This Story Might Save Your Life(100)

“What now?” Luna says to Emil after they return the phone to Xander’s pants pocket, the computer to its stand on Xander’s desk.

Emil plucks the keys from Xander’s other pocket. “Now we need a fire extinguisher.”

After taking the office extinguisher to the roadster, Emil skillfully hefts Xander’s body over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Luna watches him until he’s out of sight, then gets to work.

Not everything is visible from this point on, but I know she retrieved the cameras, having ascertained their locations from Carlotta, who had already dropped me off and was en route to collect Emil from their designated meeting place in Angeles National Forest. “Five? Are you sure there were five?” Luna asked. Carlotta must have convinced her she was certain, because Luna didn’t go looking for another.

After gathering the cameras and removing their SD cards, Luna tidied up, but not so meticulously as to arouse suspicion. She snapped the latch on the window she kicked in earlier so it looked like it might’ve broken in the windstorm, opened a few others upstairs to complete the effect, and deleted the house’s security cam footage through the main panel, turning it off for good measure before locking up.

As for Emil, his earlier career as a Hollywood stunt double served him well, because he managed to make that crash look accidental, down to the skid marks, the collision-induced fire, and the fact that a very conscientious Xander would’ve absolutely crawled out of his car to ensure there was no wildfire before succumbing to his head injury. I couldn’t have written a more dramatic script.

Luna confessed to me later that while they were thorough, she still worried. Each day I remained in the shelter, she grew more concerned the police would uncover something they missed. What if the detectives searched Xander’s app store and saw that the surveillance program had once been downloaded? What if he’d recently paid for in-app purchases and they showed up on his credit card statements? What if the files were backed up somewhere else? What if they searched her house and found the SD cards she’d saved for the sole purpose of giving me this closure? And the question that haunted her most, the question she was right to ask: What if there were other cameras?

But none of that happened, and the techs didn’t find my backup camera in the corner vent. Carlotta suspects that because Xander and I disappeared together, in his car (or so they thought), with scant evidence of foul play, they processed the house less fastidiously than they otherwise would have.

That, or we were just plain lucky.

When all was said and done, the only glaring mistake was Potsie. None of them realized he had escaped.

I close my laptop with a quivery exhale. When I’m ready, I rise in search of a hammer and step out onto the terrace.

After smashing the SD cards, I bag up the plastic and metal shards, and throw them in the trash.

I was hoping, like Luna, that these videos would provide some closure, but the guilt remains. Like a shadow in a fully lit room. I keep shining more light at it—this is what you wanted; you’re happy now—but it lingers, stubborn. They did so much for me. Took so many risks.

“We can talk our way out of this,” Luna said that morning in the hospital. “If you confess, I’ll say you’re lying. I’ll say you hit your head too hard to be trusted.”

“But it’s my fault,” I whispered.

“No, it’s not,” she said. “You didn’t do it. I’ll swear on my life. Benny will too.”

I should’ve guessed he’d be involved, but she hadn’t mentioned him yet. He hadn’t hinted at anything the few times I saw him. “He knows?”

“The truth?” She shook her head. “And let’s not change that.”

“Why?” I searched her intense brown eyes. “What does he think?”

“That I did it.”

She said it so matter-of-factly it took me a second. “What?”

She held up a hand. “Let him believe what he already believes.”

“No.” The very thought made my stomach twist. “I’m not letting you take the fall.”

“No one’s taking the fall. That’s the whole point. Just … trust me. You know as well as I do that Benny has a terrible poker face. Better if he’s out of the loop. At least for now. You can tell him eventually. If you want. But not until the police stop sniffing around.”

I was still confused.

“If they ask him about me and he has a strange reaction, it’s less suspicious,” she explained. “We’re divorced. It’s complicated. But they know how he feels about you. If he knows the truth, they’ll worm it out of him somehow. And he’ll never forgive himself if you end up going to jail for this.” Not I will never forgive myself, but Benny. Benny will never forgive himself. “Please. He loves you, Joy. I know you love him too.”

My heart panged with regret—it was too much to take in; too much to admit—but I told her the truth. “I do.”

She stood motionless for a long time. Unsure how to interpret the silence, I tried to apologize. “No,” she said, and I realized that she, like I, had been choking back tears. “I’m so glad.”

After that, we agreed on what to say.



* * *



I RETURN AN hour later to find Benny in the kitchen, standing at the sink with a steaming mug of coffee, both dogs at his feet.