done. Not then, anyway. In looking back and trying to understand it now, I think I started driving home because that was where I needed to be. Like a moth drawn to a porch light, I didn’t seem to have a choice. I simply reacted to a situation.
Nor did I do the right thing when I got home. All I can remember about that is that I’d never felt more exhausted in my life, and instead of making the call, I simply crawled into bed and went to sleep.
The next thing I knew, it was morning.
There is something terrible in the moments after waking up, when the subconscious knows that something terrible has happened but before all the memories flash back in their entirety. That’s what I experienced as soon as my eyes fluttered open. It was as if I couldn’t breathe, as if all the air had been forced out of me somehow, but as soon as I inhaled, it all came surging back.
The drive.
The impact.
The way Missy had looked when I found her.
I brought my hands to my face, not wanting to believe it. I remember that my heart started beating hard in my chest, and I prayed fervently that it had simply been a dream. I’d had dreams like that before, ones that seemed so real that it took a few moments of serious reflection before I realized my error. This time, the reality never went away. Instead, it grew steadily worse, and I felt myself sink inward, as if drowning in my own private ocean.
A few minutes later, I was reading the article in the newspaper.
And this was when my real crime occurred.
I saw the photos, I read what had happened. I saw the quotes from the police, vowing to find whoever had done this, no matter how long it took. And with that came the horrible realization that what had happened—this terrible, terrible accident—wasn’t regarded as an accident. Somehow, it was regarded as a crime.
Hit-and-run, the article said. A felony.
I saw the phone sitting on the counter, as if beckoning to me.
I had run.
In their minds, I was guilty, no matter what the circumstances were.
I’ll say again that despite what I had done the night before, what happened then wasn’t a crime, no matter what the article said. I wasn’t making a conscious decision to flee that night. I wasn’t thinking clearly enough for that.
No, my crime hadn’t occurred the night before.
My crime occurred in the kitchen, when I looked at the phone and didn’t make the call.
Though the article had rattled me, I was thinking clearly then. I’m not making excuses for that, since there are none. I weighed my fears against what I knew was right, and my fears won out in the end.
I was terrified of going to jail for what I knew in my heart was an accident, and I began to make excuses. I think I told myself that I would call later; I didn’t. I told myself that I would wait a couple of days until things settled down, then call; I didn’t. Then I decided to wait until after the funeral.
And by then, I knew it was too late.
Chapter 19
In the car a few minutes later, the sirens blaring and lights flashing, Miles fishtailed around a corner, almost losing control of the car, and pressed the accelerator to the floor again.
He’d dragged Sims out of the cell and up the stairs, leading him quickly through the office without stopping to acknowledge the stares. Charlie was in his office on the phone, and the sight of Miles—his face white—made him hang up, but not soon enough to stop Miles from reaching the door with Sims. They went out at the same time, and by the time Charlie reached the sidewalk, Miles and Sims were heading in opposite directions. Charlie made an instant decision to go after Miles, and he called after him to stop. Miles ignored him and reached the squad car.
Charlie picked up his pace, reaching Miles’s car just as it was pulling out on the street. He tapped the window even as the car was still moving.
“What’s going on?” Charlie demanded.
Miles waved him out of the way, and Charlie froze with a look of confusion and disbelief. Instead of rolling down the window, Miles flicked on the siren, hit the gas, and tore out of the parking lot, his tires squealing as he turned onto the street.
A minute later, when Charlie called on the radio, demanding that