“The bridge footing gave way. Just crumbled like sand,” said the man from the semitruck in front of me. His eyes were clear as quartz and he laid a warm palm on my arm as I sat in my car. Traffic was backed up for miles.
“Who the hell you talking to?” my husband asked, on the other end of the cell phone. His voice sounded murky, miles away at home.
“Just a guy,” I said. “I’ll call you back.”
The man took his hand away and eased it into his pocket, rocked back on his heels, exhaling a languid breath.
“How long will we be stuck here?” I asked him.
“CB radio says it’ll be a while. Long as it takes for this whole line to get turned around.” His forearms glinted with golden hairs, lying down flat and silky.
“It’ll be hours, won’t it?” I asked, feeling my face glow with an expected heat.
“Probably. Nothing anyone can do but wait and make the best of it.”
My phone buzzed again like an angry insect in my lap.
“Can’t you tell me what’s going on?” my husband asked. “Jeez.”
“Nope,” I said, something settling in me like warm pebbles finding their places. “All anyone can do is wait and make the best of it.”