What the fuck have I done? Seeing Dana’s bruised face and Stan’s body, I panicked. I should have forced her to call the cops. I should have called them myself! I can’t believe we actually dumped him. And that cleanup! Just the thought speeds my breathing. I’ve been too busy to think clearly.
Now, as I drive tiredly home, my head swarms with misgivings. I must be in shock. The whole night has the feel of a fever dream, fantastical and disjointed. I feel seasick all over again, like my Toyota’s rocking. I should have talked Dana out of it.
It’s 6:10 a.m. Behind me, Ruby’s snoring in her booster seat. She woke up when I carried her to the car but has nodded off again. Outside, dawn’s breaking. The sky’s an eerie blue gray. I’m too strung out to be driving. Thank Christ the Oaks is deserted.
I turn up the heater, which barely works. It throws out lukewarm air with a burnt chemical smell. My eyes feel pried open. It’s drizzling again. My left wiper’s squeaking.
I’ve got talk radio playing—softly, on account of Ruby. I’m not listening to the DJ’s banter. I turned it on to help keep me awake, although adrenaline’s still pumping. Questions chase each other through my head. What if someone saw us out in the boat or burning the bloody rags? Will the smell of bleach linger in Dana’s studio?
I turn onto Marlowe Street, as tired and wired as a kid before an exam, full of crammed facts and coffee. Except now the facts are risky. It’s the lies I must remember. Our story.
In the half-light, the streets look haunted. Mist hangs between the houses, which lie far apart. Dark trees twist overhead.
Most homes in the Oaks date from the early 1900s, built in the same era as Winderlea. Each one’s different and impressive, full of Edwardian architectural wizardry: pointy witches’ hats, arched windows, and turrets. It’s strange to think that real people with real problems actually live in them. The Oaks has a movie-set feel.
I grip the wheel with sore fingers. I check the clock on the dash. Shit. I need to be at school by 7:30. The thought drags me down. I force my spine straight. At least I’ll have time for a quick shower.
While I long to call in sick, I don’t dare. It might look suspicious. I must stick to my routine. I’m new at Stanton House, still on shaky ground. After what happened in Chicago, I really need this job.
Staring into the fading dark, I’m back there—in the most prominent private school in Illinois, flanked by a pair of policemen. They escorted me toward the front doors. All around, staff and teachers looked shell-shocked. And the students, with their sly smirks and whispers.
And then. Checking the joint account, all my savings gone, pilfered by Trevor. The eviction notice, taped to my door as I stood there slack with dread, Ruby’s small hand in mine.
I called the only person who might help. By the time Dana picked up, I was sobbing.
“Jo? Hey. Where are you?” She turned down her radio. “What’s happened?”
“I . . .” Tears were pooling in my glasses. “I . . . I’m still in Chicago.” My voice was raw with panic. “I’ve been fired.”
“What? Why?”
“They accused me of—Oh God, Dana. It doesn’t matter. It’s not fair!” I was crying so hard my words were garbled. “I’m a good teacher! I really am!”
“Jo? Calm down. Just tell me what happened.”
“I can’t calm down! I’m going to be homeless!”
“Homeless?” Her incredulity jumped down the line. “What do you mean?”
“I’m being evicted. Me and Ruby. I have no job. I could lose my teaching license. They’ll make sure I’m never hired in this state again!”
I could hear her clippers snipping stems. “Come here.”
“What?”
“My kids’ school is great. Very exclusive. I can get you a job.”
Her certainty took my breath away. “What? How? You don’t understand. I’ve got no references now. And if they dig into this—”
She cut me off. “They won’t. You’re a good teacher.” All the while, her clippers kept clicking. “You can come stay in our guesthouse till you’re back on your feet,” she said. “Just leave it to me. It’d be great to have you back in Glebes Bay.”
I’m so distracted by this memory I don’t see the stop sign’s approach. I coast into the intersection at Elm. High beams blind my tired eyes.
I gasp. It’s a car coming downhill fast. It has the right of way. In the glow of the streetlamp, I see the driver’s face: a young man, shocked and livid.
Instinct saves me. I hit the gas. The car swerves behind me. My eyes stay glued to the rearview mirror.
Two shadows—one small and one larger—emerge from the bushes to cross Marlowe. The car swerves again. There’s a squeal of brakes and a thump. Something thuds—a jack-o-lantern tossed off a porch. Nasty rotten-vegetable sounds. Celery snapped.
I brake in the middle of the road. My car jerks to a stop. I twist in my seat and gape back.
Ruby’s sitting up in her booster seat. She’s been shocked awake. “Mommy?”
“Don’t worry,” I say. I look out the back window.
The other car stopped too. It’s half turned onto Marlowe. Near the curb lies a long black lump. Oh my God. He hit something.
I wait for the car’s door to burst open, for the young man to stagger out. Instead, he turns off his car’s headlights. The car accelerates and skids around the black mound. It speeds down Marlowe, then swings, fast and loose, onto Beach. Its engine revs and grows fainter. I sit rigid, disbelieving.
Holy shit. Still twisted back, I squeeze my eyes shut.
As kids, Dana and I used to watch bad horror movies, the kind where everyone dies in grisly ways. The plots were all the same: a bitter madman picks off a bunch of dumb kids. Knowing what was coming didn’t help. I’d still sit there, hiding my eyes.
This feels the same, except now I’m an adult. And it’s no movie.
“Mommy?” says Ruby. Her voice cracks, plaintive. “What’s happening?”
