was trying to tell him. The rest of the night was a terrible blur.
What neither Miles nor Charlie knew then, and what the investigation would later reveal, was that there were no witnesses to the hit-and-run that had taken Missy’s life. Nor would anyone come forward with a confession. Over the next month, the highway patrol interviewed everyone in the area; they searched for any evidence that might provide a lead, poking through bushes, evaluating the evidence at the scene, visiting local bars and restaurants, asking if any customers had seemed intoxicated and had left around that time. In the end, the case file was thick and heavy, chronicling everything they had learned— which in the end was essentially nothing more than what Miles knew the moment he’d pushed open the door and seen Charlie standing on the porch.
Miles Ryan had become a widower at the age of thirty.
Chapter 5
In the car, the memories of the day Missy died came back to Miles in bits and pieces, just as they had earlier when he’d driven along Madame Moore’s Lane before his lunch with Charlie. Now, though, instead of running endlessly in the same loop, from his day spent fishing to the argument with Missy to all that followed, they were displaced by his thoughts of Jonah, and Sarah Andrews.
With his mind occupied, he didn’t know how long they had driven in silence, but it was long enough to finally make Jonah nervous. As Jonah waited for his father to speak, his mind began focusing on the possible punishments his father might inflict, each of them worse than the last. He kept zipping and unzipping his backpack until Miles finally reached over and rested his hand on top of his son’s to stop him. Still, his father said nothing, and after finally gathering his courage, Jonah looked toward Miles with wide eyes that were nearly brimming with tears.
“Am I in trouble, Dad?”
“No.”
“You talked to Miss Andrews for a long time.”
“We had a lot to talk about.”
Jonah swallowed. “Did you talk about school?”
Miles nodded and Jonah looked toward his backpack again, feeling sick to his stomach and wishing he could keep his hands occupied again. “I’m in big trouble,” he mumbled.
A few minutes later, sitting on a bench outside the Dairy Queen, Jonah was finishing an ice-cream cone, his father’s arm around him. They’d been talking for ten minutes, and at least as far as Jonah was concerned, it wasn’t half as bad as he’d thought it would be. His father hadn’t yelled, he hadn’t threatened him, and best of all, he hadn’t been grounded. Instead, Miles had simply asked Jonah about his previous teachers and what they had— and hadn’t—made him do; Jonah explained honestly that once he’d fallen behind, he was too embarrassed to ask for help. They’d talked about the things Jonah was having trouble with—as Sarah had said, it was practically everything—and Jonah promised that he’d do his best from now on. Miles, too, said that he’d help Jonah and that if everything went well, he’d be caught up in no time. All in all, Jonah considered himself lucky.
What he didn’t realize was that his father wasn’t finished yet.
“But because you’re so far behind,” Miles went on calmly, “you’re going to have to stay after school a few days a week, so Miss Andrews can help you out.”
It took a moment for the words to register, and then Jonah looked up at his father.
“After school?”
Miles nodded. “She said you’d catch up faster that way.”
“I thought you said that you were going to help me.”
“I am, but I can’t do it every day. I have to work, so Miss Andrews said she’d help, too.”
“But after school?” he asked again, a note of pleading in his voice.
“Three days a week.”
“But...Dad...” He tossed the rest of the ice-cream cone into the garbage. “I don’t want to stay after school.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted to. And besides, you could have told me you were having trouble before. If you’d done that, you might have been able to avoid something like this.”
Jonah furrowed his brow. “But, Dad...”
“Listen, I know there’s a million things you’d rather do, but you’re gonna do this for a while. You don’t have a choice, and just think, it could be worse.”
“Howww?” he asked, sort of singing the last syllable, the way he always did when he didn’t want to believe what Miles was telling him.
“Well, she could have wanted to work with you on the weekends, too.