“It wasn’t me. Your friends sounded the alarm. You’ve got a lot of people in your corner, a lot of people who love you and will fight for you. You’re going to come out of this stronger, Carson.”

They hugged, then went back inside.

When the visit ended at the door and Carson’s parents said goodbye, Sonia hugged her again.

“Words cannot convey what you’ve given us, Emma. Thank you.”

Gripping the wheel, Emma’s knuckles whitened as she drove away, battling emotions roiling inside her. She recognized a sense of accomplishment at playing a role in helping Carson.

I want to help people. I want to be a good person—I am a good person. But the note, the looming anniversary, even Kayla with her questions, forcing me to lie…it’s closing in.

Emma bit back on her tears, refusing to cry.

I will survive this.

At a red light, she checked the fuel gauge. It showed that she had less than a quarter of a tank. Two blocks later she pulled into a Mobil station and filled up, then went into the station to pay.

Inside, a man wearing torn, stained pants with a bulging knapsack slung over his shoulder was being told to leave by the attendant. While departing, the man asked people in line for money. Dirt encrusted the creases of his palm, his full wild beard was dotted with crumbs and he reeked of alcohol, a scent that triggered the shame, pain and desperate hopelessness Emma had known growing up. When his bleary eyes met hers, she reached into her bag and gave him a twenty. Still waiting to pay, she swiped through her phone for messages when it pinged with a news notice.

Talk about timing.

It was another opinion piece from one of the Canadian newspapers she’d subscribed to. The headline read: Eternity Anniversary Will Open Old Wounds.

Emma began reading it, words flying at her—“How can people ever forget the unimaginable crimes…and how those responsible have gone on to live their lives…” when someone tapped her shoulder. A woman behind her indicated it was Emma’s turn at the counter. Emma apologized, slid her credit card from her wallet, paid and returned to her SUV, her stomach in knots.

Behind the wheel she resumed reading the news item when a horn honked. The pickup behind her wanted her to move out of the way so he could gas up. She set her phone down, fastened her seat belt and pulled away, working to clear her mind as she headed home.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn’t notice a car that had been parked near the busy Mobil station and was now behind her.

It was not Marisa Narmore’s car.

This car was the same car driven by the floral shirt man she had seen near the restaurant when she, Ben, Kayla and Tug had gone to the beach.