Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Those are the only words that I can focus on right now.
This is it. Look at what you did.
You should have stayed away, it would hurt a lot less.
This is all your fault. You're cursed.
She's going to die. She's probably already dead.
The thoughts threaten to overwhelm me.
Sheriff Grady is still speaking, my dad's eyes focus on me, dark and concerned, as if he fears I'll either shatter or lash out.
I can't hear anything, only the ringing in my ears.
Wendy. My wife.
Her smiling face flashes across my eyes. Twelve years old at that dance, to sixteen at the lunch table, to eighteen and pregnant, to nineteen and a new mom, all of our years together, every expression that's ever crossed her face, every time she's said I love you.
It plays simultaneously, hitting my brain like a tidal wave.
Wendy.
Without her, I'm...
"Atlas, did you hear me?"
I blink, feeling like I just came up for air after holding my breath for too long.
My dad's hand is on my shoulder, steadying me, and I meet his eyes, and then the Sheriff's concerned ones. "Atlas, did you hear me? I can take you to the hospital—"
I'm moving before he's finished, walking right to his car. No coat, but at least I have my shoes on.
"Let's go."
"Atlas," my dad whistles, and I turn to see him toss me my wallet—insurance, ID—right, I'll need that.
The hospital will need that.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
My Dad walks out of the house, pulling his coat around his shoulders, mine in his hand, and heads to his truck.
My mom is at the front door, her arms around the boy's shoulders.
That makes me pause—they look scared.
My sons are scared, their Mama is in this hospital, and I'm the only one here to handle this.
I'm their father, I need to actually be their father. Wendy would want me to do this first.
