Cinderella in Overalls (26 page)

When the mailman finally dug his truck out, he brought a letter for Catherine. The women were in her kitchen, the sound of their voices blending with the click of the knitting needles. She saw the name of the bank in bold black letters in the corner of the envelope. Before she opened it she took a deep breath. When she scanned the print, certain words and phrases leaped out at her. They were “final notice,” “vitally important,” “further action” and “past due.” The letter was signed by someone she’d never heard of. Catherine stood in the doorway of the kitchen, feeding the blood drain from her face.

Jacinda jumped up from the table and took Catherine’s hands in hers. The letter fell to the floor. “Is it bad news from home?” she asked with a concerned frown on her wrinkled face.

Catherine steadied herself with one hand on the back of a chair. “No, not from home.” She sat down with the women and explained what the letter meant. They argued that Josh wouldn’t do this, that they should talk with him, but in the end they agreed that Catherine should take the truck back. They tried to be strong, but their disappointment was obvious. Catherine couldn’t stand the look of sorrow on their faces any longer. She turned and ran upstairs to change her clothes. As she pulled off her long skirt and exchanged it for trim navy blue pants and a matching jacket, she seethed with anger.

She knew the meaning of “further action.” It was a euphemism for “repossession.” She could understand that. She could understand their concern. But this form letter was so impersonal. Did Josh know about it? Was it his idea? He knew and she knew that she’d promised to bring the truck back if the worst happened and they couldn’t make their payments. Well, the worst had happened and she’d bring the truck back to where she’d gotten it in the lot behind the bank. Then she’d ride up to his office and put the keys on his desk. If the bank wanted to repossess the truck, she’d make it easy for them. She said goodbye to the women, stuffed the letter into the pocket of her jacket and drove out onto the highway.

It felt good to be behind the wheel again. It felt good to be taking action, instead of sitting in the kitchen and watching the rain come down. She’d had too many days to sit and think and worry. But as she climbed up out of the valley, the rain increased until she could only see a few feet in front of her. It didn’t feel good to be behind the wheel anymore. She wished herself back inside the kitchen, dry and safe.

The truck’s tires slammed into rain-filled potholes, sending sheets of muddy water up over the hood and onto the windshield. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white. She veered to avoid a mud slide, sending her to the edge of the road. The asphalt crumbled. She felt the front left tire lose its support and roll over the edge.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Trees rushed by and her head hit the roof with a thud. The biggest tree she’d ever seen loomed in front of her and stopped her wild, sickening ride with a jolt that crushed the front of the truck. A pain shot through her chest as if she’d been speared, and then everything went black.

Her last conscious thought was of Josh. His face floated in front of her and she heard his voice. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Everything’s all right.” But as the darkness pressed in on her, she knew that everything wasn’t okay. And nothing was all right.

Josh stood at the corner of the cobblestone streets again at dawn as he’d done every day since he’d been back, watching the trucks rumble by. It was 7:00 a.m. and they weren’t here. Again. Was it the truck or the rain, or had something else happened? He couldn’t wait another day. He had to knew.

He took a taxi to the bank and told his secretary he’d be out for a few hours. Then he headed his car out of town toward Palomar. The rain began about an hour after he left the city, light but steady. He didn’t slow down. He looked at the sky, a sick, worried feeling nagging at his subconscious.

An hour later he saw the black tire marks veering off the road, and he screeched to a stop on the other side of the mud slide. In seconds he was standing at the edge of the asphalt where the road had crumbled away, his heart pounding, his hands shaking.

Bracing his feet on the steep slope, he saw the tracks leading down into the forest. Sliding, slipping, falling, he followed the tracks, skewed at impossible angles. He might have shouted her name if he’d had any air in his lungs, but he didn’t. Finally, when he was halfway down the gulch, he saw the truck wedged into a huge fir.

She was slumped over the wheel, a huge bump on her forehead, a cut under her eye. He pried open the door and found his voice.

“Catherine.” Her name was ripped from his throat.

She shuddered and he felt like crying. She was alive. Her eyelids fluttered as he lifted her over his shoulder and prayed she didn’t have internal injuries. Whatever she had he couldn’t wait for a stretcher or an ambulance.

He carried her up the steep slope, gasping for breath, crossed the road and placed her carefully in the back seat. She moaned and he tucked his suit jacket around her. If she was all right, he’d never let her drive that truck again. He’d never let her out of his sight again. He was responsible for this. He should never have lent them the money for the truck.

What was he thinking? Catherine was the last person in the world he could keep from doing what she wanted to do. If she wanted to drive a truck over a mountain road in the rain, she would. But why today? Why was she alone? Where was the produce? And where were the women?

The questions remained unspoken and unanswered. He made deals with himself all the way to the hospital—the things he’d tell her if she was all right, the things he’d do for her. He made deals with God, too, as he watched her being lifted into the emergency room on a gurney.

When the doctor came out, he looked serious but not grim. Josh wanted to grab him by the lapels of his lab coat and shake the news out of him. Instead he stood there and waited while the doctor found the papers he was searching for on his clipboard.

Finally he looked up. “You are the husband?”

“No,” Josh said. “Not yet,” he added.

