Free The Storm (Fairhope) by Laura Lexington Page B

slowly materialized as if it were hours. My eyes opened to a dizzy spread of dots in every color before my vision cleared. Gasping for air with the wind knocked out of me, frantic tears rolled down my face as I realized what happened. My head throbbing, I opened my door and tried to stand.
    The driver of the other car was already by my side. “I’m so sorry,” I sobbed to him. “I tried to stop. My brakes must have locked up. I have insurance. It’s a company car.” My tears rendered me incomprehensible.
    “It’s okay!” the man soothed, looking over my hysterical mumble-jumble. He was older, probably sixty, a businessman with gentle brown eyes and a kind, wrinkled smile. “The car will be fine. It was barely a dent, and your car looks like you just drove it off the lot. There’s no damage. Are you all right?”
    “I-I think so,” I stuttered, watching the world spin around me. “I’m just really, really dizzy. I think I blacked out for a minute.” I lowered myself back into my car. Calm down. Calm down.
    Walking closer to me, brow furrowed, he opened my door. His jaw dropped when he saw my thirteen-week bubble belly poking out from my slender frame. I was finally showing. “Ma’am, are you expecting?” My victim looked genuinely concerned.
    “Yes, but I think I’m okay…”
    One of Gavin’s colleagues arrived within minutes and dutifully questioned us, as well as the witnesses who had stopped—some out of curiosity, some because they couldn’t go anywhere anyway until our cars were moved. The wreck was obviously, unquestionably, my fault. I explained that my brakes had locked up.
    The police officer yawned and rubbed his eyes. I assumed he was coming off the night shift. “Well, that’s a wrap. Just a little bump. You know, my wife had one of those Nissans. She always complained about the brakes, too.” He finished taking his notes, explained what would happen next, and then left the scene.
    Numbly, fingers shaking, I dialed Jeff’s number to confess my accident. Andrew was traveling to an out of town meeting, and the only response I could get was his static-y company voicemail. Grace’s cell phone was off, and Mama’s home line greeted me with a busy tone. Loneliness crept in, and I could not help entertaining poisonous what-if thoughts. What if the wreck hurt the baby?
    Jeff drove me to get my rental car, making meaningless small talk. I waited for him to ask if he should come back another day; he didn’t. I should have gone home, but the determination to prove myself took over my desire to curl up in a ball, cry like a baby, and bow out.
    The first couple of customers we visited were lost in my blurred sedation. The dialogue glided, my even voice sailing through every objection. I smiled, asked all of the right questions, and updated my case schedules. I would leave no room for error so there was no way in hell Jeff could give me a “needs improvement.”
    One of my surgeons refused to see us in his office.
    “We don’t see companies that think they are too good to wait, young lady.” The thickly accented nurse glared at me through her dark-rimmed glasses, turning her back on a fidgeting Jeff. “I don’t care how many surgeries he’s done with you.”
    My mouth fell open. “Huh?” Clueless, the stammer was the only sound I could muster. My heart started pounding, and the sleeves of my scrubs started to feel sticky.
    “Apparently, you Covington reps think you have some kind of right to do whatever you want. Not so. I told that other guy to wait, and he waited ‘til my back was turned and asked the new receptionist to let him in. So, we’re not seeing Covington reps anymore.”
    Hurricane Collin struck again.
    “I apologize, but I would not do that. Would you reconsider?”
    My protest was met with a shrug from the overweight, middle-aged receptionist. A box of sprinkled chocolate donuts waited next to her computer. My competitor’s business card was taped neatly on the top of