Free The Lost Husband by Katherine Center

downpour. The truck’s wipers did their best, but they weren’t much use. The water was so thick I could barely see out, and I wondered if I should just pull over to the shoulder and wait for a break in the sky.
    But it was time to get back. And so I crawled the truck back to town, around the square, and onto Broken Tree Road, where the rain began to ease a bit and I could see a little better.
    Past town, the road slanted down to a creek before rising back up a long hill toward Jean’s house. Climbing that hill, I noticed a bicyclist pumping up the road toward the crest, and I wondered about how crazy he’d have to be to ride the hill in this weather. He’d barely been in my sights for a second when I saw his front wheel go sideways and the bike flip forward over the handlebars all in one surreal moment, tossing its rider up and over into a skid along the shoulder. I slammed the brakes and pulled over. By the time I’d climbed out and run up to help him, he was already upon his feet. When I got close enough to peer through the rain, I realized that it wasn’t a him . It was Sunshine.
    “I’m good,” she said, but her face was scraped and bloody, and so were her hands.
    “Sunshine,” I said, “I saw it happen!”
    She pushed strands of wet hair off her face with the back of her wrist. “Probably looked worse than it was.”
    “It looked horrific,” I said.
    “I’m fine,” she insisted. She held out her hands to let the rain wash them off, palms up. I could see bits of gravel embedded where she’d hit.
    “I’ll get the bike,” I said, turning.
    “I’m not far from home.”
    “You can’t ride,” I told her, gesturing at her palms.
    She didn’t fight me. I picked up the bike and set it in the bed of the truck while Sunshine stood by the passenger door, unable to open it. After I popped it open for her, she edged in, keeping her hands cradled in her lap, palms up, trying not to bleed on anything. I buckled her seatbelt for her, the way I sometimes did for the kids.
    When I got in on my side, she said, “Now it’s starting to hurt.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Where is the hospital?”
    “Oh, no. Home’s fine,” she said. “I’m just scraped up.”
    I stared.
    “Really,” she said. And then, stronger, “Really.”
    So we pulled back onto the road.
    She took a breath. “I’m sorry about before—”
    “I don’t want to talk about that.”
    “I still have your change, by the way,” she said.
    “Keep it.”
    “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
    Hadn’t I just said I didn’t want to talk about it? “Where to?”
    “My grandpa’s house,” she said, gesturing ahead with a palm-up hand.
    There was a little silence as we crossed the creek bridge, and then Sunshine said, “You know, he’s friends with your aunt.”
    “Everybody’s friends with my aunt,” I said.
    “No. I mean, he’s friends with her.”
    “What?” I looked over.
    Sunshine wiggled her eyebrows.
    “No way,” I said.
    “Totally. It’s totally true.”
    “That can’t be right!” I said, kind of delighted. “How do you know?”
    “Everybody knows,” she said. “They’re an official couple. Except she’s ignoring him now that you’re here.”
    “Oh,” I said, feeling bad for him on principle.
    “It’s okay,” Sunshine said. “He says it’s good for him. Keeps him in his place. He says he can get kind of uppity, being so handsome.”
    The gravel road that led up to Sunshine’s house was a sharp turn off the highway. We followed it deep into a pasture before stopping at the farmhouse. I parked in front and went around to unbuckle Sunshine and help her out. Then I lifted the bike out and set it up against the steps.
    On the porch, I asked if she needed help with bandages, but she assured me that her grandpa was home and he’d get her fixed up.
    “I’m sorry again about before,” she said as I turned the doorknob for her.
    “It’s okay,” I said, less spooked now that we were practically