8 June 1989, Day

[noteful]

She had wanted to leave earlier. But Alain is not much of a morning person, and it's only a seven hour drive back to Montreal. With two drivers, and long summer evenings, they shouldn't have any trouble getting home before dark.

She had still wanted to leave earlier than eleven.

(And she can't won't mustn't run though what ifs and should haves, but . . . they should have left earlier.)

The traffic near Toronto is snarled nearly to a halt. They inch along, covering a couple of kilometres in an hour, and it's too warm with the air conditioning off and the windows rolled down in the midday sun.

They stop east of Toronto, for a very late lunch. Alain says something about a headache and takes three of the aspirin Meg carries in her purse. Meg calls her parents from a payphone, to tell them that they've been stuck in traffic, they're running late, they're fine, and not to worry.

(And how many times has she made that call? I'm fine, just running late, don't worry, everything's fine. Dozens? Hundreds?)

Meg drives, after lunch, with Alain half-dozing in the seat next to hers. When he opens his eyes, he teases his rule-following girlfriend about the fact that they are traveling along at a good five kilometres above the speed limit. Meg rolls her eyes and speeds up to ten.

(If she hadn't been speeding, or if she hadn't sped up when he teased her . . .)

They stop again near Kingston, to stretch and get something to drink. Alain says the aspirin and the nap have gotten rid of the headache. Meg gives him the keys back.

Alain makes a show of driving exactly the speed limit for about five kilometers, and then speeds up to ten kph above it, as well.

They talk about the visit with her parents, the class she's starting soon, the likelihood that his brother will actually propose to the girl he's been dating for two years, things they want to do later this summer, cars and sights they passed along the way.

It is, all in all, a wholly unremarkable trip.

Until it isn't.

She sees it a split second before it happens. There isn't time to warn him, there isn't even time to open her mouth to start to warn him. The car next to theirs swerves, abruptly, into their lane.

And into their car.

Meg remembers spinning off the highway. And she remembers hitting something -- she thinks it was a tree -- on the side of the road and stopping very abruptly.

She remembers noticing that the radio was still playing. And then she became aware of the how badly her right shoulder hurt. And she remembers wondering if it was broken or dislocated.

It's the last thing she remembers clearly. After that, it's a disjointed jumble.

"Oh my God, I didn't see you, I didn't see you."

. . . she drives me crazy, like no one else . . .

"Meg? Are you all right?"

(He asks in English. It's always English when he's worried about her.)

"I'll be fine. How are you?"

"Bien."

(He answers in French. She might have believed him in English.)

"Someone call an ambulance!"

. . . and I can't help myself . . .

She remembers realizing how pale -- how horrifyingly pale -- Alain is getting.

She remembers hanging onto her purse with her left hand, because someone might need aspirin, and she should have it handy.

She remembers sirens.

She remembers--

"Meghan?"

"Meg," she corrects, automatically.

"Okay, Meg. Is this your boyfriend?"

Meg tries to focus on the person asking the questions. "Yes. Alain."

"Okay, is Alain currently taking any medication?"

"Um, no, I don't . . . wait, yes, he took three aspirin, about four hours ago, for a headache. He said he felt fine a little later."

"Do you know his blood type?"

"No, I'm sorry, I don't."

"It's okay. Do you know if he's allergic to any medicines?"

"I don't."

"Does he have any medical conditions we should know about?"

"None that I know of."

(She should know these things. Shouldn't she?)

Alain is unconscious by the time they reach the hospital. The rational part of her brain guesses at diagnoses -- internal injuries, shock, broken bones. The rational part of her brain catalogues her own injuries, too -- the shoulder, the pain across her chest where the seatbelt caught her, and she thinks she might have hit her head on something.

(There's a cut on her right cheek, too. But she won't realize it until someone points it out.)

The rational part of her brain is doing what it always does, processing and making lists and trying to put things in order.

And suddenly it's damned annoying.

Because as Meg watches Alain disappear behind swinging doors and off into surgery, she's feeling anything but rational.