I open my eyes. Ruby’s staring around the car, as if surprised to be here. “Nothing,” I say. “We, um—we slept at Auntie Dana’s. She felt sick, but she’s better. Don’t worry.”
Rain drums against my car’s roof. My heart’s trying to escape from my chest. I peer through the deluge. The dark shape in the road hasn’t moved. It’s small. Someone’s child! Like Ruby . . .
Without thinking, I grab my bag off the passenger seat. I find my cellphone. My fingers stab 911. “Hello! I need help!” I rasp. “I’m in the Oaks. The intersection of Marlowe and Elm. There’s been a hit-and-run! Someone’s hurt! Badly!”
The operator drones out questions: my name, the victim’s condition.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” I say. “They’re in the street, not moving! Hurry!” All the while, I’m aware of Ruby. I don’t want to scare her. She turns to gaze out the window.
“Stay on the line,” the operator instructs me.
The phone falls from my grasp and lands in my lap. “Are you there?” asks the operator. Her voice is faint but sharp, grating in the darkness. Holy shit. It’s hard to breathe. I stare at the phone but can’t pick it up. “Hello?” she says. “Hello? Are you there, ma’am?”
I feel faint with panic. What have I done? Surely my number’s been recorded. I’m not meant to be here! I should be home, asleep. Or getting ready for school. I’ll have to admit to being at Dana’s. And I ran that stop sign.
I unlatch my seat belt. My cell phone slips to the floor. How much dumber could I get? I just dumped a man’s body yet felt compelled to call 911. My breaths start skipping. I can’t believe I did that! Yet how could I not? Anyone decent would get help. Someone’s lying there, injured.
I nip my bottom lip, teeth sharp and reproachful. What’s done is done. It’s time to move. I can’t just sit here.
I jam the car into reverse and back closer to the curb. I cut the engine. The car fills with silence. I reach for my phone and bring it back to my ear. “Hello? I’m here.”
“The ambulance isn’t far,” says the operator. “Is the victim breathing?”
“I’m going to check.”
I twist to see Ruby, still staring blankly out the window. Apart from the rain, all is quiet. What if I’m wrong and it’s not human? It could be a deer. Or nothing at all. After tonight, that feels possible. I might have imagined it all.
I yank my hair hard, to rouse myself. An ambulance is coming. And the police. I need to check, now. That person—if it is a person—needs help.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Ruby. I stagger out of the car.
The rain’s icy. It flickers orange under the streetlamps. Beneath my feet, the asphalt glistens. I cross the intersection. With each step, the truth lies closer. That dark shape’s no animal. No figment of my crazed imagination.
Some feet away, I stop, a fist clenched tight to my mouth. Oh my God. She’s tiny. A child of ten or eleven. Someone’s baby.
Wobbling closer, I see I’m wrong. Relief wells in me, then sloshes. I sway. It’s not a child but a woman. She’s unusually small and looks Asian. She lies on her back, arms flung wide: the Y in YMCA.
“Hello?” I sound pathetic. Do I really expect an answer?
Above a dark coat, her face is slack. Her eyes are shut. She looks peaceful, like she’s sleeping.
She’s not.
As I bend toward her, a little dog starts yapping.
I spin to see a Yorkie lunging at me. Its tiny teeth flash white. A leash drags behind it.
My heart twists at the sight: small and fierce, trying to protect its fallen master. “Shhhh, boy,” I say, and crouch beside the woman. The Yorkie darts back and forth, yapping. Its dark eyes bulge. It’s clearly terrified. I’ve always loved dogs and wish we could have one. “Good boy,” I murmur. “Yeah. There’s a good dog.”
I touch the woman’s arm and shake it gingerly. Her chest rises and falls, but she doesn’t react. As I reach for her wrist, some light I was blocking finds her head. Her dark hair’s spread out.
I slap a hand to my mouth. That’s not hair. There’s a dark halo of blood on the asphalt. Blood. Just like Stanley’s, pooling on the white marble.
The puddle’s expanding. It shines black under the streetlight. The dog’s stepped in it. Oh Jesus. It’s leaving tiny paw prints.
The operator’s voice squawks in my pocket. I ignore it and squeeze the woman’s small hand. She moans. I wonder if she can hear me.
“Help’s coming,” I tell her. Guilt and horror shake my voice. Did she see me run that stop sign? What will she tell the police if she wakes up? “Don’t worry,” I say, as much to myself as to her. “It will be okay.”
As the sirens draw closer, the dog growls at me. It’s like it knows I’m complicit. Is my guilt that obvious?
“Mommy?”
I look up. Ruby’s managed to roll down the window. She’s trying to open the door.
“Stay there!” I shriek. My voice is shriller than it should be. Ruby freezes. “Just . . . please. Sit tight, hon.” I’ve scared Ruby.
I must get a grip. I can’t admit to any of this. Yes, I missed that stop sign, but I was driving well below the speed limit. This wouldn’t have happened if that prick hadn’t been speeding down the hill. And he drove off, when I didn’t. This wasn’t my fault. I got sucked in, like at Dana’s.
The dog yaps at me.
“Stop it!” I cry. “Stop!”
It backs away with a snarl.
Turning, I can see blue and red lights. I stand and wave my arms. The police. And an ambulance right behind. “Here!” I call. “Help! Help! Over here!”
I’ll admit to nothing. Deny, deny. But my legs feel weak. I’m shit scared they’ll see right through my lies.