“I can do it,” Zach said, smiling sloppily.
“Come on,” Mia moaned, wiping more blood from her forehead. She opened the car door and fell into the backseat. “Ouch,” she said, laughing, and then curled up into a fetal position on the seat.
Zach slipped the key into the ignition and started the engine, which roared to life in the quiet darkness. “Come on, Lex. Iss no big deal. Less go.”
“I don’t know,” Lexi said, shaking her head. The movement pushed her off-balance and made her fall forward; she hit the side of the car. “Wait. I gotta think. This isn’t a good idea…”
Eleven
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Jude sat up, bleary-eyed.
She was on the sectional in the living room. Her cell phone lay on the cushion beside her, chirping. An infomercial flitted silently across the TV screen.
She struggled to focus on the small face of her watch. 3:37. Then she flipped open her cell phone. There was a text from Mia.
Sry wr late. On our way. Luv U. The text had come in at 2:11.
Oh, they would be sorry. They’d come home late, not checked in with Jude, and forgotten to turn off the exterior lights. This would be their last party for a while. She got up, turned off the TV and the outside lights, and locked the front door. As she climbed the stairs, she tried to decide whether to wake them up or yell at them tomorrow.
She opened Mia’s door and turned on the light. The bed was empty.
She felt a ping of fear, like a drop of acid on bare skin, and went to Zach’s room.
It was empty, too.
Take a breath, Jude. They missed their curfew; that was all. They’d started to leave the party and then been caught up somehow.
She called Mia’s cell. It rang and rang, then went to voice mail.
It was the same with Zach’s phone.
She ran downstairs to her room. Miles lay sleeping in bed, a book open on his chest, the television on.
“It’s late, Miles, and they’re not home.”
“Call them,” he mumbled.
“I did. No one answered.”
Miles sat up, frowning, and glanced at the clock. “It’s almost four o’clock.”
“They’re never this late,” she said.
Miles ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t want to panic. They probably lost track of time.”
“We could drive over there,” Jude said.
Miles nodded. “I think—”
The doorbell rang.
“Thank God.” Jude felt a rush of relief, then a burst of anger. “They are so grounded,” she muttered, leaving the room.
She stepped out into the long, dark hallway. It was black … and then red … yellow. Lights cut through the darkness, blinking, blaring.
Police lights.
She stumbled, almost fell. Then Miles was beside her, steadying her.
She felt herself moving forward but she wasn’t really walking. She was a piece of flotsam caught up in her husband’s motion.
Two policemen stood outside their door. It was raining, hard; why did she notice that? She knew these men, knew them and their wives and their children, but they shouldn’t be here now, at her house, in the middle of the night, their images flashing red and yellow.
Officer Avery stepped forward, his hat in his hand.
She saw everything in pieces, out of focus, as if she were looking through binoculars set for someone else’s eyes; staccato bursts of color, a macabre night, rain that looked like bits of ash falling from the sky.
I’m sorry. There’s been an accident.
Words. Sounds. Lips that moved and the sound of heavy breathing. Falling rain.
Mia … Zach … Alexa Baill …
She couldn’t process it, couldn’t make sense of it. My babies … you’re talking about my children.
“They’ve been airlifted to Harborview, all three of them.”
“They’re okay?” she heard her husband ask, and it shocked her so badly she almost pulled away from him. How could he find a voice now? Ask anything?