The Helpful Wife
Scully tromped through the wilderness with his friends over the weekend, canoeing an hour-and-a-half to his campsite. He was completely out of reach of cellphones and email.
On the way home, he called me from a payphone:
"I should be home within a few hours."
"OK. Wait...I have an impression." A terrifying image followed a mental picture of my husband but I knew that he would be fine.
"There's going to be a very bad accident on the way back but it doesn't involve you or your friends."
"It already happened. A car was half-submerged in the lake."
"Oh. OK." It didn't feel like the accident I was talking about, but, hey, how could I be sure?
When he got home that evening, he told me: "Some guy decided to walk out into traffic... It was a huge accident! Cars piled up, etc." This happened after talking to me.
I honestly don't know why some people think that crossing a highway is, well, even possible. But, there you have it, someone did and the consequent mess delayed Scully's arrival by about two hours.