She pauses, and for a moment I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer, but then she picks right back up. “So can you tell us about what happened that night—before your car was hit?”
She’s looking at me, and all of a sudden I don’t know what I was thinking saying yes to this, because I have no idea how to answer. I try not to panic, try to search through what I’ve been told and what I’ve seen and read, for the basics, but all I can think of is that I don’t want her or anyone watching to know that I don’t remember. That I’m still so broken.
I swallow. “I . . .” I feel my cheeks get hot, and the heavy weight of the emptiness in my mind.
“We were coming home from a friend’s house on Farris Island,” Matt says, rescuing me.
“It was a party, wasn’t it?” Dana Whitmore asks.
There’s a beat before Matt answers again. “Yes.”
“Was there drinking going on at the party?”
“Um . . . I don’t see what that has to do with the accident,” Matt says, his brows drawn together.
“Were you drinking that night?”
Matt shifts in his seat, and I wonder if he was—or if he even does. I have no idea. Maybe that’s what he’d meant the other day, about people saying things. Maybe that’s why he feels so guilty. But he shouldn’t, even if he was drinking. I was the one driving.
“I . . .” Matt looks helpless.
I want to save him, and somehow that gives me the voice to speak up, even though I don’t know the truth.
“No, we weren’t,” I say firmly. “And that’s irrelevant anyway. The accident happened because the truck hit us from behind.”
I see Matt’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit, but he doesn’t chance a thank-you glance at me.
Dana seems to accept my answer. “Okay, so let’s talk about what that was like, when the truck hit you. Did you see it coming? Did you try to react?”
She’s looking at me again, and again I don’t know the answer. I don’t have an answer. “I don’t remember,” I say quietly.
Matt puts a hand on my knee and squeezes gently. “We both saw the lights in the rearview. They were too bright and too close all of a sudden. She didn’t have a chance to react, because right after that it hit us.”
“And it sent you over?”
Matt answers again. “Not right away. It pushed us up and over the guardrail, and there was a second where the car kind of just sat there.”
Dana Whitmore looks at me. “That must have been terrifying. Did you try to get out?”
Matt saves me again. “We didn’t have time. Because then it tipped and we were falling. The car hit the water and glass exploded. Then the water came pouring in through all the windows.”
Dana Whitmore is shaking her head. “So what were you thinking at this point?”
“That we were gonna die if we didn’t get out.” Matt falls quiet, looks down at his lap.
“And what happened next?” Dana asks, softening her tone a little.
Matt looks up at her, his hands twisting in his lap. “We started to sink. Fast. And water and airbags were everywhere, and I was trying not to panic, but I couldn’t even see her.”
He looks in my direction, but it’s like he’s seeing that night. Like he’s remembering. And for the first time since the accident, I’m glad I don’t remember.
“I didn’t know if she was alive,” he continues. “But I knew we needed to get out because we were sinking so fast.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how I did it—the water and the adrenaline woke me up, I guess. I was holding my breath, and pulling myself out, and then I was free, and I found her and tried to get her out, but I was running out of air.”
“So you had to swim up to the surface?”
“I . . .”
Matt’s hands are shaking. He looks at me with eyes so sorry I wish we could just get up and leave right this moment.
Dana waits, giving him time to answer. I can’t handle seeing him this way. Now it’s me who takes Matt’s hand, and I hope the camera sees it.
“I didn’t want to leave her down there.”
“But you needed air,” Dana fills in.
He takes a deep breath like he needs air now too, then nods. “Yeah. I swam up, and took a breath, and dove back down. I could see the headlights, so I followed them. And I got to her, but she was stuck in her seat belt like I was, and I couldn’t get her out.”
This is the first time I’ve heard the story in his words, with his details. I don’t remember it, but I can see it like I do. The broken glass, the dark water pouring in through the windows. I can almost feel the burning in Matt’s chest as he tried to hold his breath to get me out. The thought of it puts a lump in my throat, because for the first time since I’ve woken up I realize that the accident didn’t just happen to me. This happened to both of us, and having the memory of it might be just as bad as not being able to remember what came before it.
“That must’ve been absolutely terrifying,” Dana says sympathetically.
“Yeah.” Matt glances at me and presses his lips together for a moment before he continues. “I knew she was gonna die if I couldn’t get her out.” He shakes his head. “I just wanted to get her out.”
I put my other hand on top of his. Try to remind him that I did get out, and I’m here with him, and that we’re here together.
Dana nods and turns to the camera. “It was at this time that Walker James, a nineteen-year-old fisherman, was coming into the harbor on a small boat. This footage was captured by an eyewitness.”
Behind us, a short clip of the video appears. Matt doesn’t look at it. He just stares straight ahead, but I can’t help it. This I know, like it’s a memory. The headlights in the water. Matt’s waving arms, barely visible in the lights from the bridge. The boat slowing down.
I glance at Dana, who has one hand on her headset and the other over her ear, like she’s trying to hear something over the hissing sound of the wind in the video. It stops, and the image of the boat freezes on the screen. Dana straightens up. Puts on that smile again, and looks at the camera.
“At this time I’d like to welcome Walker James, the young man who was on that boat, and whose heroic efforts saved the lives of these two teens that fateful night.”
What happens next feels like it’s in fast-forward and slow motion at the same time. Dana waits, her too-wide smile still in place, mascara-covered lashes blinking expectantly. Matt lets go of my hand. Sits up, ramrod straight, looking around. And I am frozen in place, heart pounding in my ears as Walker James steps out from the darkness behind the cameras, onto the stage with us.
EIGHTEEN
WALKER JAMES WEARS a beat-up pair of jeans, work boots, a faded T-shirt, and an almost-scowl on his unshaven face as he crosses the stage.
Dana stands and extends her hand. “Walker, welcome. Wow. Thank you so much for joining us on such short notice.”