It was a cloudless night.It was a cloudless night. The full moon lit the trees surrounding the highway. My thoughts were not on the road before me, but on the man I had just left. Did I love Bob enough to marry him? Sorting out my feelings had never been easy for me, so my concentration was not on driving. One moment, the road ahead was clear, the next a man was standing about a hundred yards before me. He flung his arm up in front of his face as if to shield his eyes from my headlights. My foot move towards the brake, but it was too late. I felt the impact as the car hit him and the double shudder of the wheels running over his body. I didn't stop until I reached the safety of my apartment. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was violently ill. I stripped off my clothing, praying that a hot shower would wash the accident from my mind. It didn't, and I spent a fitful, sleepless night. The next day I called in sick to work, saying I had the flu. I scanned the morning papers but there was no mention of the accident. I chain-smoked and drank pots of hot, black coffee. I found the article on page three of the evening paper. It read: "Harold Evans, 23, was struck by an unidentified hit-and-run driver late last night on Highway 9. Police are seeking possible witnesses who may be able to identify the vehicle invo lved." Was he dead? The article didn't say and I wasn't about to call the police and ask. I returned to work the following day and was trying to catch up on unprocessed claims when someone approached my desk. I looked up to find a good-looking young man standing before me. "May I help you?" I asked pleasnatly, although I was annoyed at having my concentration broken. "I certainly hope so, Susan," the man said. "Who are you?" I aked, wondering how he knew my name. "I should think you'd recognize someone you'd struck with your car. |