It’s a dangerous curve on the best of days, on the worst days, like this, its deadly. In my head I was counting, I know Kim had woken up too and would be calling an ambulance and the police. So in my head I was counting, 35 minutes with heavy morning traffic, provided there were no other accidents to take care of first. I could see the driver of the car ghost white and shaking behind the wheel of her shiny new BMW. Wondering why new cars incite us to speed I look around for the driver of the motorcycle. For a moment all I could fix on was the bike, twisted and abused, lying broken on its side shoved up against the guardrail. After a few seconds of sickened staring and hoping the driver of the motorcycle would stumble into view mildly dazed miraculously unhurt, I leaned over the guardrail and looked down the embankment. There he was, crumpled like a child’s toy after a tantrum. I could vaguely hear the driver of the car behind me on her cell phone, screaming at 911 to get some here. After all, their previous evening together had been innocent enough—there was no need to feel guilty or nervous. And there was no need to tell anyone, either.At her third attempt, he answered his phone. He was pleased and surprised to hear from her but was in a hurry and, without time to discuss arrangements, suggested that she call him at his hotel that evening. She agreed, and spent the rest of the day in a state of high excitement. She told Ryan, as she left him at seven o’clock that she was visiting a friend and might be late. He complained, but not much.She was nervous as she arrived at the hotel, and the first few minutes of conversation were very awkward. However, even before they had finished their drink, it was as if she was 18 again. The last five years apart had never happened. Tonight her mood and behavior were quite different than the previous week. After another drink, she sat with her knees touching his and, as the conversation flowed, touched him frequently on his leg.
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