He nods.
“Then I hit the lottery.” I pinch my lips. “That was a joke. I’m sorry, I’m blathering. I’m nervous. I’ve never done this before. I want you to be okay.”
The man taps his ear. “No problem. I’ll handle this.” He pulls something out of his ear and throws it to the ground. He crushes whatever that was with his boot.
“Get in the car,” he says. “You’re driving.” He picks up his bag, rounds my car, and pops the trunk. The bag thuds when it lands inside, and the man opens the passenger door. “Let’s go.” He sits down and buckles up.
Go where? What’s he doing in my car? I stand there looking at him while he dangles my phone from between his fingers. It’s like he’s offering it as bait. I don’t need my phone bad enough to sit in the car with the stranger I struck with said car.
On second thought, maybe I do, since he didn’t turn me in. Why would he not let me call the emergency responders?
The Crossbow mansion is right up the hill.
Fuck. He might be one of Massio Crossbow’s men.
My face must show the fear that’s spiking my heart rate, because the man rolls down the window and sticks out his elbow, followed by his bloodied face. “Whatever you are thinking about me right now, you are probably right. Now think what I’m going to do if you don’t do what I ask.”
“Chase after me?”
“My ankle is swollen,” he says.
He can’t chase after me. “Then what will you do?” I ask. “I was never very good at guessing what men are thinking. My marriage to a man didn’t work out.” I throw up my hands. “What are you doing in my car?”
He rolls up his window and sits there watching me. One of his eyes might be lighter than the other, but it could also be the injury or the afternoon sun’s glare on the window. He’s in there, and I’m out here, and I’m not walking down the mountain. What choice do I have?
Also, it’s only then that I notice the dent in my front bumper. It looks like I hit a tree.
“Where to?” I ask as I sit in the driver’s seat. I cross my fingers. “Hope the car starts.”
It does. Thank God. My dad can fix the frame, but if I need a mechanic for anything else, I’d have to take it next door to Gus’s, and he’d charge at least for the parts. Which, for this kind of car, would be expensive.
The man takes my water bottle, uncaps it, and sips.
“Help yourself,” I tell him sarcastically.
“Thanks, I will. We’re going to your house.”
“Hm?”
“Drive to your house. I need a safe place to stay. Can you provide that?”
“Um, I could…yes, but I would rather you went to the hospital.” Or a police station.
How do I handle this guy?! What do I do? We all know Jesus would take him in and heal him, so I’m not asking myself what Jesus would do.No offense, Lord.
The man rattles off my address.
“How do you know where I live?”
“The car is registered in your name.” He opens the glove compartment and shows me pretty much my entire life. Car registration, divorce paperwork, the bank statements I needed to get the loan to pay my lawyer, which I shoved in there quickly and forgot to take upstairs to the apartment. They’ve been there for a month.
My ex called me messy. I can’t say I’m tidy, that’s for sure.
“I have a husband at home. Kids. A dog.”
“You’re going through a divorce. The kid is in college.”
He gathered all this while I stared at him stupidly instead of getting in my car and not letting him uncover my entire life. Not that I could prevent him from taking whatever the heck he wanted. But still.
