Free When Light Breaks by Patti Callahan Henry

as his eyes, as if they’d been blended together in the same dye lot. “I’m so sorry I swerved into your lane.” I glanced over at his truck. “How bad is it?”
    “Driver’s-side door dented. Not bad.”
    “Can we avoid the whole police thing here?” I attempted to smile.
    He grinned; one side of his mouth turned up more than the other side. “Who will pay for my fancy truck?”
    I noted his sarcasm as he glanced at my Mercedes, then back at his faded blue pickup truck.
    “I will,” I said. “I promise.” I glanced at my watch: 8:58.
    “You running late somewhere?”
    “Yes, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re okay and . . . oh, let me just call and tell them I can’t be there.” I released a shaky breath, leaned into the car and yanked the cell phone from the floor. Warped sounds of a voice came through the speaker.
    Charlotte . . . she was still on my cell. I lifted the phone to my ear. “Charlotte?”
    “Are you okay? You okay?” Her voice came fast.
    “Yes . . . I sideswiped this nice man. I’m going to miss my meeting. I haven’t even found a band and . . . oh, forget it. I’ll call you back.” I said good-bye and pushed END, then punched in Frieda’s number.
    The man reached over, placed his hand on my arm. “Stop.”
    “What? I just need to tell my boss I’m late.” I choked on the last word.
    “Damn, I could never resist a damsel in distress. Come on . . . I’ll take you to your meeting, get your information, call a tow truck.”
    “No, really. I know how to take care of myself.” I stood taller, wiped madly at an escaped tear.
    “I can tell.” He smiled, and there was no malice in his words.
    “Okay, I know it doesn’t look like it right now . . . but I can and I do. Just having a very, very bad day.”
    “There’s worse to be had, trust me on that.”
    I looked up at this man, his face older than my father’s, but younger in the eyes and mouth, as if they’d always carried a smile and wouldn’t age with the rest of his face. I held out my hand. “I’m Kara Larson.”
    “I’d be Luke Mulligan.”
    “So sorry about this, Mr. Mulligan.”
    “Come on. I don’t need to be in Beaufort until five. I’ll take you to your meetin’. Get in the truck.”
    I hesitated, glanced back at my car. Getting in a truck with a stranger was probably not the best way to top off this hellacious morning. “If we pull the metal back, I bet I can drive my car,” I said.
    “You might be right.” He walked over, pulled at the fender, and yanked his hand away as blood leaked from his palm.
    “Oh, oh . . . you’re bleeding again because of me.”
    “No big deal. But I’ll be followin’ you to make sure you get there.”
    I reached into my car and gathered the contents of my wallet, which were scattered on the floorboards. “Here, let me give you all my information so you can send me your bill, and I promise I’ll pay it . . . anything you need to do to get it fixed.”
    Luke waved his hand in the air. “I don’t need you being fired from your job and not able to pay my bill.” He smiled. “So, get on the road and I’ll take down your information when we get there.”
    I nodded, exhaustion threatening the backs of my eyelids. I swallowed; a burning pain shot through my throat. No, I couldn’t be getting sick, not now. I touched my palm to my neck: hot. My skin prickled like tiny jellyfish stings across my body.
    I climbed behind the wheel and glanced back toward Mr. Mulligan, who jumped into his front seat and turned his truck around to drive behind me. I waved out the window and indicated that I’d turn left at the stoplight.
    Mr. Mulligan followed me in my dented car until I pulled up in front of our small brick offices at 9:10 a.m. I parked, jumped out of the car, and held out a business card with my name, address, and phone number as I moved toward Mr. Mulligan.
    He honked and drove off.
    “Wait . . . ,” I hollered after the truck, waving my card