The Lumpkin-Baxter crosswalk sits in the valley of three hills. Lumpkin Street ascends north and south, and Baxter rises west. We’ve been operating under the assumption that someone going down the hill would have naturally accelerated. And perhaps, if they weren’t paying attention, they may not have braked in time to save Jay’s life. But I’ve driven down that hill a million times. And I think it would be just as unnatural to take your foot off the brake pedal as it would be to take your hand off the wheel.

I leave the soup cooling on the stove and grab my keys.

I need to know.

Ten minutes later I’m sitting in the parking lot behind Saint Mary’s Episcopal Chapel. From here, my plan is to take a left onto Lumpkin and get up to forty—five miles over the speed limit. And then—barring pedestrians and other vehicles—I’m not going to touch my brakes until the car crosses the crime scene.

I would have called Teddy, but he’s probably with Cindy. And anyway, I’m not entirely sure he’d approve of my plan. I’m always a little too impulsive for his liking.

No one’s sure where I get it from—the reckless, don’t-think-twice, constant need for motion. My mother’s a rule follower to a fault—you can’t become a professor without always double-checking your i’s and crossing your t’s. My father’s a different story. These days he might be called a helicopter parent, but “overprotective” is the word that comes to mind. In this, he and Truman have something in common. Imagine me, six years old, begging for a trampoline. Roller skates. One of those battery-powered cars. Every children’s toy was a death trap according to my father. Picture me deciding to make my own fun: climbing the tree in our backyard, throwing peaches at squirrels while my friend Craig watched, wide-eyed. Pedaling my bike down Prince Avenue to get us candy from the corner store. My father, red-faced and fuming like I had taken off for Atlanta: “You have to be careful, Marlitt.” Those were the words that marked my childhood. The same words I hear now as I ease onto Lumpkin and take my foot off the brake.