Returning Injury Read Free Page B

in the back of her mind for a few months.
    Right after Rebecca’s warning about Roy’s upcoming release from prison, she kept seeing him everywhere. She saw his eyes on the man who made her a vanilla latte at Starbucks. She saw his walk on a mancrossing the street in front of her car. She smelled his cologne, Polo, on somebody at the movie theater. She heard his voice from a telemarketer. Although much time had passed, the memory of him was crystal clear, not because she wanted to remember, but because she felt she had to remember. She was more afraid than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
    Rebecca thought about her past with Roy and how it tied in with all of her clients. There was Melody, a public speaker who spoke out on domestic violence; Angie, a writer who covered all women’s issues and violence against women and children; and Angie’s friend, Christy, a photographer who was also moving in the direction of helping women. All of her clients had one thing in common: they were all about improving the lives of women and children. And Rebecca’s PR direction had come about because of what she went through with Roy.
    Rebecca loved representing only women who wanted to make a difference or educate society, and she worked hard for her clients. Though she felt she was doing her part, she wished she could do more.
    Because of her work and knowing how hard it was for some women, Rebecca sometimes felt guilty about her life. Jack helped her realize that as long as she was financially secure, she was able to do more for women and children: she could offer her services for a very reasonable fee and continue to limit her clients to only those who wanted to help and inspire women. “If Oprah lost it all or gave it away, how could she continue helping the way she does?” he asked her.
    Success and money had bought Rebecca many things, but most importantly, security and safety. She thought about Jack’s offer of a bodyguard, which she could have because she could afford it. Money bought her a home with a security system. Money bought her new and reliable cars that didn’t break down on the highway. Money bought new tires when they were needed and a full tank of gas. Money was security. Money was safety.
    Often it was said that women wanted money or men with money, but maybe deep down women just wanted to be safe.
    Rebecca noticed a car coming up from behind approaching her very quickly. She slowed down, thinking it was a cop. The car tailed her. Because of the rain and overcast sky, she couldn’t tell if it was an unmarked police car. She checked her speedometer; she was going just two miles over the limit. She looked back to the road in front of her and noticed the straight, flat road ahead. There were no cars coming; clearly he could pass her. She continued driving, but kept glancing in the side and rearview mirrors. The car stayed on her tail. If she were to hit the brakes, he would hit her for sure. She slowed down a little more and pulled over to the side hoping he would pass her. He didn’t. “If you’re a cop, pull me over! If you’re not, pass me!”
    Suddenly she felt frozen, paralyzed. “Oh, my God! Is it Roy?” she pushed on the gas and the turbo kicked in, the sudden acceleration pressing her body against the seat. She exceeded the speed limit rapidly, but she didn’t care. She wanted to get away from that car. She looked in the mirror again and she could see the headlights receding. In fact, the distance between them expanded so quicklythat it appeared he had come to a complete stop right on the highway. She watched the headlights fade.
    When she approached her driveway, she looked for that car or anything out of the ordinary. With no cars in sight, she pulled onto her long driveway. A line of pine trees on the right guided her to her beautiful home. Once she was in the garage with the door closed, she started to laugh at her cowardice. “He is not coming after me; over seven years have passed since he