“I was there first and it was just me and her.”

“You and Elise,” Vera confirms.

“Yes.” Elise had put her hand on my shoulder, told me everything would be okay. “We got into an argument. Over something stupid.”

“Something stupid?” she asks, studying me.

I nod slowly. “I don’t even remember what it was,” I say, but I do. The last prank, our big finale the night before. What happened after we split from the group. What we did when it was just the two of us. But I don’t want to tell Vera about it.

She accepts my answer, at least for now. “And then?”

Then Elise went out to the balcony alone, staring down at the river below. I sat by the front door, at the foot of the staircase. We were fighting, too angry to speak.

“When Jack came, I let him in. He told me to go home, that he’d talk to her. So I left.” He’d kissed me on the forehead, his hand lingering in my hair before he let go.

“Elise was out on the balcony. Maybe the door was closed and she didn’t hear him come in, and when she came back inside—” I break off, choking on a sob, the tears coming hard and fast. My eyes ache and burn, swollen and sore from the never-ending tears.

Vera pulls over to offer me tissues and turns on her yield signal even though no one else is around or awake for miles. She doesn’t put a hand on my shoulder or squeeze my elbow. She doesn’t touch me, and I’m grateful. The drizzle outside begins to slow, so she cracks open the windows and the cool air helps.

“He must’ve startled her,” I say. “I’d just turned on my car when I heard the gunshots.” It happened so quickly. All within the span of a minute or two. I rushed out, leaving the car door open, my keys still in the ignition.

Vera stares at the road ahead. She’s not taking notes but I can see the wheels turning in her mind, taking the words I say, the threads I spin, and spooling them together tight.

“So it was an accident,” she says finally, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“That’s what must’ve happened.” I nod immediately, lighting another cigarette with a shaky hand. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it. But this is the only explanation I have, the only one that makes any sense. She has to believe me, she has to.

It was a horrible, tragic accident.

“So your friend had a gun on her in the house.”

“If you knew her story, you’d understand why she had that gun.” I try to steady my voice, sound confident when I feel like I might crumble.

“And you just let him in and left without saying anything to Elise. You’re not leaving anything out? You’re telling me everything?” She sounds like she doesn’t believe me, sending doubt straight to my heart.