Chương 13
She did not respond.
Inside, the house smelled like toast and antiseptic.
Kayla sat at a table with both hands wrapped around a mug.
Her left wrist was still in a brace.
A pale scar ran from her temple into her hairline.
Miller stood near the window.
He nodded at me.
I barely noticed.
Kayla looked smaller than I remembered.
At the twins’ birthday party in June, she had worn a red sundress and chased Owen through the sprinkler while he screamed that she was violating international water law.
Now she wore a gray sweatshirt three sizes too large.
“Hi,” she said.
Her voice cracked.
I sat across from her.
No one else spoke.
Kayla looked down at her mug.
“I’m sorry.”
I had imagined this moment in dozens of cruel ways.
I had imagined yelling.
I had imagined demanding why she drove too fast.
I had imagined telling her exactly how Rose looked in the hospital.
Instead, I said, “I blamed you.”
She nodded.
“You should have.”
“No.”
She looked up.
“I was driving.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I was driving.”
Her fingers tightened around the mug.
“I felt something wrong with the brakes before the curve.”
Miller shifted slightly.
I looked at him.
“This is new?”
“She mentioned it last night.”
I turned back to Kayla.
“What did you feel?”
“The pedal changed.”
“How?”
“Soft.”
She swallowed.
“Then hard.”
“When?”
“Maybe two minutes before.”
“Did you stop?”
“No.”
The word barely came out.
“Why?”
“I thought I was imagining it.”
Her eyes filled.
“The car had been weird earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“It beeped.”
My pulse changed.
“What kind of beep?”
Kayla looked confused.
I made three quick sounds with my mouth, paused, then one longer one.
Her face went white.
“That.”
Miller stepped forward.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“That exact pattern?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
The recorder.
The same electronic chirp.
But Kayla shook her head.
“It came from under the dash.”
Not the recorder.
Something else.
Something connected.
She continued.
“Silas called again after I picked them up.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked where we were.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes.”
“He told me to take County Road 18.”
My skin went cold.
“Why?”
“He said the highway was backed up.”
Miller’s jaw tightened.
“Was it?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire whispered, “Jesus.”
Kayla started crying.
“I should have taken the highway.”
I leaned forward.
“No.”
“But if I had—”
“No.”
My voice came sharper.
She flinched.
I softened it.
“He chose the road.”
Kayla looked at me.
“He chose the car.”
I swallowed.
“He chose the lie.”
Tears slid down her face.
For the first time since the funeral, the truth became simple enough to hold.
Not easy.
Not clean.
Just simple.
Silas had not merely built a plan around my death.
He had built it around everyone else doing exactly what he expected.
And when they did, he had been willing to let them carry the blame.
For a long time, nobody in the room said anything.
Kayla wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Her mother stood in the kitchen doorway with one hand pressed against the frame.
Miller looked down at his notebook but did not write.
I realized he was giving us a minute.
That small mercy nearly broke me.
Kayla looked at me.
“Rose asked if we could stop for gummy worms.”
My throat tightened.
“She always asked.”
“I told her no because it was raining.”
“That sounds responsible.”
“I keep thinking if I’d stopped—”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“Owen said we should take the highway.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he did.
He had opinions about routes.
About planets.
About pancake symmetry.
About whether socks should be considered a matched pair if they were the same thickness but different colors.
“He liked the highway,” I said.
“He liked counting trucks.”
Kayla gave a tiny nod.
“He got to thirty-two.”
I looked at her.
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything.”
That answer carried no pride.
Only punishment.
I reached across the table.
My hand stopped halfway.
Kayla looked at it.
Then she placed hers beneath mine.
Her fingers were cold.
“I’m sorry I blamed you,” I said.
She shook her head.
“I blamed me too.”
“That doesn’t mean either of us was right.”
Her face crumpled.
I held on.
Not tightly.
Just enough.
Behind me, Claire began crying quietly.
Mrs. Mercer turned away.
Miller gave us another minute.
Then his phone vibrated.
He read the screen and straightened.
“I need to step outside.”
Something in his voice changed the room.
I let go of Kayla’s hand.
He left through the front door.
Samantha followed.
Claire came beside me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
“I’m tired of stupid questions.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
It lasted one second.
Then Samantha came back inside.
“Evelyn.”
I stood.
“What?”
“They found the backups.”
My heartbeat shifted.
“The recordings?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“They’re still indexing.”
“But they found his device.”
“Yes.”
“Was it docked?”
Samantha nodded.
“Four hours after the crash.”
I stared at her.
“Who docked it?”
“Marcus.”
The name felt like a door slamming.
“Why?”
“He says Silas called him from the hospital and ordered him to clear the device.”
Claire swore.
“Did he?”
“Not completely.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course not completely.”
“He says he panicked.”
“Marcus seems to do a lot of panicking.”
“He also made a copy.”
That stopped me.
“Why?”
“He says he didn’t trust Silas.”
“Not enough to go to police.”
“No.”
“Just enough to insure himself.”
Samantha’s expression told me she agreed.
“Miller has him with independent counsel now.”
“What’s on the copy?”
“They’re reviewing it.”
“When do we know?”
“Soon.”
I hated that word.
Soon had meant nothing for three weeks.
Soon was what doctors said before walking away.
Soon was what funeral homes said about death certificates.
Soon was what insurance companies said before requesting another form.
May you like
But this time, soon came.
Miller returned twenty minutes later.
