Trey rolls his eyes as he backs up.
“What? Not cool enough for you? Do I need to play the college alternative station?”
“You can play whatever you want,” he says. Then he pauses. “For the next four weeks.”
“Ha. So you’re only going to be nice to me till I pop?”
“Yup.”
He navigates out of the lot, and then backs onto the main drag, toward Ocean Beach. The sidewalks are crammed with tourists and locals, enjoying the late afternoon sun, high in the sky. Women in sundresses and men in cargo shorts wander in and out of the boutiques, bakeries and cafes.
I roll down the window, letting in the warm air. The station shifts to James Blunt’s Bonfire Heart, and I nearly shout. “I love this song!”
I turn up the music, and he slows the car as we reach a red light.
I start singing along, then look at Trey, rolling my hands, encouraging him to join in. “Days like this . . .”
“I don’t know the words,” he says.
I lean in closer. “Well, I know them all, because this song reminds me of you and me. Because—” I take a beat, and wait for James Blunt to sing my favorite line, then I join in, “You light the spark in my—”
Then I’m jerked forward, and there’s a loud crunch of metal against metal. Instinct kicks in, and I raise my hands to brace myself against the dashboard, but the seatbelt snaps me back in place, slamming the back of my head against the headrest, and sending a sharp, searing pain through my skull.
The car stops running instantly. My pulse is quickening and fear gallops across my skin, centers in my chest. My head pounds, and my heart races.
“Are you okay?” Trey’s face is pale, all the color drained out.
My hands go to my belly, and I nod. But I’m so shaken, and it feels like a firecracker is exploding behind my eyes.
“Are you okay?” he repeats, his voice etched with all the worry I feel. “Say something. Talk to me.”
“I think so. But my head hurts so much,” I moan, dropping my forehead into my shaky hands.
I’m vaguely aware that there’s a knocking on his window. Trey rolls down the window, and I hear a girl’s voice. “I’m so sorry for hitting you. I feel terrible. Is everyone all right?”
She’s so young, maybe a teenager, but I can’t even focus anymore, and the conversation lasts all of ten seconds, as Trey says, “Just give me your number. I’ll call you later.”
He starts the car, the engine rumbles to life, and he calls my doctor immediately.
“Yes, I’ll take her there now,” he says into the phone. Then he tells me, “They want you to go the hospital. To get checked out. Just as a precaution.”
His voice is calm and strong. He’s unwavering as he lays a hand on my thigh, and I simply nod, and close my eyes.
Within minutes, we’re at the ER, and my head is still bursting with pain, but I’m not bleeding, my water hasn’t broken, my husband isn’t freaking out, and my baby is kicking me. Everything will be fine.
He holds my hand the whole time as we wait to be seen, talking to me, reassuring me. Soon, a nurse with a clipboard calls my name, and brings me back to a hospital room in the ER. Machines bleat out sounds, and nurses and doctors shuffle quickly in and out of rooms.
“Is the baby okay?” Trey asks, as the nurse yanks the curtain around the bed.
“Well, let’s just see,” the nurse says, and hooks me up to the heart monitor, where we’re rewarded with the most beautiful sound in the world: a loud, thumping heart. Soon, the obstetrician on call comes by, and after a quick exam, pronounces mom and baby perfectly fine.
“But let’s give her some Tylenol for that nasty headache,” the young doctor, so pretty she could be on a TV show, says to the nurse. Then to me, “And why don’t you go home and get some rest, sweetheart?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trey says, answering on my behalf .
An hour later, I’m feeling much better. I’m tucked in bed, and Debbie brings me a grilled cheese and chicken sandwich. I take a bite, and it’s delicious.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Seriously. The Tylenol worked, my head is better, and I don’t have any bruises or scratches or anything,” I say, holding up my arms for a display of all my scratch-less-ness.
“Good. That’s what I like to see. Now, eat your sandwich, and lie down.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re all seriously overreacting. The doctor said everything was fine.”
She rolls her eyes back at me. “I am not overreacting, nor is your husband. It is our job to treat you like a queen, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“It was a tiny little fender bender. The doctors only checked me out because it’s standard, or something, for any pregnant patient to go to the ER after a car accident,” I say, repeating what the obstetrician told me.
“Standard, schmandard. I want you to take it easy. Why don’t you plan on watching a movie with me tomorrow? Something sweet and easy. A romantic comedy. Nothing that’s going to make you cry,” she adds.
“Will you make me popcorn?” I narrow my eyes, pretending I’m holding her hostage to my food demands.
“Whatever you wish, sweetie.”
“Popcorn it is then,” I say, and then eat more of the sandwich.
I let her take care of me, handing her the plate when I’m done, staying in bed. She leaves for her house, and Trey rejoins me, curling up next to me in bed.
“So, that was a fun evening,” he says, exhaling as he wraps his arms around me.
“I’ll say. Did you call that girl who hit us?”
“I was a little more concerned about you than the car,” he says. “I’ll call her tomorrow. I’m just glad you’re fine. How’s your head?”
“Better. Tylenol is like a miracle drug,” I joke.
“I gotta say, now that you’re here and safe and everything is fine, there was a moment there when I felt my heart stop. It was like all the air in the world was sucked out, and all I could feel was this terrible fucking sense of déjà vu,” he says, shaking his head, as if he can rid himself of whatever memories are lurking there. “Even though this never happened before. But still, I felt that way.”
“Me too. If that makes sense,” I whisper.
“But we’re here now, and you’re both good, and that’s all that matters. And hey, look on the bright side—we’ve had our big scare, right?” He smoothes my hair, runs his fingers through it, and then plants a kiss on my forehead. “Sure, it was scary for a bit, but it was minor, and now here we are. And you made it out all clear. We’re on the other side, and it’s all going to be fine now.”
“Yes. Everything is going to be fine,” I say.
“And I agree with Debbie. I want you to take it easy for the next few weeks.”
“You’re already plotting behind my back,” I tease.
He nods. “Yup. We are. You’re done with classes, and we want you to lie on the beach, read, play with the dog, watch movies—”
“Basically, stay away from cars?”
He smiles. “Exactly.”
“We’ll see,” I say with a yawn. “I think I just want to curl up to the ocean breeze and fall asleep.”
“Did you think I was going to try for a little action the night you’re all banged up from a car accident?”
I laugh. “Oddly enough, it hadn’t even occurred to me that you would put the moves on me right now.”
“I won’t. But if you want to sleep naked, I won’t complain.”
“The same goes for you,” I tell him, as I head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. He does the same, then we return to the bedroom and I strip off my clothes, and pretend to do a sexy dance for him as he lies down on the covers. “Here’s that rain dance you said you wouldn’t mind.”