“It was a drunk driving one,” Raylyn replied. “The guy was doing a hundred and ten on the gravel.”
Greyson opened his eyes wide and swore in astonishment. Sure it was only thirty kilometres an hour faster than the posted speed limit for a gravel road, but even if the gravel gave better grip in wet conditions, it was also impossible to regain control on. He’d only sped on gravel once, doing only ten over, and if not for his mind replaying his Dad telling him what to do if he ever lost control, he would’ve rolled. He’d never sped on gravel again.
“I know,” Raylyn said. “I don’t even go that much over on gravel, and I only speed when I’m in a hurry.”
“I don’t speed on gravel,” Greyson said.
“Oh come on, all farm kids speed on gravel,” Raylyn said.
“Nope,” Greyson replied. “Nearly rolling once is enough for me.”
“Oh,” Raylyn said. “I’ve never almost rolled.”
“Did this guy roll, though?” Greyson asked.
“No, it was a blind corner, and the other guy had the right of way,” Raylyn replied.
Greyson nodded. The sober driver had been approaching from the drunk’s right, that was always how Greyson remembered the right of way. The person to the right got to go without yielding, unless they had someone to the right of them, but Greyson had never seen a rural intersection be used by more than two vehicles at once.
“They both died,” Raylyn said. “One or both of the trucks caught on fire.”
“Wow,” Greyson said. “Were they young guys?”
“No,” Raylyn replied. “They were both around forty.”
“Were they anybody you knew?” Greyson asked. “Actually, that’s kind of a dumb question, this is the country. Were they related to you?”
“No,” Raylyn replied. “The guy who was drunk was Travis Fransbergen. He was often drunk. Either that or he was always expecting a baby with one of his girlfriends. His second daughter was a girl I knew in school. We weren’t too close, but we had some mutual friends.”
Greyson nodded. “What about the other guy?”
“That was Terry Woloschuk,” Raylyn replied. “He was the younger of the two Woloschuk boys, the other one farms just east of us. He’d just been through a messy breakup and had moved in at his best friend’s place.”
“Oh,” Greyson said. “Who was his best friend?”
“Ayers Fransbergen,” Raylyn replied. “Travis’ cousin.”
“Gotta like when your cousin kills your best friend while drunk and speeding,” Greyson said, deliberately feigning ignorance.
“They didn’t get along,” Raylyn replied. “Their dads hated each other because Ayers’ dad got the whole farm when their dad died, while Travis’ dad got only some cash, and not even a lot. Dad says that it was as much of a pittance back then as it would be now. I don’t remember how much it was though. Travis’ dad died of heart failure later in the year too.”
“And when was this accident?” Greyson asked.
“I think it was four years ago or so,” Raylyn replied. “Yeah, it was, because I graduated that year, and then I started college in the fall.”
Greyson nodded. It was officially confirmed then. The items he’d found had belonged to Terry Woloschuk, and it wasn’t foul play that had done him in on anyone’s part either.
Pronunciation:
Woloschuk: walluschuck
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