Next by James Hynes

Author:James Hynes [HYNES, JAMES]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC000000
ISBN: 9780316072601
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2010-03-08T16:00:00+00:00

Kevin limps past the end of the pedestrian bridge, toward Lamar. He drapes his jacket over his arm, careful not to empty his inside pocket. His knee stings, his sock is sticky with blood, and his nerves are still jangling. He feels old and slow and a good deal more fragile than he felt just fifteen minutes ago, all because of his little accident, and it doesn’t help that he’s been insulted by his good Samaritan, through no fault of his own. His misunderstanding about her had been wholly inadvertent, and let’s face it, not all that much of an insult. What the hell’s wrong with being a nurse?

He sees her truck idling angrily at the intersection. Target, he thinks. She said that just to piss me off. I’ll have you know, Doctor, these trousers were picked out by my very stylish and much younger girlfriend at the Abercrombie & Fitch in Briarwood Mall, thank you very much. Say what you want about Stella, she has an eye for quality; she’d never take him to fucking Target. Say what you want about Stella, but she knows what she wants, and goes for it without hesitation. Her single-mindedness, her ferocity, is what still thrills him about her after three years, even though he’s certain that he doesn’t love her. Well, pretty certain: he’s a little surprised at the moment at the depth of his anger at the doctor’s implied insult of his girlfriend’s sartorial judgment. It’s one thing for him to roll his eyes at his girlfriend’s joy at the gaudiest artifacts of pop culture—American Idol, anyone? Project Runway?—and her guilt-free uninterest in the books and movies and music Kevin loves, but it’s another for some humorless bitch in a pickup truck to do it. Don’t say nothin’ bad about my baby, Doctor.

He hobbles a little faster toward the corner, almost as if he means to come alongside the surgeon’s truck and catch her eye and give her a piece of his mind. But the intersection where the bridge meets the cross street is crowded with vehicles, radiating heat and impatience; the fender bender on the bridge has reduced traffic to a single lane each way, and cars are backed up along Lamar. As Kevin comes to the corner, a motorcycle cop in a tight, dark uniform—now that guy must be hot—is weaving his massive bike through the gridlock toward the center of the bridge, his flasher bright even in the midday glare. By the time Kevin turns back to the doctor’s truck, she’s rounded the corner and accelerated south down Lamar, shifting up with a stuttering, guttural roar.

The motorcycle cop glides to a stop at the corner, right in front of Kevin. His helmet dips toward Kevin’s leg and then his mouth speaks loudly from under his tinted visor.

“You hurt?” he shouts. His idling bike makes his whole body vibrate, as if he’s just a little out of focus. He points at Kevin’s leg, and Kevin, like an idiot, looks down at his own injury as if he’s surprised to see it.

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