I wondered if she thought I’d killed my husband. I wondered if she thought I’d murdered my own daughter. I should protest my innocence, but I didn’t.

I thought she of all people should know better.

Twelve more minutes. All it took to travel back in time, to return to the old neighborhood. Past her old house, past my parents’ shabby home.

Juliana didn’t look at any of the buildings. Didn’t sigh, wax nostalgic, say a single word.

Two final turns and we were there, at my father’s garage.

She pulled over, killed the lights.

Snow was falling heavily now, blanketing the dark world in white.

I gathered up the last of my things, tucked them into the duffel bag, which I would take with me. Leave no evidence behind.

“When you get home,” I said now, my voice surprisingly loud in the silence, “mix ammonia with warm water, and use it to wipe down the car. That will erase any fingerprints.”

Juliana looked at me in the review mirror again, but remained silent.

“The police are going to find you,” I continued. “They’ll hone in on the call I placed to you last night from jail. It’s one of the only leads they have, so they’re going to follow up on it. Just tell the truth. What I said, what you said. The whole conversation was recorded, so you’re not telling them anything they don’t already know, and it’s not like we said anything incriminating.”

Juliana looked at me, remained silent.

“They shouldn’t be able to trace today’s call,” I told her. “Our only point of contact has been someone else’s cellphone, and I’m about to take an acetylene torch to it. Once I’ve melted its circuits, there’s nothing it can give away. So you went for a drive this afternoon. I deliberately chose a location that didn’t involve any toll roads, meaning there’s no way for them to trace where you went. You could’ve gone anywhere and done anything. Make them work for it.”

It went without saying that she would hold up under police questioning. She had before.

“We’re even.” She spoke up suddenly, her voice flat. “Don’t call again. We’re even.”

I smiled, sadly, with genuine regret. For ten years, we’d kept our distance. And would’ve continued if not for Saturday morning and my stupid husband dying on our stupid kitchen floor.

Blood is thicker than water. Actually, friendship was, and so I had honored what I’d known Juliana had needed. Even when it hurt me.

“I would do it again,” I murmured, my eyes locking on hers in the rearview mirror. “You were my best friend, and I loved you and I would do it again.”

“Did you really name her Sophie?”

“Yeah.”

Juliana Sophia MacDougall nee Howe covered her mouth. She started to cry.