’d known each other for years.
Frankie swallowed hard. “Well, what do you want?”
“Frankie, you should not be out here all alone,” Rod warned, cracking his knuckles, as if on a dare.
Frankie couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“I saw what you did back there,” Rod’s voice didn’t waver. “You didn’t even stop.”
Behind her, a woman in another car whispered to her passenger, glancing at Frankie with uneasy expressions. Another woman in the SUV behind her lowered her window halfway, leaning out to stare at Frankie’s cracked glass. Don’t worry about them. Worry about him! She scolded herself.
“I have no clue what you’re babbling about.”
Rod bent down closer, squinting his eyes, not blinking. His presence commanded an attention Frankie couldn’t look away from.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he muttered. “You only think no one saw you. But I did.”
Frankie’s stomach dropped and she felt she’d forgotten to inhale. She reached for the window switch, trying to close the gap. But Rod’s hand moved faster.
His palm slammed against the glass, hard enough to rattle the frame. Frankie flinched and her body jerked back. Rod punched the glass again, harder, the sound cracking the air over the stalled traffic like a gunshot. The glass window finally spider-webbed, and pieces of glass struck Frankie’s face. She felt like she’d been slapped.
As Rod’s fingers slipped through the widened fracture, reaching for her hair, Frankie felt his anger punch her in the gut.
“No!” Frankie screamed. Rod did not listen. His jaw tightened, breath forcing out, like he fought the urge to say something damning but managed to restrain himself. For a nanosecond, his eyes flicked toward her dashboard, then back to her face. The sight of his flared nostrils took hold of Frankie, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
She knew it – that look. She’d seen it before – earlier today when she wanted to forget.
Rod’s facial expression twisted, as if Frankie had failed to meet his expectations. As he stepped back from her car, he shook his head. He’d given up and couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. He took a moment to catch his breath. Before he turned to walk away, he wagged his finger. “You’ll remember. And when you do…I’ll be waiting.”
Frankie stared after him in disbelief. Rod crossed to the other side of the interstate, lingering, glaring at her until she looked away.
Her gaze fell to the laceration on her arm where she pushed Rod away. Then his sickening cigar stench struck her. It hit her like a blow. Oh no! She trembled.
She remembered the stench at the same time as the motorcyclist’s scream and the body hitting the hood of her car and crumpling against metal. I wasn’t that out of touch, was I? Frankie ruminated. The memory persisted – the moment she floored the accelerator, leaving the cyclist on the pavement as she fled the scene. Did Rod follow her? Good heavens, I hope I didn’t hit his brother! She didn’t want to know.
Frankie prayed no one else would talk. But it was a small town, after all.
Easy does it, she instructed. One breath in. Full exhale. Repeat three times.
He was in my way. I was in a hurry. Frankie whispered to herself. No one was supposed to see. Everyone is in their own little world. Except Rod.
I need to protect my boys and own up to it! What kind of mother am I if I don’t? I need time to think of what to say! Can this traffic stay stuck?
Traffic lurched forward in uneven bursts. Frankie eased her car into motion, hoping the glass wouldn’t splinter further. She kept her eyes straight ahead, not wanting other drivers’ glares. Frankie didn’t know if they were curious or suspicious. I only care about my boys, she decided. At least they don’t know about this. They’re always in their rooms. As the road opened, Frankie steadied her hands while exiting the interstate.
Frankie eased into her driveway, the spider-web cracked window rattling as she slammed the car door shut. As the evening cooled, her pulse slowed, though only a little. Rod’s words reverberated in her head. You know where to find me.
Frankie leaned against the doorframe. I can’t face him again for leaving his brother on the road. Not yet. But I will. When I’m ready.
As she laid her car keys on the entryway table, she noticed an object for the first time. It contrasted with the usual potted plants and stacked magazines.
A calming candle, a box of tissues, and a handwritten note with large lettering. How odd, Frankie wondered. I never get handwritten notes. A breeze rushed through the door carrying away the note. Frankie gathered the strength to run and catch it.
The note read, Mom, we know all about what happened. And it’s okay. We are here for you always. Love, Dustin and Jacob. Frankie fought back tears and held the note to her chest.
I am not alone in this, Frankie managed to smile. Wiping away her tears, she entered the kitchen, trying to formulate how the dinner conversation would go in an hour from now. Boys, we’ve got lots to talk about and lots to look forward to.