The hit-and-run is bound to be the top story until the press learns that Stan’s missing. I check my watch: 8:03 p.m. I hope I haven’t missed it.
I crouch before my boxy TV and click it on. The picture flickers. I only just got Ruby into bed and keep the sound low.
If this set ever had a remote, it doesn’t now. It only gets a few channels. I don’t usually watch it but want the local news. I dare not search anything on my laptop.
On screen, a female reporter in a red blazer is standing out in front of the local hospital. I turn the sound up slightly: “I’m here outside Glebes Bay General, where hit-and-run accident victim Alma Reyes is fighting for survival.” She sweeps a hand behind her. The camera pans to some parked ambulances. A man in scrubs walks by.
I sit on the sagging plaid sofa. Everything in this apartment is at least three decades old. It all looks salvaged from Goodwill.
The reporter explains about the accident in the Oaks. While her mouth’s solemn, her eyes shine. For her, this counts as news. “Alma Reyes’s condition remains critical,” she says, “with doctors unsure whether she’ll regain consciousness or have lasting brain damage.”
For a second, I’m relieved; if she’s unconscious, she can’t tell the cops I failed to stop. Except . . . What am I hoping for? That she’ll die? I feel even guiltier.
The screen flashes to a picture of Alma, a plain, fortyish woman whose neat hair is center-parted. It looks like a passport photo. A male voice explains: “Filipino citizen and mother of three, Alma Reyes was working in Glebes Bay as a nanny. She was struck in the Oaks while taking her employer’s dog for an early morning walk.”
I shake my head, appalled. That guy left a mother of three lying in the street like trash! At least I stopped—even if it was a tiny bit my fault. Or would he have hit her anyway? He was driving too fast. Drunk probably. Maybe joyriding in a stolen car.
I shut my eyes and recall the brave little dog.
“The police have set up a tip line,” says the news anchor. “They’re pursuing several leads.”
Shit. Several. That pops my eyes open. Am I one of them? What if someone else saw me run that stop sign? I rub under my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Mommy?”
I look around, aghast. Ruby’s in the doorway. She’s got a limp toy bunny in hand.
I jump up and switch off the TV. Faced with Ruby, I feel guiltier about everything. That woman, Alma Reyes, was likely her poor family’s main breadwinner. Is she a single mother? What will become of her children? “Baby, why aren’t you in bed?”
Ruby scowls. “I’m not tired.”
I sway toward her. “Well, I am.” How long have I been awake? At least thirty-six hours. “Let’s go.” I usher her down the narrow hall. I may as well sleep in her bed.
I’m drifting off when Ruby says, “Mommy?” Her breath’s warm on my cheek.
I try not to sigh. “Yes, Ruby?”
“That lady on TV, was she the one from this morning?”
My muscles tense. How long was Ruby standing there, listening in? I’m worried that accident scene was traumatic. I had to take Ruby out of the car when the uniforms quizzed me but tried to distract her from the paramedics working on Alma.
“Yes,” I say. “But she’ll be okay. She’s in the hospital. With good doctors.” I rub my sore eyes. “It’s time to sleep, hon. I’m beat.”
“Why? Couldn’t you sleep at Auntie Dana’s?”
“Not so well.” I roll over. What does Ruby remember about last night? “How about you?”
“Toonces was meowing,” she says. “I went to pet him.”
“Oh,” I say. Ruby loves Zoe’s ginger cat. We’re not allowed pets in our rental. I moisten my lips. “Where did you pet him?”
“The kitchen,” says Ruby. “He was hungry.”
My head throbs. Could she really have gone to the kitchen last night? If so, when? I’m scared to think what she might have seen. Or is this a memory from some other visit? I certainly hope so. She often feeds Toonces.
“Then what?” I say. I try to keep my voice soft and easy. I mustn’t make last night seem important.
I can hear the smile in her voice. “Toonces slept on my feet. He was heavy!”
I smile too. The cat was not in the den when I woke Ruby this morning. That means she’s recalling some other night. Relief leaves me weak. She slept through it all. “That’s nice,” I say. “Now it’s time to sleep, Rubes.”
I wait for her to talk back, only to realize her body has loosened. She’s drifted off. I can sleep.
The single bed is cramped. I shut my eyes and wait. Despite my fatigue, my brain’s buzzing. Has Dana reported Stan missing? If she cracks, I’ll go to jail. What would happen to Ruby? How could I put her at such risk?
I inhale her sweet scent. She can’t go to Trevor. He’d neglect her, probably dump her with his alcoholic, chain-smoking mother. Her taste in men is even worse than mine. Who knows what could happen to Ruby?
I gaze, dry-eyed, at the dark ceiling. While I can’t see it, I can feel it, low and oppressive. The room’s cold but airless. The bed’s hard and lumpy.
I think of Alma Reyes in the ICU and the callous young man who hit her. I recall his sneering face. The fury in his eyes. My breath catches.
I’ve been so busy worrying about the cops tying me to Stan that I’ve failed to grasp this other danger. If I could see the hit-and-run driver, could he see me? He almost killed that poor woman. He knows I’m partly to blame. Could he track me down and make sure I couldn’t ID him in the future? Maybe he’d try to pin the accident on me.
All of a sudden, I’m too hot. I push down the quilt. Beside me, Ruby grumbles. I hold my breath until she settles.
Outside, a car door slams. I twitch, startled. I’ve gone beyond tiredness to feeling so wired I could snap. I start to cry with frustration. This is all wrong. I should never have returned to Glebes Bay.
When I left town after high school, I swore I’d never return. This place is full of bad memories. I rub my eyes, see myself at nine years old.
I took my key out of my schoolbag and unlocked the front door. Stepping into our trailer, something felt wrong. I stopped and listened. Someone was crying.
I peered into the small living room, saw Mom huddled on the couch. She was never home at this time. Never sitting idle. And why was she crying?
“Mom?” I said.
In her hands, she was twisting a white hankie. “Sit down,” she said. “It’s Dad. He had a stroke. He didn’t make it.”
I didn’t talk for three days. I couldn’t eat either.
I massage my sore forehead. Heartbreak has a taste. There’s still a trace of it in the back of my throat. All those years spent missing my father. Adults repeat the patterns they learn in childhood. No wonder I fell for Trev, a man who always had one cowboy boot out the damn door.
Ruby’s snoring beside me. I pray her childhood is nothing like mine.
In the street, another car door slams. Are those footsteps? It’s probably just the neighbors. But that rattle. Was that my front door? The sounds seem close. Magnified. Something thumps overhead. Adrenaline whips through me. I want to scream. I should’ve known it was unlucky to come back.
I flip over and try to unlock my muscles. It’s not my fault. What choice did I have? Alone and broke. A single mom. My career in tatters. At least here I had Dana.
Staring into the noisy dark, the irony of my situation settles. Before moving back, I made two lists: Glebes Bay’s pros on one side, its cons on the other. Dana, a job at Stanton House, and low crime were the town’s only pluses. Yet here I am, scared shitless—and a criminal, thanks to Dana.