I was here, alone with my father. I couldn’t get to a phone or the computer, and though people knew I was here, none of them would be looking for me to come out and play any time soon.
I was completely and totally fucked.
Even with that realization, all I could really think about was Nicole and making sure no matter what happened to me, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. That meant going along with anything and everything he said.
I had always obeyed him—always. Even before Mom died, I would always do what he said. Afterwards, I had to make him happy because I had taken so much from him.
I thought of Clint for a moment and wondered just what he was thinking or feeling. I wondered if he thought I hated him or if he thought it was all his fault. It wasn’t, obviously. The car just skidded, and he lost control. I was the one who decided to jump in front of it. He couldn’t have stopped me, and I didn’t feel like any of it was his fault at all.
Just an accident.
An accident.
“It was only an accident.”
“Sometimes things just happen.”
“They aren't your fault.”
It was Mom’s voice in my head though I didn’t recall her saying the words.
It wasn’t Clint’s fault.
I didn’t blame him at all.
If it wasn’t his fault I was hurt…
I felt the first hot tear run down my face.
“It was just an accident,” I whispered softly to myself.
Shakespeare once said, “Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; With them forgive yourself.” Somehow, I finally grasped the meaning.
Now I understood everything in a whole new light.
For much of the next day, people kept coming to the house. I wasn’t sure who had been there because Dad always got rid of them before I could get to the door, but I know I heard Jeremy and Rachel, Paul, Ben…and Nicole.
I was in bed at the time, just finishing my heat-and-eat supper when the bell rang, and I heard her voice. I dumped the tray on the side table and moved myself around until I could get in the chair. I was already tired from the exercises I had done with my arms right before eating, and I didn’t get over to the wheelchair the first time. Once I managed to get into the chair, roll down the hallway, get through the living room, and reach the foyer, he had already shut her out.
The next day, Greg showed up.
We had been sitting in the kitchen with Dad looking over a bunch of papers and me picking at breakfast. All of a sudden, Dad’s head jerked up and he looked out the kitchen window. He growled under his breath, and then he looked at me, strode over to the back of my chair, and wheeled me right out of there.
“What are you doing?” I cried out.
“Shut up,” he responded. He wheeled me all the way to the guest room and then actually helped me into the bed. I tried to protest—I hadn’t been up that long, but he shut me up. “Don’t say a fucking word, you hear me?”
He took the chair out of the room as he left.
“What the fuck?” I mumbled to myself.
Then I heard the doorbell.
I could hear muffled voices, but that was about it. I shuffled myself down to the end of the bed and peered out the window. At the end of the drive, I could just barely make out the back end of a sheriff’s cruiser.
Greg’s.
Then I heard the front door slam, and a few minutes later, the cruiser backed up and headed down the drive. I could just see Greg in the driver’s seat with a phone in his hand. I dropped my head into my hands and waited for Dad to bring back my wheelchair.