Worlds Collide by Alison Strobel

Author:Alison Strobel [Strobel, Alison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-55153-5
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2005-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

GRACE

GOD, HELP ME. I was exhausted from scrambling for more conversation, from trying to be witty (and feeling sure I’d failed miserably), from forcing laughs, and I was dying for something to drink. Why had I turned him down? I felt stupid changing my mind, but my mouth was like cotton.

I was figuring out in my head how to ask without sounding stupid when a glance out the window revealed why we’d been moving so slowly for so long. Three mangled cars were blocking the two left lanes, and a slew of emergency vehicles and uniformed people surrounded them.

“Oh, God,” I murmured, leaning forward and staring out the window. My breath fogged the glass, and I polished it with the corner of my wrap. A shiver coursed through me as I glimpsed blood on one of the windshields, and I sank back in my seat, eyes closed, and prayed hard in my mind. Protect them, God. Give wisdom to the medics and doctors, don’t let them die if they don’t know You yet, give their families peace—

“Grace, are you all right?”

My eyes flew open, and I could feel myself blushing. “Oh, goodness, sorry. Yes, I’m fine. Sort of zoned out there for a second.” I gave a small smile and forced myself not to look back at the wreck.

Jack glanced from me to the window and back. “Flashbacks?”

“Pardon?”

“Flashbacks. From the accident.”

“Oh! No.” I shook my head. “I don’t remember any of it at all, still. I only know what you told me. You?”

“What, remember it?”

“No, flashbacks.”

“Ah.” He looked back out the window again, his hand coming up to rub his cheek and chin. “Not of that accident, no … ” He suddenly smiled slightly. “But that’s a very depressing story, so we’ll leave that for some other time.” He slid back along the seat to reach the minifridge. “You know, we’re barely moving. Are you sure you don’t want something? If you spill, I’m sure we can find some club soda or something.”

Thank you, God! “Well, sure, I might as well. What’s in there?”

He tugged the door open and slouched forward to root through the cans and bottles. “Let’s see … Coke, Sprite, white zinfandel, Chardonnay, Miller, water … think that’s it.”

“Sprite, please.”

He pulled out a small can and a bottle of Miller and shut the door. He opened the can and handed it to me, then twisted the cap from his bottle. “Shall we toast?”

I laughed. “I’m lousy at toasts, so if we do you’ll have to say it.”

“Oh all right.” He made a show of thinking hard, then hoisted his bottle. “To a memorable evening and favorable reviews.” I laughed and clinked my can to his bottle.

We sat in silence for a while more, watching as the traffic zipped by. Now that we were past the wreck, traffic was moving more quickly. “So how far is the theatre from here? Will we still make it on time?”

“Oh yeah, we should be okay. We’re still about forty-five minutes out.”

Forty-five

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