Saturday morning I woke up alone. Shawn had left early that morning to go skiing. I was still snuggled in bed when the phone rang at 7:30 a.m. and wrenched me out of my dreams. I trudged into the kitchen. Shuffling from one foot to the other on the cold tile, I stood there in front of the caller-id display, waiting to see who was silly enough to think that I'd be awake at this hour.
After two rings, it reported "UNKNOWN NAME" with an area code I didn't recognize. Obnoxious telemarketers. I picked up the phone with my irritated voice already on, ready to inform whoever it was what the time and date was here in California and what proper phone manners were all about.
"Hello?!"
"Hi." The voice recognition software that runs in my brain started creakily churning. VOICE IDENTIFIED. ENTITY=SHAWN DEARMOND. OCCUPATION=HUSBAND. CLEARANCE GRANTED.
What is Shawn doing calling me at 7:30? He should be half-way up the mountain by now. He should be in the car... Oh god.
"I'm okay," he said, reading my thoughts. "My car is not." Shawn proceeded to go through details. Rounding a curve. Ice on the road. Car rolled over. In a ditch. Bump on the head. Paramedics say I'm okay.
Still staring at the caller-id box, I wondered briefly why Shawn was calling me from some strange phone number and not his cell. My eyes flick to the kitchen table where Shawn had left the phone for me.
FLASHBACK:
We're in the car on the way home from work on Friday night.
"Hon, can I borrow your cellphone on Saturday?"
"Why?"
"Well, I'm going to help my mom with that thing and I think it'd be handy."
"I guess I don't need it. I don't get reception at Kirkwood anyway."
"Right, the only reason you would need it is if you got into an accident."
I should knock on wood when I say something like that, I thought. I looked around. The inside of my car is plastic. Oh well. Silly superstition anyway.
Oh my god. I've cursed my own husband.
I threw on clothes, filled up my tank, and headed up the hill. I tracked Shawn down in a wide spot in the road called Plymouth about an hour out of Sacramento. I was half-asleep when I got the call and then so task-bent on getting to Shawn that I didn't have time to think about what a close call we had. I wasn't really scared until I saw the car. It was pretty wrecked. Really wrecked. The most important person in the world was in that thing and it took one hell of a beating and Shawn made it out with a bump on the head. This could have been worse. A lot worse.
I said a silent thank you to the car, wrapped my arms around my husband, and took him home.