Gwen looked at the clock on her dashboard.
She pressed the accelerator and her Nissan surged faster.
Gwen could kick herself that she hadn’t left for her colleague’s wedding ten minutes earlier. She often did that to herself—got dressed to go somewhere too early and, with too much time on her hands before leaving, would engage in some small chore that made her late.
She tried to calm her nerves by inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. She approached the curve and held her breath.
Would it happen again?
True to her history, she swerved to miss the deer that always ran out into the road.
And, like every third Saturday in October at 5:50, her Nissan missed the same curve, sending her car airborne, and she died yet again.