Chapter 1
Violet
“How’re you feeling about the appointment?” I ask as I ease into a slower lane.
Sweat drips between my cleavage, and I curse my AC for giving up on me during the hottest day of the year. The steering wheel might as well be a griddle. I fiddle with the AC dial like sheer stubbornness might bring it back to life.
We’re crawling toward the hospital for Meemaw’s post-op appointment. She had hip surgery a month ago and is unreasonably proud that, at eighty-seven, she didn’t need a replacement but just “a little tune-up,” as she calls it. According to her, the surgeon found a loose bone chip from what she believes to be a horse-riding accident when she was in her teens.
“Excited. Doctor Jones is a hottie,” she says with a mischievous grin. “I told Myrtle on Wednesday about the surgery, and she couldn’t believe I’m up and about so soon. I said, ‘Honey, it was a minor operation, not a full replacement.’ Still, she looked impressed.”
I grin. Meemaw treats recovery like an Olympic event. At this age, most of her friends are comparing scars from joint replacements, while she’s still collecting compliments.
A droplet of sweat slides down my back and into my butt crack. Damn, looks like I’ll have to open the window. I’ve been stalling because of the noise levels outside the car, but at this rate I’m going to look like I’ve taken a swim in my clothes by the time we get to the hospital.
I cut a glance at Meemaw. She looks as cool as a cucumber reclined in her seat with her floppy hat and sunglasses, as if she’s chilling on a beach instead of slow cooking in this tin can from hell.
“Is it going to bother you if I open the window? I’ve got sweat pooling in places it has no right to pool.”
“Go right ahead, lovey. Seems to me we’ll both benefit if you do that.” She fans her hand in front of her face.
“W… What? Do I stink?” My voice rises a few octaves as I sniff my pits.
Meemaw cackles next to me. “Gotcha.”
“Jerk,” I tease.
Meemaw salutes. “Thank you very much.”
We laugh easily together. It’s always this way with Meemaw. She lightens every moment and brings the joy out of every situation.
I press the button to open my window. The sounds of honking horns and cursing people bombard me when I do. The sweet smell of the air combined with gas emissions assault my nostrils. I’m debating closing the window again when a guy on a motorbike screams past, so close I can smell his shitty cologne.
A few cars in front of me, the guy in his fancy Audi with his music screaming so loud I’m sure everyone within a six-mile radius can hear it, tosses his coffee cup out of the window.
Holy shit! It nails the guy on the motorbike square on his visor.
For a heartbeat, everything slows. The biker swerves—then it’s total chaos. He overcorrects, the back wheel zigzagging outand clipping the car next to him, and then he’s airborne. The car he hit swerves, clips another, and the world erupts in a tangle of metal and sound.
My breath freezes in my lungs. I hit the brake, but the light ahead turns green. I check left and right, so I can pull to the side and see if everyone is okay. All clear. I roll forward into the intersection, heart pounding.
Suddenly, a van comes careening toward us. Metal screams against metal. The airbag explodes, a violent white plume that steals my breath. The seatbelt locks hard against my chest, and my head slams back against the seat. Pain detonates across my chest, my ears ring, and smoke curls up from somewhere.
The world tilts sideways.
I taste metal, hear ringing, feel every nerve screaming at once. My first thought is,what the hell happened?Followed directly byoh my god, Meemaw!
“Meemaw?” I croak, fighting the seatbelt’s choking hold. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, lovey,” she wheezes, her voice coming from somewhere to my right. “Saved by my reclined seat, see? Told you comfort saves lives.”
Even half-dazed, I want to laugh. Typical Meemaw—proud she’s proven a point while our car is probably ready for a scrap heap.
An acrid smell I can only describe as intensely chemical lingers in the air. I try to blink through the powdery haze, but it feels like my eyes are swollen shut. I’ve heard airbags can often cause a hell of a lot of damage in accidents. Ugh, just my luck. The ringing in my ears turns up a few million notches, like a tea kettle that won’t stop. Somewhere outside, a man is shouting. Sirens wail in the distance.
“Don’t move,” I tell Meemaw, even though I’m the one trembling. “Help’s coming.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” She grunts, then gasps. “Violet!”
