It was morning and it was cool and sunny. The first thing I spotted was the bike, laid over on the side of the logging road. I didn't see the wreck at all. She had been thrown clear, was still lying there, leathers covered in blueberry juice, in a thicket, miraculously.
When she took her helmet off, gorgeous, that's all I'll say about that. She was shaking but not crying. I scrambled over vine and root, lifted her to her feet. Talked to her. She leaned on me. Relaxed her as best I could. She was fine, just a little wound up from the wreck. Loose gravel, we supposed. Her legs were a little shaky. Her hands were covered in small cuts, but overall seemed fine. I hid the bike under the branches while she walked it off.
I gave her a lift to town and stayed at the ER while she was OKed to leave. She stayed with me all weekend, wore my clothes. When it was over, she flew back home to where she came from. I'm not going to tell you where she was from. That still feels a little weird. The bike was a rental. She had bought the extra insurance.