“He didn’t come home last night. That’s nothing new. He’s been drinking a lot since he got here. I’ve been taking care of him. His life went to shit when his girlfriend in Boston broke up with him. That’s why he’s been here for so long. His firm laid him off at the same time. He has nothing to go back to.” Marcus clasps his hands together in fists and looks down at them. “He drank all night and was on his way home early this morning when he got into an accident. He’s in a coma.”
This is when my mind starts working. “What did he hit?”
Marcus squeezes his hands harder and then releases to grab his cell phone from his pocket. “I drove past the accident on my way here this morning and snapped a couple photos. It’s so bad,” he says. “He was going sixty in a thirty-five. The person in the other car died on impact.”
He hands me the phone. The same phone, in the same navy blue case he’s had for the past two years. I take it from him and the first photo is from far away, so it’s hard to make out what I’m looking at. A bad accident, for sure. I recognize the horrible intersection, and I see shards of the silver truck that belonged to Darren. The other vehicle has been demolished, fully and completely. Tears spring to my eyes. “This is so awful. What was he thinking?” It’s rhetorical, because I know that Marcus doesn’t know—wouldn’t know what he was thinking or why he chose to get behind the wheel of a car while inebriated.
I swipe right to look at the other photo. It’s a closer view and it is obvious Marcus took these from his car, while approaching the accident from behind. Police cars and ambulances are swarming in this one and I have to close my eyes for a second when I realize someone lost their life. I’m looking at someone’s death moment and it picks at my fragile emptiness. I turn the screen face down in my lap.
“Harper. I don’t know what to do. They’re going to arrest him and take him to jail as soon as he wakes up. I don’t know what to tell my parents or if I call his ex-girlfriend. It’s all on me and I don’t know what to do with this.”
Taking a deep breath, I tell him I need a few moments to process everything. I stand and walk to the little window that overlooks the bleak parking lot. Life moves on around us, as if it’s a normal day. I shudder when I sense Marcus standing behind me.
“Please. Tell me what to do. He’s a murderer. He’s guilty. Nothing is going to change that.”
“Even murderers get attorneys, I think. I don’t know why you thought I’d be able to help you in any way. I think Martina’s sister practices law, but I’m not sure what kind. What was that one friend we had at Harvard? He was pre-law, right?” I shake my hands to the sides. “This isn’t my business,” I say, shaking my head. “This isn’t my mess. How could you bring me into something so…awful?”
“I didn’t know who else to call. You were the only person in my life for years, Harper. You have to understand that fact. It was you and me and school and then there was nothing. Darren didn’t help me recover from losing you. He was basically using me for a place to stay while he got drunk and hooked up with bimbos impressed by his Ivy League degree and Ferragamo loafers. You were the person I wanted next to me, that’s all. I lost all privileges to you, I know. I had to ask. Don’t fault me for that.”
I turn to face him. A doctor running down the hallway steals my focus for a second. “This isn’t your mess. He’s your brother, but it’s not your mess. Go to work. Live your life and he can deal with the consequences when and if he wakes up. Call your parents and tell them. That’s what I’d do. Don’t complicate this any more than it already is. I really need to get going. I’m really sorry. I am. I feel for you, but I don’t want to see you again.”
I lift the phone when I realize it’s his, to hand it back, but the image pops back up on the screen. Once more, I look at it. Closer this time. Someone’s death moment should be painful for me to view. It’s hard to decipher where one vehicle starts and ends because of the destruction. I trace the edges of the windows and imagine what their last moment felt like.
As I envision what I’d think about during my last moment, I see the white sticker through the smoke. It makes it less visible, but now that I’m looking at it and know exactly what it is, I know what kind of SUV it is, what it looked like in perfect condition, and who drives it.
I cover my mouth with my free hand as the tears come in full force. “Do you know who was in the other vehicle, Marcus?” I ask, my tone low.
He clears his throat. “No. A woman. They won’t give us a name until next of kin is notified.”No one has to tell me. I slide down the wall until I’m seated on the floor.
“What’s the matter?” Marcus asks.
Shaking my head, I hand him back his phone. I cry, burying my head between my knees. It’s soft sobbing at first, but as the ramifications of this hit home, my cry turns into a soul flaying wail.
In between bargaining with God and trying to convince myself I’m wrong, I hear Marcus asking repeatedly what’s wrong.
I look him in the eye. “It’s Norah.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ben
When we land back in San Diego the next morning, my phone is blowing up. I make it a point to keep it off while I’m working so it doesn’t distract me. I slept the entire flight and I’m still exhausted. All I can think about is a dark room and my bed. My energy level after missions is completely depleted. I have to be on constantly. There’s no breathing room. Perfection twenty-four seven. It’s not as if I can make a mistake either. That could cost an innocent life, or two. I like to call it the mental mush. Voicemails ping by the half dozen. Text messages from so many people I’m not sure where to start.
“Ah, I need sleep first,” I whisper, trying to keep my eyes open. “Harper,” I whisper, seeing a voicemail from her phone number flash across my screen as I walk toward my truck. It was from yesterday morning.
That’s obviously the first one I click. “Benny. You need to call me as soon as you can. It’s important. I’m not just saying that to get you to call me back. I’m saying that because nothing has ever been more important.” She’s sobbing hard, her words hard to make out. My brain that is finished for the week, starts firing up again. “Please call.” The message finishes and I’m left with a jagged hole in my stomach that’s telling me something is incredibly wrong. I head to my truck, ready to be away from here and back on neutral ground—ready to be home.
I go to call her back, but I get a phone call from a number not programmed into my phone. I can tell it’s a number from work, the place I’m trying to leave right now. Swallowing down my irritation, I answer. “Hello?”
“Ben?” a male voice rasps.
“Yes,” I reply.
“It’s Cage. I’m sorry I’m just now getting ahold of you. I couldn’t track you down after you touched down. You already on your way home?”
“About to be,” I say.
“We have some tragic news. Can you come back into the office for a second?” my boss says.
