Chapters (68)
- Dedication
- Title Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Copyright
“Sorry,” I said. “That was unprofessional.” I shifted onto my side so that, even if Jeremy couldn’t see me, my voice would project more clearly to him. “Look, I don’t have all the answers. I sure can’t claim to have been the greatest father that ever lived.”
“You’ve got kids?”
“I had a son.”
“Oh.” A pause. Then, “But not any more?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“The thing is,” I said, “you did what you did, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. You own it. You can’t hide from it. If you don’t tell people up front, and they find out later, they’ll think you’re trying to put something over on them, even if all you’re doing is what anyone else would do. Wanting people to respect their privacy.”
“Yeah, sure. So I put on the top of my résumé, I’m the kid who ran over that girl?”
“No. You did something stupid. All kids, by the time they’ve reached your age, have done something stupid. The others are just luckier than you. Maybe they drove drunk, too, but nothing bad happened. So that’s tough. But you have to accept responsibility for what you did. You can’t go blaming others. You have to say, ‘I did it, I own it,’ and every day moving forward you have to learn from that.”
Silence from the other bed.
“Does that help any?” I asked.
“Not really.”
I heard him turn over and pull up the covers.
We were done.
Twenty-Seven
TWENTY-SEVEN
EVEN with his eyes still closed, Barry Duckworth became aware that someone was in the bedroom.
He opened them, blinked a couple of times to get used to the light coming through the window, and saw his son, Trevor, standing just inside the door.
“Trev?” he said.
That prompted Maureen, under the covers next to Duckworth, to turn over, remove the eye mask that blocked out all light, and say, “What’s going on, what’s happening? What time is it?”
She glanced at the clock radio on her bedside table. “It’s six forty. What are you doing up so early?”
Trevor was fully dressed. His hair was slightly tousled, and he didn’t appear to have shaved yet this morning.
“I haven’t been to bed,” he said, his voice shaky. “Dad, I need help.”
His father raised himself up, swung his bare feet down to the hardwood floor. “What happened, son?”
“It’s Carol,” he said. “Something’s happened to Carol.”
Duckworth dressed quickly. By the time he was down in the kitchen, Maureen had made coffee. Trevor was pacing.
“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” Duckworth said, taking a mug from Maureen and standing by the counter to drink it.
“So we were going to meet up last night. After you and Mom went out for dinner.”
“Where?”
“At the mall.”
“Promise Falls Mall?”