The Accident Curse

Chapter 1 I didn’t often think about my hometown of Accident, Maryland. Since I left nearly ten years ago, I only called Dad on holidays and his birthday. It was easy to let the place slip my mind. Until I got a call at three o’clock in the morning from the hospital in Oakland. “Your father’s fine,” the voice over the phone assured me. “A fracture in the fibula and tibia from a fall in the woods. We had to set the bones, but the breaks were clean and he should recover without any permanent damage.” “I see,” I answered, my heart pounding even though I knew Dad was okay. “Why are you calling me?” “Your father will have limited mobility for the next eight weeks. When I found out he was living alone, I suggested he have someone come stay with him.” “He asked you to call me?” I asked in disbelief. I could tell the doctor was smiling on the other end. “He said you wouldn’t believe him.” “He was right.” I lifted a hand to my face and rubbed my eye with a palm. “Eight weeks?” “Typically.” “How is he getting home if he can’t even drive?” “We’ll be discharging him in about an hour. He has a friend here to take him home.” “If it’s Fred,” I muttered, “they’ll probably hit a tree on the way there.” Damn it. And so I found myself packing my bags and waiting in the line for security at Sky Harbor Airport. The emergency flight set me back a thousand dollars. Dad had better appreciate my efforts. The trip to Pittsburgh—the closest airport to my hometown—took nearly four hours. Four whole hours to moan and groan about this horrible twist of fate. I was on my way back to Accident, the place I swore I’d never return to. I wasn’t the superstitious type, not really. But ever since I was old enough to understand about the namesake of our little town, I began to notice how easy it was for accidents to happen. I saw them appear more and more frequently in my own life: my inability to go a week without breaking at least one dish; getting the chickenpox twice in second grade; even missing the game-winning basketball shot my junior year in high school. And Mom…. I was cursed. And to break it, I moved away from Accident the second I could. Maybe that was another reason I didn’t think about home. It reminded me of how unhappy I’d been, always so focused on what tragedy would strike next. I’ve outgrown the curse, I consoled myself. It won’t happen again. Besides, this is only a visit. It’s not like I’m going back there to live. The tires touched down on the tarmac with a jolting force, throwing my face into the seat in front of me. After we taxied to the terminal, the flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers. “We’ve reached our final destination of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The local time is 4:32 P.M. Those of you with connecting flights, please check in at the desk for information about your next gate location. It’s been a pleasure having you on board and thank you for flying with us.” I reluctantly joined the hustle and bustle of people scrambling for the exit. I felt like the only one hesitant to emerge from the metal cocoon. I preferred to stay on the plane; any place was better than where I was headed. But I couldn’t postpone it long. The inevitable would come eventually. It took me nearly forty minutes to get my baggage and head to the pickup spot Dad said he’d be waiting at. As soon as I exited the ground floor doors onto the street, the end-of-summer heat hit me. I’d been living in Phoenix since I graduated high school, so I knew a thing or two about hot weather. As much as I’d acclimated to the Phoenix sun, it had weakened me to this goddamned humidity. My pores spouted sweat like a holey garden hose. A car honked and I glanced to my right. Fred stood beside his truck, already in the process of opening the door to the Club Cab. Then, he rushed forward and pried my luggage out of my grip with his gnarled hands. I would have pushed him away if it wouldn’t have looked like I was punching a hundred-year-old man. I was surprised he could lift my bag and toss it into the truck’s bed. “Mart,” he greeted, returning to me and trying to pull me in for a hug. I slipped from his embrace and clapped his shoulder instead. “Hi Fred. Thanks for coming to get me. Dad doing okay?” Fred gave up on catching me and walked to the driver’s side door. “He’s fine, but grumpy.” I climbed into the cab behind the passenger seat. “I’m not grumpy,” Dad said grumpily from the front. “The damn thing hurts.” “That’s what happens when you go hunting with yokels, old man,” I scolded. “Well, the thing is,” Fred explained, “we were tracking a six pointer when your dad took his tumble.” Dad grumbled softly at this point, but I ignored him. “As we were trying to get your dad up on his feet—and him cussin’ and carryin’ on the whole while—we spotted a twelve point. Well, we all agreed we had to take the chance.” Dad said, “And we were lucky your squealing at the sight of blood didn’t scare it away.” “Your leg was bleeding?” I asked. I gritted my teeth. “How long did you wait before getting to the hospital?” “I don’t know…three hours? Maybe four?” God! They were stupid. All for a buck. “At least we got it,” Dad concluded, a trace of smugness lacing his words. Fred got the truck on the 376 which took us toward Pittsburgh proper. Fortunately, we could turn onto the 79 and skirt the city instead of crossing over the rivers to downtown. Pittsburgh was a beautiful sight—especially when entering from the Fort Pitt tunnel. Mom had always insisted we take the long way around to appreciate the sight. Today, though, I just wanted to get to Dad’s house and mope. Dad and Fred fell into an easy conversation. I half listened, my eyes taking in the beautiful green scenery flashing by. So different from Phoenix, with its cacti and dirt. I missed this lush landscape. The desert was beautiful with its starkness, this was beautiful for its vibrancy. I rolled down the window an inch so I could get the fresh, clean scent. “So, how’re things?” Dad asked, turning his head to peer at me. I was surprised by the wrinkles on his face, the white streaks in his hair. He’d come out to visit me last Christmas—only nine months ago—but he looked so much older. “Fine.” Realizing my answer was less than satisfactory, I pushed on. “I’m doing a lot of training videos currently. New HIPAA laws made all the companies update their policies.” “As long as it keeps you busy,” Fred answered. “I hope your internet’s up to par, Dad. I may have to fork out some money to get you upgraded.” “It’ll be fine,” Dad reassured. “I never have a problem with it.” I wrinkled my nose and looked back out the window. “My programs are a lot more sophisticated than what you use.”