Even if no one stops me, where am I going? I can’t leave Cassie behind, can’t leave Jasper. Nowhere is safe anyway. No place without lies. Not an accident. Not an accident.
But as I finally enter the woods, I can’t think anymore about that. I don’t want to think about anything except the running away, which is the only thing that feels good and right. Not an accident. I think it over and over as my feet pound across the damp leaves, crack across the fallen twigs. But I can still hear my dad’s voice: Tragic things sometimes happen to beautiful people. He actually said that once, sitting on the edge of my bed a couple of weeks after my mom died. Like there was nothing, no one to blame for my mom’s death. Except there was: him and his work.
As I race deeper into the woods, my feet slip and catch, on roots and branches and rocks. Like they did back when Jasper and I were running from Doug. But somehow this feels even worse than that, more hopeless. Because wherever I go, the truth will eventually catch me.
But still I keep on, trying to outrun the thoughts of my mom’s car spinning on that dark patch of ice. Was there even ice? Or was she pushed into that guardrail by another car? Did she see it coming? Was she scared?
I want to fly through the air the way she did. I want to fall and hit my head. Knock the memories away. Knock me into nothing. So that I don’t have to keep replaying every second of it, knowing that she could have been saved.
“That’s ridiculous,” my mom said. She was halfway up the stairs from my dad’s basement lab that last night. “Sticking your head in the sand is not an option this time, Ben.”
It was nine p.m. by then, but only an hour after they had last stopped fighting. After dinner, they had retreated briefly to their separate corners. But now they were back at it. A much faster rebound than usual. Like whatever had been bubbling beneath the surface for weeks was finally hitting a fever pitch.
Gideon and I were together in the kitchen, but like always he wasn’t listening to their fight. While there I stood breathless, gripping one of my mom’s chocolate chip cookies in one hand—the kind she always made first thing when she got home from a work trip—the milk container in the other hand. I was holding my breath, afraid that this time my mom and dad might break so badly that there would be no putting them back together again. There was silence, and then my dad must have said something to my mom. He was too far downstairs for me to hear.
“‘All due caution’?” my mom called down the steps. “Are you even listening to yourself, Ben? Do you hear what you sound like? You’re not a scientist, you’re a robot.” Another long beat of silence. “No, this isn’t that simple, not anymore. And I don’t care if it is your study and you’re the one with all the information. What I think still matters.”
When I heard my mom stomping up the last of the steps, I tipped the milk carton over my glass, trying to look busy. A small puddle of milk splashed into the bottom of my cup, the carton otherwise empty.
“Oh man, that sucks,” Gideon said, appearing next to me at the counter with a full glass of milk in one hand, a cookie in the other. “Looks like someone needs to go buy some more milk.”
“I’ll go,” my mom said, breezing through the kitchen with a totally fake smile. She was furious at my dad now. I could see it in her eyes.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t even want milk.”
“I don’t mind,” my mom said, putting a hand on my arm and smiling. But up close, I could see this sadness buried in her eyes. “I could use a little fresh air. And a couple minutes to myself.”
An hour later, she’d be alone forever.
“Wylie!” I’m still running, but there’s a voice behind me now. Not far behind, either. Letting my mind drift slowed me down. Let someone close the gap.
I try to run harder, faster. But as soon as I pick up speed, my foot catches something—a root, a twig. It stops. And the rest of my body tumbles on, airborne. A second later, there’s a sharp pain in my palms, and my left knee is on fire.
“Wylie! Are you okay?”
I grab for my knee, bending myself over the pain. Goddamn it. So stupid. Now I’m stopped. Still alive. Still awake. Still here. Now I will never catch the answers I was running after. I’ll never catch her.
“Are you okay?” It’s Quentin. He’s crouching down next to me.
“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth. Luckily, there’s no blood, only scratches and a lot of dirt. And my shame. How can I have a father who would lie to me this much? “I just needed some air.”
“And a good sprint,” he says quietly, as he crouches next to me. But not like he wants or needs an explanation. “Are you hurt?”
My hands are still stinging and my knee is throbbing, but there is still no blood.