said. “Or at least the newspaper version of what happened. Of course, it was so much more than that.”
Marsha had passed the article around so everyone could read it. It was dated June 1974. The headline read, “Drunk Driver Kills Local Couple.”
Grace waited until all the women read the article. It was brief, barely mentioning the couple who died.
People deserve more respect than this, Bree thought.
The article concentrated mostly on the drunk driver. He had crossed the median and driven straight into the oncoming car. The couple in the front seat were killed on impact. Their fourteen-year-old son, Stan, and a friend in the back seat survived.
“This is the secret?” Bree cried. “It’s horrible. I can see why Paul—I refuse to call him Stan—didn’t want to talk about it. But keep it a secret? I don’t understand. And why would he change his name over this?”
“Maybe he was trying to make a new name for himself?” Marsha asked both Bree and Grace, hoping that was the only reason.
“That was the end result, but not the reason,” Grace said. “It was the guilt.”
“Guilt?” Cindy said. “How could a fourteen-year-old boy be responsible for a drunk driver?”
Grace sighed. “Well, he wasn’t, of course, but he thought he was.”
Everyone waited for Grace to say more, but when she didn’t, Bree asked, “Grace, we need to know what happened. Why not start with how you got involved with whatever this is about.”
Grace nodded and, sitting up straighter, continued the story.
“I was working as a volunteer aide at the hospital, which is how I met Paul. He wouldn’t speak to anyone, just stared at the ceiling. Sometimes he’d start screaming that it was all his fault. The nurses and doctors were trying to decide how safe it was to give him more sedatives.
“One nurse knew me and asked if I would be willing to sit with him. His parents were all he had. They tried to find other family members for him, but they had been unsuccessful.”
All the women listening were fighting back their tears. Bree was doing her best not to collapse into a fit of sobbing. How could she have been mad at him for feeling guilty?
“Was it all about him thinking he had caused the wreck? But why would he?” Marsha asked.
Grace nodded. “Yes, and it was terrible to hear him scream and cry about it after the shock had worn off. No one could figure out why he kept saying it was his fault. A drunk driver coming the other way had turned into their lane and ran directly into them. No one could have done anything to stop him.
“The driver confessed it was entirely his fault. He had been out drinking and thought he could get home safely. He was severely injured but didn’t die, and I believe he went to jail for a time after that since it wasn’t his first drunk driving charge and people died.
“After hearing the story, I was grateful that I could do something, and I sat in Stan’s room all day and into the night, just taking small breaks for food. The following day, Stan—sorry, Paul—asked me who I was and why I was there.
“It was the first sentence he had said other than saying it was his fault, and I was overjoyed, but tried not to show it. I told him my name and said I was there if he needed anything. He turned his head away from me and said he needed nothing. And he wouldn’t ever again.
“That was so obviously untrue that I stayed that day and the next. He rarely spoke, but at least he seemed more comfortable with my being there and was no longer screaming uncontrollably.
“Normally he would have been released from the hospital, but since they still hadn’t found relatives, they were keeping him there until they could figure out what to do with him.
“Seeing him lie there with nowhere to go broke my heart. My nurse friend somehow arranged for my husband and me to take him home to recuperate while the authorities continued to hunt for relatives.
“That night he woke up screaming and finally broke down and told us the whole story about the wreck and why he believed it to be his fault. And what he had done afterward that made it worse.
“He told us that right before the accident, he was arguing with his father. ‘Acting like a brat as always,’ he said.
“His mother was crying, his dad was yelling, and he was yelling back. Suddenly, there was a car coming straight at them. He could remember his mother screaming, and then he blacked out.
“When he woke, he saw the front of the car squashed up against his parents and blood covering everything. All he could think about was how it was his fault that it had happened, and he had to get away.
“He didn’t even think about the woman in the back seat with him, didn’t even look her way, he told me. Instead, he fell out of the car, crawled along the highway until he reached the side of the road, and then started running.
“Where were you going?” I asked him.
“Away where no one would ever find me,” he said.
As Grace told the story, Bree started to shake. Marsha put a blanket around her, brought her a water glass, and made her drink.
“Shall I continue?” Grace asked.
“Yes,” Bree answered. “I need to know. We all need to know.”
“The police told me they found him hours later in the woods by the highway, in shock, with a broken arm and a concussion. He kept screaming and crying that it was all his fault, begging them not to help him, saying he just wanted to die.
“The authorities let Paul stay with us as temporary foster parents until they could place him somewhere else, which was a blessing for all of us. I helped him plan a small funeral.
“It was only him and us and my friend from the hospital, but I think it helped to have a small amount of closure for him. But after that, he still didn’t want to see anyone and hid away in his room most of the day.
“Because it was almost the end of the school year, everyone involved agreed he didn’t have to go back to school. My husband was always working, so it was just Paul and me at home most days.
“After a time, he started talking and asked me to help him decide what to do next, probably because he couldn’t figure out who else to ask.”
Grace stopped and took a sip of her now-cold coffee before continuing.
“All this is just a sad story. However, I know it doesn’t explain how he ended up in Spring Falls, with a changed name, or my part in what he kept a secret.”
Grace picked up the article where Bree had laid it on the coffee table.
“There is something wrong with this article,” Grace said, smoothing it out on her lap. “The reason why he wanted to become someone else, and why I helped him to do it. What they don’t say is that there was another person who died that day.”