in frustration. Panicked by my request, he peers up and down the road as if all the answers will fall into his lap if he stares long enough. “I don’t understand.” What am I thinking? I better be right about him. The impact of the car must have jumbled my brain. “Just do it.” I force the words from the depths of my lungs. “Please,” I beg, “please, just go.” His thumbs catch the tears on my cheeks. With his eyes glued to mine, he takes out my phone, dials 911, and places it next to my ear. Before he stands, he squeezes my hand clenched across my stomach. As I explain to the dispatcher what has
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