A Family to Call Her Own. Irene Hannon

interstate at the first St. Genevieve exit and take the back road into town, she reasoned. At least there would be minimal traffic, and therefore less chance of an accident. She could barely see ten feet in front of her, and the thought that a tractor-trailer truck could be barreling along only a few feet away, unable to clearly see the lane markings and oblivious to the presence of her older-model compact car, was not comforting.

      The exit sign loomed out of the mist unexpectedly, and Rebecca automatically flicked on her blinker, realizing the futility of the gesture even as she did so. She took the exit ramp slowly, with a bizarre sense that the world as she knew it had ceased to exist. Carefully she turned onto the deserted secondary road, her headlights barely piercing the gloom as she crept along. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a car, and as she drove through the swirling mist, an eerie feeling swept over her. She didn’t spook easily, but the overwhelming sense of isolation was almost palpable. She knew there were homes scattered along the road, but they weren’t visible tonight. She had no points of reference with which to mark her progress, and she felt disoriented and vulnerable. Worriedly she glanced at her gas tank, reassuring herself that she had plenty of fuel for the last leg of the trip home. This was definitely not the place to get stuck.

      Rebecca’s gaze flickered back to the road and she gasped as her headlights suddenly illuminated a figure walking slowly along the road, almost directly in front of her car. She swerved sharply to avoid it, then glanced in the rearview mirror in time to catch one final glimpse of the apparition before it was swallowed up in the gloom.

      Good heavens, what had she seen? she wondered in alarm, her heart pounding as adrenaline raced through her veins. Surely not a ghost! Of course not, she admonished herself sharply, stifling her overactive imagination. She didn’t believe in such nonsense. She forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths and eased back on the accelerator, frowning as she mentally tried to recreate the image that had briefly flashed across her field of vision.

      It was a man, she realized, wearing a white dress shirt and a tie, and carrying a suit jacket. Had he been weaving slightly? Or was that just a trick of the swirling fog? she wondered. And why would he be walking along the road at this hour of the night in this weather? Her frown deepened and she lifted her foot off the accelerator even further, slowing the car to a crawl.

      There were only a few possible explanations for the man’s behavior. Either he was a lunatic, he was drunk or he was in trouble.

      The first two possibilities frightened her. She wasn’t equipped to deal with them. Not alone on a deserted road. But if he was in trouble or hurt—she thought about the story of The Good Samaritan, who came to the assistance of the stranger on the road, and bit her lip thoughtfully. There was definitely a parallel here. She couldn’t turn her back on someone in trouble. If he needed assistance, she had to provide it. But she wasn’t going to take any chances, either. She’d just wait until he appeared and then use her best judgment to determine how to proceed.

      Rebecca carefully pulled her car over to the side of the road, double-checked that all her doors were locked and that the windows were tightly rolled up, and waited.

      As the minutes ticked slowly by and the man didn’t appear, Rebecca began to worry. Perhaps he had become disoriented in the fog and wandered off the pavement. Or maybe he’d fallen into the drainage ditch near the shoulder. Or collapsed in the middle of the road, in the path of oncoming cars. Should she back up and…

      Suddenly the man materialized out of the mist immediately to her left, and Rebecca drew a startled breath. He was less than ten feet away, walking right down the center of the road. In the unlikely event that a car appeared, he would be a sitting duck, she realized. But he seemed oblivious to the danger. He also seemed oblivious to her car. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice anything. And he was definitely weaving, she realized. His gait was unsteady, and his head was bowed.

      Rebecca lowered her window a mere two inches and called to him. “Excuse me…do you need help?”

      The man’s step faltered momentarily, and he raised a hand to his forehead, but after a moment he continued to walk without even looking in her direction.

      Rebecca frowned and quickly put the car in gear, following along slowly beside him. She lowered her window a little further and tried calling even more loudly. “Hey, mister!”

      The man stopped again, and this time he glanced confusedly in her direction. Rebecca studied his face, and though it was mostly obscured by the billowing wisps of fog, she could tell that he was fairly young. Late thirties, maybe. He was also tall. Probably six feet. And he looked strong. Very strong. Which frightened her. She would be no match for someone of his size, and on this deserted road anything could happen, she thought fearfully.

      But suddenly, as the opaque veil between them momentarily lifted, she realized that her fears were unfounded. The man was clearly injured. His face was gray, and there was a long, nasty-looking gash at his hairline. He was obviously in no condition to walk, let alone attack anyone. She’d be willing to bet that at the moment her strength far surpassed his.

      Feeling a little less frightened, she lowered her window even more. “What happened?” she called.

      “Accident,” he mumbled, gesturing vaguely behind him.

      Rebecca hadn’t seen a car, and she looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of accident?”

      “Deer,” he replied, his voice slurred. He didn’t appear to be able to manage answers of more than one word.

      Suddenly he started to walk again, but after only two shaky steps his legs buckled and he fell heavily to his knees, palms flat on the pavement.

      Without even stopping to consider her own safety, Rebecca unlocked her door and dashed toward him, stopping abruptly when she reached his side to stare down helplessly at his bowed head. What was she supposed to do now? Tentatively she reached down and touched his broad shoulder.

      “Look, you can’t stay here,” she told him urgently. “You’re in the middle of the road.”

      He ignored her, and in desperation she tugged on his muscular arm. “Please, try to get up. It’s dangerous here. You could be killed,” she pleaded.

      Her words finally seemed to penetrate his consciousness, and he tilted his head to look up at her. His brown eyes were clouded and dazed, and he seemed to be having a difficult time focusing.

      “Dizzy,” he mumbled.

      “Look, I’ll help, okay?” she offered, tugging more forcefully on his arm.

      This time he made an effort to stand. And as he struggled to his feet, she realized just how tall he was. At five-five she wasn’t exactly short, but he towered over her by at least six or seven inches. And he was well built. And obviously strong.

      A wave of panic washed over her, and for a moment her resolve to help wavered. But when she loosened her grip, he swayed, and she was left with no choice but to guide his arm around her shoulders. Stay calm, she told herself sternly. Think logically. The man is hurt. He does not represent any danger.

      She took a deep breath, repeating that mantra over and over again as she slowly guided him to the car. He leaned on her heavily, his breathing labored, and she stole a glance at his face. He looked awful, and she wondered if he might have other injuries besides the deep gash at his hairline. Please, Lord, help me get him to the hospital as quickly as possible, she prayed.

      When they reached the car, she propped him against the front of the hood and backed up, eyeing him worriedly. “Stay put, okay?” she said slowly, enunciating every word. “I’m going to unlock the car door.”

      Rebecca had no idea if he understood her words—or even if he heard them. In his zombielike state, she doubted whether very much was penetrating his consciousness. She’d just have to work quickly and hope he was able to remain upright until she returned.

      She moved rapidly around the car to the driver’s side, and with one lithe movement climbed onto the seat and reached across to unlock the passenger door. She lowered the passenger seat to a semireclining position,