A Bend in the Road - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,107

were you doing? What was so damn critical that you couldn’t call it in?” He paused, meeting Miles’s eyes. “I need the truth now—I’ll get it eventually, but I want to hear it from you first. What was he doing, dealing drugs?”

“No.”

“You catch him stealing a car?”

“No.”

“A fight of some sort?”

“No.”

“Then what was it?”

Though a part of Miles was tempted to tell Charlie the whole crazy truth, to tell him that Brian had killed Missy, he couldn’t seem to find the words. Not yet, anyway. Not until he’d figured everything out.

“It’s complicated,” Miles finally answered.

Charlie pushed his hands into his pockets. “Try me.”

Miles glanced away. “I need a little time to figure things out.”

“Figure what out? It’s a simple question, Miles.”

Nothing is simple about this.

“Do you trust me?” Miles asked suddenly.

“Yeah, I trust you. But that’s not the point.”

“Before we go into everything that happened, I have to think this through.”

“Oh, c’mon—”

“Please, Charlie. Can you give me just a little time? I know I’ve had you jumping through hoops these last couple of days and I’ve been acting crazy, but I really need this from you. And it has nothing to do with Otis or Sims or anything like that—I swear I won’t go anywhere near them.”

Something in the earnestness of Miles’s plea, the weary confusion he saw in his eyes, told Charlie how much Miles needed this from him.

He didn’t like it, not at all. Something was going on here, something big, and he didn’t like not knowing what it was.

But ...

Despite his better judgment, he sighed and pushed away from the car. He said nothing at all, nor did he look back as he left, knowing that if he did, he would change his mind.

A minute later, almost as if he’d never been there at all, Charlie was gone.

In time, the highway patrolman finished the report and left. Bennie, too, drove off.

Miles, though, stayed at the scene for almost an hour, his mind a tangled mess of contradictory thoughts. Oblivious to the cold, he sat in the car with the window open, absently running his hands over the steering wheel, over and over.

When he realized what he had to do, he closed the window and turned the key, heading onto the road again. The car barely had time to get warm before he pulled off to the side again and got back out. The temperature had warmed slightly and the snow was beginning to melt. Drops fell from the branches of trees with steady plinks, like the ticking of a clock.

He couldn’t help but notice the overgrown bushes along the side of the road. Though he’d passed them a thousand times, until this morning, they’d meant nothing to him.

Now, as he stared at them, they were all he could think about. They blocked his view of the lawn, and one look was enough to tell him they were thick enough to have kept Missy from seeing the dog.

Too thick to charge through?

He paced the row of bushes, slowing when he reached the area where they assumed that Missy had been hit. Bending down for a closer look, he froze when he saw it. A gap between the bushes, like a hole. No prints were evident, but black leaves were matted on the ground and branches had been torn away on either side.

Obviously a passageway for something.

A black dog?

In the distance, he listened for the sound of barking. He scanned the yards, looking there as well.

There was nothing.

Too cold to be out today?

He’d never checked for a dog. No one had.

He looked up the road, wondering. He pushed his hands into his pockets. They were stiff from the cold, difficult to bend, and as they warmed, they began to sting. He didn’t care.

Not knowing what else to do, he drove to the cemetery, hoping to clear his mind. He saw them even before he’d reached the grave. Fresh flowers, propped against the headstone.

His mind flashed to Charlie and something he once had said.

Like someone was trying to apologize.

Miles turned and walked away.

Hours passed. Dark now. Outside the window, the winter sky was black and ominous.

Sarah turned from the window and paced her apartment again. Brian was home from the hospital. The cut wasn’t serious, three stitches only, and there were no broken bones. It had taken less than an hour.

Despite the fact that she’d practically begged him, Brian hadn’t wanted to stay with her. He’d needed to be alone. He was back at home, wearing a hat and sweatshirt,