Fine. I’d get out here.
I tugged open the handle and stepped from the cab. It took off as soon as I shut the door.
Lost, I stared at the store in front of me in confusion. I could see people inside, waiting in line to purchase soft drinks and cigarettes. Three cars sat in the lanes, pumping gas. It was so normal it felt dizzyingly surreal.
But what was I supposed to do now?
I scanned the outer wall for a pay phone, but didn’t spot one, even though I had no idea who I would’ve called if I had. Maybe I’d find a sign, some kind of direction, a purpose, inside. I stepped forward to investigate, except behind me, I heard an approaching automobile. Wondering if I’d left something in the cab, I glanced back and nearly pissed myself as a front bumper rushed toward me.
“Shit!” I leapt to the side as a silver Lexus veered around me and headed too fast toward the store. For a horrified moment, I thought it was going to jump the curb and crash into the side of the building, but it screeched to a stop at the last second.
Idiot driver.
Leaping onto the sidewalk so no other automobile would feel inclined to play chicken with me, I squinted and tipped my head to look through the windshield.
Just what kind of rich prick thought I was so pancake worthy?
I totally wasn’t expecting to see a youngish woman with her eyes squeezed closed and tears coursing down her cheeks.
I slowed to a stop, watching her, my anger draining into a nagging, itching sensation I concluded might be concern.
When she finally drew her driver’s side door open like an old decrepit woman, my Spidey sense kicked in, telling me something was definitely not right. She put out a hand, then swung out a leg, but when she went to stand, she gasped and fell back into the driver’s seat. As her face tipped forward, contorting with pain, I took a step her way, then paused and glanced around to make sure someone else wasn’t already moving in to check on her. But no one else had noticed her.
Damn it. Someone else should handle this. Not me. I wasn’t the best candidate for helping a woman in trouble.
She finally heaved herself from the car with a sob, and I saw how large her stomach was. Cradling her pregnant belly, she stumbled toward the curb. The same moment I noticed a trickle of blood running down the inside of her leg, she tripped and started to fall.
“Whoa. Hey.” I dashed to her and barely caught her in time.
She clutched my upper arms, her fingers digging in hard as if the grip was helping her stanch the pain. Lifting her face, she managed to say between shallow breaths, “I’m sorry...did I...almost...run you over?”
“Fuck that.” I helped her straighten back into a stand. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“I’m—oh!” She doubled over and began to crumple, letting go of me to grab her stomach. I kept her upright and she leaned her bowed head into my sternum as a moan of agony tore from her throat. “Something’s wrong,” she said after considerable panting. “I need to call my husband. Left my cell phone at home. So stupid.”
“We’ll call him from the hospital,” I said.
“No!” She choked out a sob and started to cry. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I don’t want to lose my baby.”
“You’re going to be fine.” I clenched my teeth when I heard my too gruff reply, hoping my voice hadn’t scared her. “The hospital will help you save it.”