She backed up until she was flush against the window and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Go on.”
“I don’t remember approaching the top of the hill.” I raked my fingers through my hair while she appeared to squeeze herself even tighter. “I don’t remember the moment I fell asleep.” I tugged on the ends of the strands, feeling the pain, needing it so badly. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried so fucking hard. I just can’t.”
A new level of rawness came across her face, the ache of it dripping from her eyes. The intensity of it circled my throat and strangled me, but I had to push on. I had to finish.
“The only thing I can recall from those last few seconds”—the words were stuck in my mouth; I wanted to say them, and my heart wanted to explode at the same time—“is when the car hit the pothole, causing the steering wheel to jerk from my hand, and that’s what woke me.”
“That’s when you hit the brakes.”
Hearing her say that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Worse than fracturing my goddamn wrist. Worse than being on Flight 88 when the drone hit the engine. Worse than when the plane was going down and crashed in the field.
It took several seconds before I could settle my chest enough to say, “Yes. You’re right.”
As soon as my lips closed, the feeling returned even stronger than before. Because it didn’t matter that I had slammed on my brakes; the car had still hit Mrs. Paige as she was crossing the road with her son. The only reason Billie had survived was because her mother had taken a few extra seconds to push the stroller, and it had gotten far enough away where it wasn’t in my track.
If she hadn’t done that, I would have had more blood on my hands.
Billie’s blood.
I unbuttoned the top of my shirt, everything feeling so goddamn tight. “After the trial, my parents packed up the house, and we moved to the West Coast.”
It was insignificant that the results of my blood work had been read in court, proving there had been no substances in my body. Or that I was declared innocent, and the charges were dropped. Portland didn’t forgive me, and the town didn’t want us there anymore. That was the reason we’d left.
“Since my name was in every paper in New England and news channels across the country carried the story, there was only one way to keep it from following me.”
“You changed your name.” Her tone was sharper than before.
I nodded, and then I paused, deciding to admit something I hadn’t intended. “I heard little things about you over the years—the time you’d broken the state record at your swim meet, the graduation announcement that was published in the paper. Nothing substantial, just enough to know you were …”
“Alive.”
“Yes.” I felt the sweat begin to drip to my chest. “And then, a few years ago, I don’t know what the hell made me do it, but I typed your name into one of the social media sites, and your profile came up. I guess I just needed to see if you were moving forward. That you were living, not just surviving. It was selfish of me; I know that, but I saw how well you were doing and how you were building this incredible business.”
She groaned and moved over to the small table by the window. Grabbing a handful of tissues out of the box, she wiped her face.
“When my buddy decided to open an Italian restaurant that I knew had all the potential in the world, I thought of you. I’d seen the success you had brought other restaurants, and I knew you would be a good fit for his.”
Her eyes widened, and she was still patting the tissues underneath them as I saw her piece all of this together. “My God, that was you. Basil’s in San Francisco.”
I nodded. “Marcus is the owner, but you’ve been speaking to me, and I purchased our plane tickets.”
Her silence was almost as powerful as the sharpness she had used before, and she finally broke it with, “I don’t understand why you wanted me to come to California. Hire me to help your friend, fine. I get that part, sorta.” She shook her head, her stare deepening. “But to join me on the plane in the very next seat? Do you know how fucking crazy that is? That makes no sense to me at all.”