I can’t help but wonder if something happened between him and Dylan. If they’d argued—maybe about the pregnancy?—and his temper had gotten the best of him, of them. Maybe he’d accidentally caused the crash because he’d done something stupid like swerve the car on purpose. I ask Officer Keoloha about this now, not mentioning our fight.
“Mrs. Morales, there’s no reason to suspect this was anything other than a tragic accident. What happened between them in the Jeep before it crashed, we will never know. Could they have been fighting when it happened? Sure. But still. To be so careless while driving up here? When there are cliffs this steep? I’m just not sure why anyone would be reckless like that, no matter how angry they might be. I know this might be hard to hear, but like I’ve mentioned before, eyewitnesses who saw them picnicking said they looked happy. They purchased wine at that store, but we’re certain James was driving, and there wasn’t a way to test his . . .” He clears his throat. “Sadly, accidents on this part of the road are much more common than we’d like. There’s a reason most car rental companies won’t rent to people planning to drive this side. It’s dangerous, especially as it gets later in the afternoon—the sun becomes blinding.”
Beth interjects. “I agree with the officer, Jacks. I just don’t think James would do anything to jeopardize another person’s life.”
“I’m sure you’re right” is all I say, because that’s what I want to believe. Even though I know James was capable of letting his anger outweigh his common sense.
“How were you able to pinpoint the time of day it happened?” Beth asks the officer.
“According to a police report that was filed by Dylan, her purse was stolen out of their Jeep while she and James were at the Seven Sacred Pools. She called in the theft at about four thirty and mentioned she’d been searching for it for an hour.”
“You never told me this before now?” I ask. “Why?
“Well, it wasn’t relevant, in my opinion. It was her purse, her police report. I didn’t consider it information you’d need or want.”
“I guess it’s not.” I sigh. It wasn’t relevant to me per se, but it was another piece of information that would always stick in my mind. More what-ifs. What if her purse hadn’t been stolen? What if it hadn’t been so late in the day?
The SUV hits several dips and potholes, and I grab the oh-shit handle again.
“Okay, Jacks, the area where we think the Jeep crashed is just up here, off a cliff that’s about six hundred feet high,” he says, letting his words settle in. I look through his window to the edge of the road, where the only thing separating us from the ocean below is a thick wall of tropical plants and flowers. I look behind me to gauge how steep this cliff is and grab the edge of the seat. It’s high.
“There’s no place to pull over, so I’m going to have to use my car to stop traffic both ways. There shouldn’t be many vehicles on the road. But you’ll still need to be quick.”
“Are you sure you can do that?”
“You came all the way out here to see this; it’s the least I can do,” he says, parking the car diagonally and turning on the red-and-blue flashing lights.
“Okay,” I say, feeling my heart collapse into itself as I open my door and look over my shoulder in case any cars are coming up behind us, still thinking about that truck that came barreling around the corner. I suddenly have trouble catching my breath—as if I’ve been running from something. But I haven’t, I remind myself. I will finally be running toward something. Denial will have no place once I look over that edge.
Beth places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m right here, okay?”
It begins to rain again. As we start to make our way to the edge, Officer Keoloha stops us. “I just want to prepare you. It’s a long way down. The lava rocks down there are sharp . . .” He trails off.
“You can talk to me about this like you would anyone else. Please finish what you were going to say.”
Officer Keoloha gives me a long look before continuing. “Okay, the Jeep exploded and caught fire when it hit the rocks below. We found pieces of it scattered in the ocean in the bay we just passed. Some washed ashore. That’s also where Dylan’s body was found about two weeks after the wreck.”
I find Beth’s hand and grasp it but refuse to look her way. I can hear her crying softly, and I want to stay strong. I let myself go to that place, that awful, ugly place where I imagine James’s final moments. The shock, then fear, and then searing pain. And the realization he was going to die. What did he think of in his last moments? Me? Dylan? And if he knew about the pregnancy, was he thinking about their unborn baby? I slide my wedding ring off my left finger and kiss it, then say a silent prayer that his death was quick and painless.
And then, even though I really don’t want to, I say one for Dylan too before tossing my band into the ocean, watching intently until it disappears, imagining it cracking the surface of the water.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DYLAN—BEFORE
Dylan would never forget the moment she and James kissed for the first time. How, when it had finally happened, she realized she’d wanted it since the day they’d met. When James had waited for her after her shift, pressing a twenty-dollar bill and his business card into her petite hand. She could have thrown away that contact information and had no way to find him. But she hadn’t. Instead she’d stared at it all night, turning it over in her hand, tracing the edges, wondering what his backstory was. How he’d gotten into software sales. Finally she’d buried the card at the bottom of her underwear drawer, debating whether to reach out.
Three days later, she was pulling out a pair of her favorite white lace panties when his card had dropped to the floor. She’d taken it as a sign that it was time to at least say thank you for his generous tip. And that would be the end of it. Because she had Nick. He was a good man. One she’d just gotten engaged to. And it was dangerous to toy with this idea that she hadn’t actually found her future in the man she’d promised it to just days before.
James had responded within minutes. And Dylan had felt her heart flutter, her stomach tingle. They only dipped their big toes in at first, offering each other small scraps of their life through a daily email exchange. Maybe he’d send a funny meme of the latest political debate. Or she’d share a story from work, like when the executive chef got into a fistfight with the general manager over the very young and long-legged hostess they’d both been seeing.
But Dylan quickly found she wanted more. More than the challenge to write a witty email. More than the giddy excitement she felt as she opened his. More than the surface flirtation they’d been dancing around. She’d been staring blankly at the latest episode of New Girl when she got the courage to ask him about the one thing they weren’t talking about: his marriage.
Almost twenty-four hours went by before she heard back. So long that she’d convinced herself she had scared him away. But then she’d heard the ding of her incoming email and saw his name. He told her he’d been married for eight years. And her name was Jacqueline. That things used to be good. But she had changed, he said. And he traveled a lot, and both the physical and emotional distance between them had driven them further and further apart. They were broken. And James didn’t have any clue how to repair it.