The doctor nodded. “She has a concussion and three broken ribs,” he said in lightly accented English.

Josh nodded automatically. “Go on,” he said. “What else?”

The doctor smiled faintly. “That’s all. That’s enough. She must have complete rest until those ribs heal. You’ll see to that?”

“I’ll see to it,” Josh answered emphatically.

“As for the concussion, she’s drifting in and out of consciousness. She needs to be awakened every hour to see if her pupils are equal and if they react to light. We can keep her here for the night, or you can do it at home.”

“I’ll do it at home,” he said.

“No activities that require concentration or vigorous movement,” the doctor cautioned.

They brought her out in a wheelchair with a white bandage over her eye, then gave Josh a bag with her clothes and jewelry in it. She was wearing a hospital gown and his jacket over her shoulders. Her eyelids were heavy. Her lips formed his name when she saw him, but no sound came out. He clenched his hands into fists and felt tears gather in the back of his eyes.

She was so beautiful and so helpless. He’d never seen her like that before. She was the sturdy farm girl, unfazed by wind or rain. The one who led the way on the trail in her baggy pants and hiking boots. The one who had barged her way into his office and gotten a loan in spite of the rules. And now she was sitting in a wheelchair with three broken ribs and a concussion.

In front of the hospital he lifted her very gently out of the wheelchair and into his car. She drew a sharp breath, and he murmured in her ear, “Sorry, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “A little.”

The few miles to his apartment seemed to take an eternity. He carried her into the lobby, onto the elevator and up to the penthouse. Without her heavy skirts and shawl she was as fragile as a butterfly.

Her head fell back against his arm. She was asleep again. Her eyelashes were dark smudges against her pale skin. Kneeling on the bed, he pulled back the blanket and eased her between the sheets. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek above the cut. Even the antiseptic couldn’t overpower the fresh smell of her rain-washed hair.

He put his hand on her forehead. A rush of tenderness filled him. He had to wake her every hour. Had it been an hour? No, it had only been a few minutes. He set the timer on his watch to beep every hour, then he watched her sleep.

When he woke her, she didn’t want to open her eyes, but he cradled her head in his hands until she did. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so much he had to tell her, but she went back to sleep as soon as he checked her eyes.

He made himself instant coffee and drank it as he sat in the chair at the bedroom window and watched her sleep. He dozed, his legs stretched out in front of him until his watch woke him over and over throughout the night. Each time her pupils were equal and responded to the light.

In the morning the sun rose over Teregape and streamed in his window. She opened her eyes before he told her to and stared at him in disbelief for a full minute. He got out of his chair and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Josh,” she croaked. “What happened?” She touched the bandage around her head gingerly with the tips of her fingers. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, was spread out against the pillow. She’d never looked so beautiful.

He sat on the edge of the bed and traced a gentle finger around the bump on her head. “You had an accident. You broke a few ribs and hurt your head.”

She groaned and looked around the room at the pale walls and the dark furniture. “Where am I?”

“My apartment. I couldn’t take you home. Your ribs wouldn’t stand the trip.”

Her eyes strayed to the window, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I should have known. The bedroom with the spectacular view.”

He grinned. “That’s right.” A giant weight was lifted from his shoulders. She remembered. She was going to be all right.

She ran her hand over the smooth percale sheets and the thick plaid comforter. “This is your bed, isn’t it?” She spoke slowly, her brain still befuddled. “Where did you sleep?”

He pointed to the chair. “Right here.”

She frowned. “How did I get here? What happened to the truck?”

The image of the truck smashed into the tree flashed in front of Josh’s mind. “Don’t worry about the truck. I brought you here in my car. When you didn’t show up, I got worried about you.”

She closed her eyes, and it all came back to her—the letter, the road, the rain... Sorrow, mingled with pain engulfed her body. How could he tell her not to worry after they sent her that letter. “I have to worry about it,” she said. “So tell me what happened.”

“You smashed the truck into a tree on your way down a hill. It wasn’t the best day to be out driving around on steep, slick roads,” he reprimanded her gently. He could afford to be gentle today. Yesterday he had been a maniac, afraid she was dead or seriously injured. Today she was safe in his bed with only three broken ribs and destined to remain there for some time whether she liked it or not. And from the look on her face she didn’t like it.

Catherine saw the unperturbed expression on Josh’s face, and she summoned her strength to pull herself up and glare at him. “What did you expect me to do after I got the letter? Let you come and get it? Let the whole village watch while the bank took it away?”

“What are you talking about?” be asked.

“Where are my clothes? The letter’s in my pocket. Don’t tell me it’s not from your bank.”

He found the bag the hospital had given him and opened it. In her jacket pocket was the letter. She watched his face while he read it.

“It’s a form letter,” he explained.

“I know it’s a form letter and I know what it means. I promised you I’d bring the truck back if we had to miss a payment.”

“You should have known this was a mistake. This is a final notice.” He pointed to the words on the top of the letter. “Somebody pushed the wrong key on the computer. You were supposed to get the first letter because you missed one payment. The letter that asks you nicely if there’s a problem to let us know so we can reschedule your payments. Why didn’t you let me know?”