Page 48 of Pining for Pierce
“I can.”
I’m just wondering if it’s safe to slide out from under her when I hear the distant, vague sound of footsteps.
“Who’s that?” Harley says in my ear.
“I don’t know.” I turn my head to the left. My visor is covered with rain and is misting up a little, but I can still see the truck, lodged against the trees opposite the turning. The driver obviously drove straight into them, although that makes little sense. I wonder if it’s him running toward us, coming back to see if we’re okay, but then I realize there’s another vehicle… a big car, maybe a Range Rover, its headlamps pointing toward the edge of the road. In the half light, I can just about see the outline of a man. He seems to be wearing jeans and a leather jacket, which he unzips slightly as he crouches down. I raise my visor, raindrops pelting my face, although I can still focus enough to know I’ve seen this man before… except I can’t think where, or what his name is.
“Are you okay?” he says, frowning, his face filled with concern as he leans over.
“I think so.”
He nods. “Stay where you are. I’ve called for help already, so lie still.”
“We’ve got no intention of going anywhere.”
I’m happier holding onto Harley than I would be doing anything else, and the man smiles, glancing down at her before he looks back at me. “What you did just then,” he says, shaking his head. “It was something else.”
“I shouldn’t have had to do it in the first place.”
The man glances toward the truck. “No, you shouldn’t.”
“What the hell was he thinking?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he was.”
“Were you behind us?” I say, trying to get my bearings.
“Yeah. I was keeping my distance because of the rain, but I just came around the bend when it all happened.”
I nod my head. “Do you think you should go check on the truck driver? He might have had a stroke, or a heart attack, or something.”
“I guess… as long as you’re sure you’re okay?”
“We’re fine.”
He stands, nodding his head, and is about to wander off when he stops, looking down at us. “You’re soaking,” he says, stating one of the more obvious facts about our current situation.
“Yeah.”
“I think I’ve got a blanket in my trunk,” he says, and before I can comment, he turns and runs away, in the direction of his car. I can’t see him clearly, with the rain falling in my eyes, but before long, he returns, bringing a blanket with him. He lays it over us, saying, “This will help. It’ll keep you warm, too.”
“Thanks,” I say, pulling it up over Harley and tucking it in around her as the man walks off toward the truck. “Are you okay?” I ask Harley. She’s been quiet throughout that conversation, and I wanna make sure she’s all right.
“I’m just cold and shaky.”
“The blanket will help.”
“Who was that man?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I vaguely recognized him, but I can’t remember his name.”
“I couldn’t see him clearly. My visor’s misted up.”
“I wouldn’t open it unless you feel you have to. It’s not a pleasant experience.”
“What happened to your bike?” she asks
“I don’t know… and to be honest, I don’t care. Just as long as you’re okay.”
