BooksBarbecue
Back Don't Look for Me
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-one
  25. Chapter Twenty-two
  26. Chapter Twenty-three
  27. Chapter Twenty-four
  28. Chapter Twenty-five
  29. Chapter Twenty-six
  30. Chapter Twenty-seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-one
  35. Chapter Thirty-two
  36. Chapter Thirty-three
  37. Chapter Thirty-four
  38. Chapter Thirty-five
  39. Chapter Thirty-six
  40. Chapter Thirty-seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-one
  45. Chapter Forty-two
  46. Chapter Forty-three
  47. Chapter Forty-four
  48. Chapter Forty-five
  49. Chapter Forty-six
  50. Chapter Forty-seven
  51. Chapter Forty-eight
  52. Chapter Forty-nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-one
  55. Chapter Fifty-two
  56. Chapter Fifty-three
  57. Chapter Fifty-four
  58. Chapter Fifty-five
  59. Chapter Fifty-six
  60. Chapter Fifty-seven
  61. Acknowledgments [TK]
  62. Also by Wendy Walker

Maybe it served me well to hear those words. I studied hard and made a career for myself. And John always told me that’s what he loved most. That I was smart.

God, how I love that man. I don’t even know why. It just happened and it was glorious. And now that glory is agony.

It would be easy to tell myself that he stopped loving me because the scale tipped too far to his side. That I got older and less attractive. That I stopped working, stopped being so smart. Up, up, up, my side of the scale drifted, losing the weight of these things.

But that would be a lie. There is no scale that can bear what I have done.

I feel my lips part, taking in air as the tears fall. I taste the salt on my tongue.

I hear the argument for the first time in years. The argument I lost then and will always lose.

No—I was not speeding around that corner. I had slowed down, of course I had, because the driveway was just around the curve.

No—there was nothing more I could have done. My eyes were on the road. My hands on the wheel. I wasn’t adjusting the radio, or using my phone, or reaching for my coffee.

No—I could not have slammed on those brakes any harder than I did! The forensic report confirmed all of this. The skid marks. The air bag. The turn of the wheel away from the object in the road. From the child. My child. My Annie.

Six more inches and I would have been clear. I would have slammed into the mailbox and the boxwoods and the flower bed. But the wheel only turned so far.

Six more inches.

People say things. Things beyond put one foot in front of the other. They pose questions and force you to answer. Would it be your fault if you gave up your seat on a plane and the plane went down? If you ducked from a gunshot and it hit someone else?

There is no logic to the guilt.

But you gave her life.

Yes, but then I killed her.

I killed her.

I killed her.

It never goes away. God, help me. It never leaves.

I’m sorry, John, for falling off the scale. For being unworthy of you.

I’m sorry Evan, for infusing you with anger. It seeps from my pores. I should have known it would reach you.

And Nicole—my fierce warrior. You had everything! You were beautiful and strong and brilliant. You were that glorious firstborn child who saw the world as a thing to behold, and a thing to be conquered. And now you live behind a sword and shield but the enemy still comes for you. To vanquish you. To kill you as well.