@Copyright 2012 Bobby Hutchinson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
For Patricia Gibson, who asks what you need,
and then does everything in her power to supply it.
Thank you, my dear and treasured friend,
for always being there.
Abigail Martin squinted through the cracked windshield of her secondhand Ford and pumped the brakes frantically as the car ahead of her suddenly stopped. Abby came to a halt only inches from its back bumper.
The incident sent a rush of adrenaline through her weary body. It seemed Vancouver was planning to usher in the New Year with a record downpour, and the dark city streets were busy, slick, and treacherous.
“Only five hours and forty-five minutes left,” the hyped voice of the radio announcer bleated. “The New Year is almost here. Are you ready to celebrate?”
The New Year was the least of her concerns, Abby thought.
Eyes on the car ahead of her, she fumbled for the control and turned the sound down. Her trembling hand brushed the bulky drugstore bag containing diapers, wipes, sanitary supplies and a prescription the pediatrician hoped might ease Robert’s colic.