I Called My Twin Before the Crash

My sister Cass and I are fraternal twins, so people are always surprised that the bond is as strong as it is. They expect the spooky connection from identicals. But Cass and I have shared it our whole lives, this low hum that tells each of us how the other one is doing, even when neither of us has said a word.

It has mostly shown up in gentle ways. Knowing she is sad before she admits it. Buying two of a thing at the store because I somehow know she needs one. But one afternoon in May it showed up in a way that I think saved her, and I have never stopped shaking a little when I remember it.

I was at my desk at work, deep in a spreadsheet, when a picture dropped into my mind fully formed. It was Cass's little grey car, sideways on a wet road, the back end swinging out, rain on the windshield. It was not a daydream. Daydreams drift. This slammed into me, sharp and specific, with a spike of fear that made me stand up so fast my chair rolled back into the wall behind me.

I did not think. I grabbed my phone and called her. It was the middle of a workday and she should have been at her office, and part of my mind was already embarrassed, ready to laugh it off. But my hands were dialing before my doubt could stop them.

She answered on the first ring, which was strange in itself. Her voice was tight. She said, this is so weird that you are calling, and in the background I could hear rain and the swish of wipers. She had left work early with a migraine and was driving home in a downpour. She told me later that the exact second her phone lit up with my name, she glanced down at it, and glancing down made her lift her foot off the accelerator and ease up just as she came into a bend she had been taking too fast.