Prologue #2
Really? It’s the last reaction I expect. She actually seems happy to discover that I hit a pedestrian. What is wrong with her?
Terror wells up in me at the thought that she’s excited about catching a criminal red-handed. Maybe she’s already rehearsing the eyewitness report she’s going to give the police.
I feel like I owe her an explanation, so I start talking.
“I hit somebody. I may have killed her.” The words tumble out of me.
Part of my brain is going numb. I don’t want to go to jail.
I won’t survive a day there. Kids who were bullied in school while growing up probably don’t have good survival rates behind bars.
Even though I don’t want to, I glance down at the victim while I’m spilling my guts, and I recognize her sodden black braids and half-averted coppery features.
I didn’t just hit a random pedestrian. I’ve run over Tiana Dakota.
She must have crawled over the side of the ditch right as I was driving past the spot.
Of all the rotten luck! I just can’t catch a break today.
Tiana’s eyes are wide open, glazed with pain and confusion. She slowly blinks. Once. Twice.
All of a sudden, I no longer care that she’s dating Ben Haywood — dentist extraordinaire in the making and my future husband. I simply want her to be okay. I need her to be okay so that both of us can be okay.
“I’m so sorry,” I babble, not knowing if she can hear me. “So, so, so sorry! It was an accident!”
The old lady in overalls makes a snorting sound. She bends over Tiana, feeling for her pulse. “She’s alive.” She abruptly stands and points at the door of my Corvette. It’s still gaping open, and the rain is pouring into the driver’s seat.
“This is the part where you get back in your car and drive away.” Her words are firm, precise, and utterly devoid of emotion.
What? I blink through the raindrops, aghast at the suggestion. “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance? Or the police?”
“I’ll take care of it,” she snaps. “Just…” She gestures in growing agitation at my car. “Go!” It’s the imperious tone of a woman accustomed to being obeyed. I’ve heard that tone before, because my mother uses it a lot.
“B-but,” I stammer, “it’s against the law to leave the scene of an accident.” I might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but even I know that much. I reach in my car for my cell phone and lose my grip on it. It clatters to the asphalt, and I dive after it, blindly feeling the wet pavement for it.
Strong hands yank me back to my feet and shove my cell phone into my hands. The same gnarled fingers remain curled around my shoulders, dragging me toward my car. The old woman tosses me like a sack of potatoes onto my seat.
She leans over me, bringing us nose to nose. “Why ruin the rest of your life over an honest mistake? Drive away and get back to doing whatever it is that spoiled, rich girls do.”
It’s in that moment I realize she knows who I am. Fresh dread pistons through me as I attempt to lean around her to catch another glimpse of Tiana. I need to know if Tiana’s all right, and I’m not sure the old woman’s word can be trusted on the matter. “What about—?”
“I said I’ll take care of her.” She moves in the same direction I do, making it impossible for me to see around her bony shoulders. “You’ll never know what happens next. It’s called plausible deniability. Your only job is to tell no one.”
I cling to her words like a lifeline, because that’s basically what they are.
Although I have a nagging feeling that a favor like this will come with strings attached, I don’t feel like I have a better option.
If this woman ever comes looking for me, I’ll owe her big-time for what she’s about to do.
“Tell no one,” I repeat feverishly beneath my breath. I’m at a crossroads. One way leads to my freedom. The other almost certainly leads to jail time.
The old woman gives me a rigid nod of satisfaction. She can see I’ve made my decision. “That’s right. Tell no one.” She points imperiously at the road, urging me to start driving.
It feels wrong, but I do as I’m told, weeping so hard I can barely breathe.
Somehow, I make it back to town in one piece.
When I reach the lake that the town is named after, I almost hit another pedestrian — Ben Haywood this time.
I get out and apologize, but knowing what I did to his girlfriend makes me cry even harder.
I don’t think he can understand a word I’m saying.
He gives me a sad, helpless look and blurts out something comforting.
I don’t hear his exact words, but I know he’s being nice again, and I know I don’t deserve it.
For once in my life, I wish he could see me as the quack everyone else thinks I am. I wouldn’t blame him.
He has no idea how broken I am or how many people have already tried to fix me. I’m probably beyond fixable at this point.
Everything that has happened today will remain forever bottled up inside me. There will be no more counseling sessions, no more treatment plans, and no more seven-step coping mechanisms.
That’s what happens when you make a promise you can’t tell anyone.