Jake didn’t know the penalties if Ryan was tried as an adult, so he went back to the search engine, plugged in Pennsylvania vehicular homicide DUI, and got his answer in a nanosecond:
Under 75 Pa. Cons. Stat. § 3735, the criminal offense of homicide by vehicle while driving under the influence (DUI) is punishable as a second degree felony. A conviction for this offense can result in a prison sentence from three to ten years and/or a fine up to $25,000.
Jake felt his gut clench. A three-year sentence would derail Ryan’s future, and a ten-year sentence would obliterate it. If they hadn’t left the scene, Ryan would’ve ended up a convicted felon. It was the worst-case scenario, and as a financial planner, Jake was supposed to make a living out of estimating the downside risk and preventing worst-case scenarios. He felt heartsick thinking about it now, too late. If he’d been considering the worst-case scenario on Pike Road, he never would have let Ryan drive and that woman would still be alive. He’d underestimated the downside risk, and a human being had lost her life.
He leaned back in the chair, his stomach in a knot. A woman was dead, and he was responsible, as surely as if he had been driving. He was the adult, and he should have known better. He would carry his remorse with him forever; he felt it to the marrow, as if guilt were seeping into his very cells. He never should have left the scene, but that wouldn’t bring the woman back. He wished he had called the cops, but that wouldn’t bring her back either. He hadn’t wanted to destroy two lives, one of them his own beloved son’s. It would kill Pam.
Jake swallowed hard, thinking of his wife, sleeping down the hall. She would know DUI law, because as an appellate judge, she had a general overview of all state law, which governed the nuts and bolts of real-life, from premeditated murder to employees who stole trade secrets. He tried to remember if Pam had written any significant opinions in any DUI cases, but couldn’t. He was too distraught and exhausted to think clearly, and his heart kept returning to the dead woman.
He palmed the mouse again and navigated to the local news site to see if her body had been found. He scanned the front page, then the next few, but there was nothing except an upcoming snowstorm and articles about budget cutbacks in the township. He was surprised that the police still hadn’t found her, and he wondered if she didn’t have any family or if it just hadn’t found its way into the news yet.
Jake rubbed his cheek, slumping back in his chair. His gaze traveled around his plush home office, taking in the beige sofa, matching chairs, and tasteful cherrywood shelves filled with books and awards. He didn’t deserve an office like this, he was every inch a fraud. He found himself looking out the window, framed by beige curtains handpicked by his discerning wife.
This is the perfect color, see how it picks up the sisal rug?
Jake had laughed. Is sisal the same as straw? Because to me, this rug is straw.
Outside the window, a steady rain came down, running in rivulets on the windows and graying out the houses across the street, identical to his own. It was raining hard, and Jake knew it would be turning cold, with the snowstorm coming. He couldn’t bear to think that the woman was still lying on the street and wondered why it was taking the police so long to find her.
He turned back to the computer, palmed the mouse, and clicked REFRESH, but nothing had changed on the news page. Still he refreshed another time, and the only sound in the quiet office was the click of the mouse and the thrumming of the rain outside the window. He and Ryan were the only people who knew that the woman was dead, and as far as the world was concerned, no crime had occurred and she was alive and well.
Jake wished he and Ryan could live inside that reality, in the very interstices of time, tucked under the comforter of not-knowing, sleeping as soundly as they used to, the Before the same as the After. But even so, he couldn’t wait another second for the woman to be found, gathered up, lifted onto a gurney, and taken from the horrific scene, out of the rain, away from him and Ryan, and finally safe.
The horror of what he had done brought new tears to Jake’s eyes. He clicked REFRESH again and again. He wanted to know the precise moment that After began.
But by morning, when it still hadn’t happened, he got dressed and left by the kitchen door.
Chapter Six
Jake hurried into the chilly garage, holding his jacket over his arm and carrying his empty traveler’s mug. He was dressed for work in an old wool sweater, jeans and sneakers, the way he always did on a Saturday; he’d worked at least one day of the weekend for as long as he could remember, because it was the quiet time he needed, to think without phones and interruptions.
He checked his watch—6:15 in the morning, which was when he usually left. He’d gotten ready quietly enough for Pam to remain asleep and he was doing everything the way he always did, just in case she woke up. He hadn’t checked on Ryan because that would’ve been out of the ordinary; the Saturday routine was for Jake to go to work early, Pam to get up around eight o’clock, let the dog out, and leave for the gym around nine thirty. Ryan would stay in bed until eleven o’clock or so, if he didn’t have a game or practice.
Jake hustled to the car, stopping to double-check the damage to the front bumper. It was too dark to see well because the only illumination came from three small windows in the garage door, but he wouldn’t normally turn on a light, so he didn’t now. He straightened up, chirped the car unlocked, opened the door, and jumped inside, throwing his coat on the passenger seat and screwing his travel mug into the console.
He buckled into his harness, hit a button on the rearview mirror to open the garage door, and while he waited for it to ca-chunck upward, he surveyed the front seat and floor of the car, scanning for any errant napkin, sign of blood, or anything from the accident scene or his efforts to clean up. Everything looked in order, and there wasn’t any sign of blood or anything else on the front seat, dashboard, console, or steering wheel.
He twisted on the ignition, reversed out of the garage, and cruised down the street. It was too early for any of the neighbors to be out starting their Saturday errands, and he cruised past the darkened houses that sat silently behind the blue recycling bins and rolling trash cans. He fed the car some gas, switched on the heat, and turned right, heading for the office. He didn’t breathe any easier once he left their street, but on the contrary, felt more nervous, either because he was leaving Ryan alone with Pam or because of what he had to do next.
What about the car?
Jake tried not to think about it as he drove through their development, the only car on the curvy, man-made streets with their oddly high curbs, taking the perimeter road, past the mandatory forestation and specimen plantings required by the township zoning board. The trees in the front row were the builder’s-grade evergreens, planted in that telltale zigzag for maximum privacy, and though they’d grown and filled out, Jake remembered when they’d been only four feet tall, shaped like gumdrops the same height as Ryan. He’d taken a photo of Ryan with one of the trees, and they had the picture in the house somewhere, Pam would know where.
Jake steered past the Chetwynd Springs sign at the grandiose entrance/exit of the development and flipped on the radio. It was tuned to the local news channel from last night, but it was weather on the nines. He didn’t need a meteorologist to tell him it was a crummy day, under a sky opaque with thick gray clouds.