Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,77

wasted, Oliver. I knew he was afraid of losing his scholarship to Georgetown Law. And I loved him. And I wasn’t thinking clearly and … it made sense to me in that crazy moment. I could protect him. Protect his future. I thought it was our future. Together. It didn’t seem like such a big deal. So I let the police think I was driving.” I shut my eyes, the miserable scene coming back to me again. “I got out of the car to try to help the driver—the girl—but I was so messed up, I didn’t know what to do. I was screaming my lungs out. Shouting for help. The girl—her name is Emily—she was crunched up against the horn and it was blowing in a steady stream. This horrible sound.”

“You didn’t tell the police your boyfriend had been driving?”

I shook my head. “I thought I was being a good girlfriend. I would have done anything for him. I never in a million years thought I’d end up in prison. When I finally told the truth about what happened, no one believed me. They talked to Trey and he had a friend lie for him. His friend said he was with him at the time of the accident.”

“What a prick.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “What a prick.”

“So nothing happened to him?

“Nothing. He’s in law school now. At least, I suppose he is. I’ve had no contact with him.”

Oliver rubbed his temple. There was such kindness in his face. I wished he’d say something.

“I have nightmares,” I added.

“I bet you do.”

“The whole time I was in prison, I blocked out thoughts of the girl we hurt.”

“You keep saying ‘we.’”

“I blame myself almost as much as I blame him.”

“You didn’t leave the scene.”

I said nothing. Looked down at my hands.

“Have you had any contact with the girl?”

“No. Though … I’ve tried looking her up online, but if she has any social media stuff she’s hidden it.” I looked up at him. “I think about her all the time,” I said. “I worry about her. I hope somehow she’s found some peace.”

He stared at me, his beautiful blue eyes so serious behind his glasses. So pained.

“And how about Morgan?” he asked.

I looked at him, perplexed. “How about Morgan?”

“How are you doing with finding some peace?”

I shook my head. “Not so well,” I said. “I’m…” I searched for the right word. “I’m ashamed of who I was.”

“‘Was’ is the definitive word in that sentence, Morgan.” He nodded toward the mural. “And I think you’re the perfect person to work on this mural,” he said, with a small smile.

“You do? Why?”

“You and Anna,” he said. “I think it’s safe to say that, for whatever reason, she had her own share of nightmares. I know you already care about her, don’t you?”

I nodded. He was right. I did.

“I have the feeling that if anyone is going to do right by her,” he said, “it’s you.”

Chapter 32

ANNA

January 24, 1940

Jesse was lying to her. She’d wanted to believe him when he said he had all those extra periods at school and that was why he was able to spend so much time in the warehouse, coming a couple of hours earlier than Peter each day. She’d wanted it to be the truth. But she’d received a letter from Mrs. Furman, his art teacher, the day before, telling her that Jesse was failing every subject except art. He’s skipping most of his classes, Mrs. Furman wrote. Perhaps I made a mistake, sending him to work with you.

Anna read and reread the short letter, her heart sinking. Yesterday, Jesse’s eyes had been bloodshot from lack of sleep because he’d stayed up late to devour the latest library book she’d brought him.

“I want to learn everythin’,” he’d told her when he arrived in the warehouse. He’d set the heavy book on the Old Masters down on one of the warehouse tables, his hand resting on top of it as if he could soak up everything in its pages through his skin.

She’d been delighted as usual by his enthusiasm. “Which of the artists were you most drawn to?” she’d asked.

“I got a favorite,” he said. “That Vermer fella.”

“Vermeer.” She corrected him with a smile. “And which Vermeer do you like best?” She fully expected him to pick nearly everyone’s favorite, The Girl with the Pearl Earring, but he surprised her.

“I like that Geographer one,” he said. “I like how the light is comin’ through the window with all them little panes.” He glanced