Fog is a cloud on the ground.
Jake hit the open road and joined the line of sparse traffic, his thoughts shifting into gear at the task that lay ahead. He had a plan and he knew where he was going. He knew what he had to do and what he had to say. He had done the research he needed on the computer. He told himself to stay calm, and that he had to see his plan through, as dreadful as his purpose was, it was the only way to protect Ryan. He drove on autopilot, listening to the radio and waiting for the news as traffic got heavier, with people getting the jump on the day, ready to check off items on their things-to-do list. They’d run to Acme and Whole Foods in pre-snowstorm panic, stocking up on salt.
Suddenly, he heard the announcer change on the radio, and the news began, “In headline news, the victim of a hit-and-run driver in Concord Chase last night has been identified as sixteen-year-old Kathleen Lindstrom. A junior at Concord Chase High School, she was struck while jogging. Police are asking anyone with information regarding this incident to please call the main tipline, at number…”
Oh my God, no.
Jake gasped aloud, in horror. His fingers clenched the steering wheel. He almost ran into the maroon Subaru in front of him. He slammed on the brakes, setting his ABS system shuddering.
No, no.
Jake shook his head, shocked. He clung to the wheel as if it were a life raft and he a drowning man. His heart thundered. He broke a sweat under his shirt. He couldn’t believe it was possible. The revelation stunned him.
I killed a kid. Kathleen Lindstrom.
Jake didn’t recognize the name, but now it was a part of his DNA. It would echo in his head for the rest of his life. New tears brimmed in his eyes. He couldn’t fathom that she was so young. He’d thought she was petite but she was just a girl. A teenager, only sixteen years old. Her life was just beginning, and now she was gone.
God, forgive me.
Jake flashed on her face, covered with blood. She had been somebody’s daughter. She had parents, waiting for her to come home from her run. They would wait and wait, until they got the call that every parent dreads. They would never see her alive again. Their daughter, their child. His heart broke for them.
Jake felt shaken to his very foundations. Kathleen was the same age as Ryan. She was a student at the same high school. Jake realized, aghast, that Ryan probably knew her. Concord Chase High wasn’t that large, only about a thousand students.
He killed his classmate.
Jake found himself reeling, stopped at a red light. This news would kill Ryan. His son wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt; it would be unsupportable. He didn’t know how Ryan could go to school, ever again. Ryan’s classmates, and all of the faculty and staff would be mourning a girl that he knew he had killed. It would be impossible, untenable. Ryan was too sensitive a kid to get past this, ever. Jake feared for his son’s sanity, maybe even his very life.
The horn of a car behind him blared, startling Jake out of his reverie. The traffic light had turned green, and he fed the car some gas, following the Subaru mechanically. He felt sick to his stomach and fought the impulse to call Ryan, but it was too risky, with Pam at home. Then he had another, darker thought. What if the news would send Ryan to Pam, to spill his guts?
Dad, I swear, I won’t tell Mom. I won’t tell anybody.
Jake couldn’t process the information. He wanted to pull over but there wasn’t time. He felt his gorge rising, but swallowed hard. He had to stay on plan. He blinked his tears away and tried vainly to ignore the pain in his chest. He drove ahead, past clapboard Cape Cods, new brick split levels, and a Dutch Colonial with white stucco, wondering if Kathleen Lindstrom lived with her family in a house like one of these. Pike Road was only ten minutes away.
Jake gritted his teeth, trying to recover. The stretch of road he was looking for lay just ahead, a two-lane street lined with houses, trees, and a strip mall that held a Chinese restaurant, a Wawa convenience market where he always stopped for coffee on the way to work, and the auto body shop he’d used for years. He’d given plenty of free financial advice to its owner Mike Ayanna, and Mike owed him a favor, but Jake wasn’t about to depend on Mike, favor or no. The police would undoubtedly be investigating the local body shops, and Mike would be compelled to turn over his records.
Jake put on his right blinker when he spotted the Wawa sign, glowing a corporate red, and slowed as he approached its parking lot. It was the side entrance to the store, with a line of parking spaces under a white sign, NO IDLING—DIESEL POWERED VEHICLES OVER FIVE TONS. The parking spaces ended next to a bundle of cardboard recycling, a stack of flat boxes, and a green metal Dumpster. The side lot was completely empty, which is what Jake would’ve expected this early in the morning.
He turned into the parking lot and aimed at the Dumpster. He hit the gas, steering slightly to the right, knowing that the damage would obliterate the dents from last night. The Dumpster raced forward to meet him.
Jake braced himself for impact, feeling that if anything went wrong, he deserved to die.
Kathleen, I am so very sorry.
Chapter Seven
The Audi slammed into the Dumpster, and Jake jolted forward, caught by his shoulder harness. His airbag exploded, hit him in the face, and pushed him backwards. The odor of plastic and a chemical powder filled his nostrils.
Abruptly the airbag deflated, imploding in a pile on his lap and draping over the steering wheel. The engine was still running, and the windshield was cracked but intact. The hood had buckled and his right front bumper crumpled into the Dumpster. No one would ever see the dent again.
Jake realized he’d succeeded, but he still felt sick to his stomach. The collision reminded him of last night, a memory embedded in his very body. He moved the airbag from his lap, his muscles stiff from shock, not of the accident, but of the revelation.
I killed a kid and left her dead. To save my own kid.
Jake was alive, but he didn’t deserve to be.
“Jake, Jake!” someone called out, near the car. It was Christopher, a Wawa clerk, hurrying toward him. They knew each other because Jake always stopped here on the way to work. Christopher appeared at the driver’s-side window, his young face creased with concern. “Jake! Are you okay?”
Jake nodded, collected his phone and jacket, opened the door, and got out of the car, his knees suddenly wobbly. “Christopher, My God—”
“You look white as a ghost, Jake. Stay still, I’ll call 911. My phone’s in my locker, ’cause we have to lock it up during work.” Christopher turned to hurry off, but Jake touched his arm.
“No, no, stay. I’m fine.”
“For real?”
“Yes.” Jake tried to recover. “I’m just a little … upset is all. I surprised myself. It’s kind of a shock.”
“Sure, I get it. You gonna toss ’em? You look it.”
“No, I’m fine. Don’t call.”
“You sure you don’t wanna go to a hospital? My manager might want you to.” Christopher frowned, scanning him with worried eyes.
“Nah. I’m fine, thanks.”
“Coulda been worse, I guess, huh?”
“Right.” Jake dusted the airbag powder off his clothes. “I thought I hit the brake, but I must’ve hit the gas instead.”
Christopher shrugged sympathetically. “You didn’t have your coffee yet.”
“Right.” Jake walked to the front of the car, leaned on the hood, and surveyed the damage. He was thinking of Kathleen, her body broken in her running gear. It was too awful to comprehend. There was so much death and destruction, all of a sudden. He shuddered to his very bones, eyeing the car. “Damn, I really messed up, didn’t I?”