One dead in hit-and-run.
He didn’t bother clicking on it. First, because he didn’t have the time. Also, because he didn’t think it was about their accident. The car had been parked. No one had died.
An hour or two later, he got a text from Ivy.
Did you see the news?
The alert popped into his mind, so he went back to it and read the story. That’s when he first heard about Joey Fisher.
He didn’t know the name yet—it came out later—but he did learn someone had been in the car. Someone who was now dead.
Wes can still feel that moment. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Like his body had forgotten how to do it. When his body remembered, Wes gasped for air like he had been underwater.
He texted Ivy back: Call me.
She didn’t, so he called her. Straight to voicemail. Wes didn’t leave a message; he wasn’t about to mention the accident on a voicemail. He texted again but didn’t hear from her until he was getting ready to leave the office.
I got it.
He had no idea what that meant, and he didn’t have time to try to figure it out. That day, they hadn’t been able to use their damaged car, so he was getting a ride from a coworker who was anxious to leave the office. As soon as he got home, he checked behind the apartment building. The 4Runner was gone.
He called Ivy again. Straight to voicemail.
Another hour passed before he heard the key in the door. Ivy walked in, and the first thing he noticed was how puffy and red her face was, like she had been crying. She was also dripping wet. Hair, clothes, shoes. Everything.
“I took care of the car,” she said.
“Took care of it? What did you—”
She slipped out of her wet sneakers. “It’s at the bottom of Oxhill Lake.”
* * *
—
They discussed it only once. After she got rid of the 4Runner, after it was reported stolen, after the police had come and gone, Ivy sat down and cried. Wes didn’t ask if it was from exhaustion, stress, or the fact that they had killed someone. All three, he assumed.
Joey Fisher had been identified by that time. His name had been breaking news throughout the night.
“Eighteen,” she kept saying. “He was eighteen.”
Wes sat next to her on the couch, an ugly thing she had found at a garage sale. Black with big yellow flowers. The cushion covers had been washed, and she had added some throw pillows, but it was still ugly.
“We can go to the police,” he said. “Tell them everything.”
She nodded. Cried some more before answering. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“But you were the one driving,” he said.
“So I’ll be the one arrested.”
“Absolutely. And given that we’ve already tried to cover it up, I will too. We both left the scene of the accident, and we filed a false police report.” He glanced at his watch. “Less than an hour ago.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” she said. “It should be me. I’m the one who did it.”
Back and forth they went, damn near all night, until Wes couldn’t stand it anymore. “We either have to do it, or we make the decision not to. Either way, I can’t have this conversation a second time.”
Ivy was quiet for a long time.
“I don’t know what to do,” she finally said. The tears were gone now. She was all out. And she looked broken.
He took both of her hands in his. “Even if we confess, it won’t bring him back.”
“I know.”
That was it. Their decision was based on the knowledge that it wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn’t undo the mistake. And because neither one of them wanted to go to jail.
“This has to be our secret,” Wes told her. “You can’t tell anyone. Not your family or your friends. Not even Heath.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”
He held up his hand, extending his little finger. She did the same, and they locked pinkies.
“Forever,” he said.
“Forever.”
60
Ivy is back at her own place, trying her best to sit still. According to Wes’s lawyer, there isn’t anything she can do.
No, she can’t see Wes in jail.
No, she can’t talk to him.
She’ll have to see what happens at the bail hearing. Either Wes will be able to get out or he won’t. If he has to stay in jail, he will be transferred to the county facility, where she would then be able to see and talk to him. But not now.
She also called her lawyer, trying to get a different answer, but was told the same thing: Wait.
Not her favorite activity.
Her lawyer had a lot more to say, as well, none of which Ivy liked.
“Let me ask you something.” Stan had said it in such an offhand way she almost thought he was going to give her some good news. “Is there any way Wes could implicate you in this?”
Foiled again.
“He wouldn’t,” she said. The words came out automatically, as if she had always been ready for this. “We’re back together. We were supposed to get married.”
“Supposed to. So you aren’t married?”
“No. We were going to Vegas this weekend to do it. We’re supposed to be there right now.”
Stan was quiet for a long time. Too long, considering how much he charged per hour. “Does Wes know anything that would tie you to this?” he finally said.
Tie her to it? Driving the car probably qualifies.
“Yes,” she said.
“Things look a lot different when you’re in jail,” he said. His voice was still gentle. “We don’t know what Wes will say now that he’s been arrested.”
* * *
—
Ivy understood what her lawyer was saying for once. But she doesn’t believe Wes would tell the police what really happened. Not even to free himself.
He should, though. Wes should tell the police exactly how the accident happened, because he doesn’t deserve to be in jail.
She wonders if he knew this was going to happen. Maybe he has been preparing for it. Maybe this is why he proposed, why he wanted to get married so quickly.
Though she had been the one to suggest Vegas. She was also the one who said they should go this weekend, not him. But he agreed. Quickly. He had even said their wedding had nothing to do with the case, and that if she was arrested, he would never testify against her. But he never said anything about telling the truth. Neither did she.
Because they didn’t get married, she can be subpoenaed to testify against him. They’ll ask about that night, and she will have to answer or plead the Fifth. The thought of either one makes her throat tighten, like even her body is afraid she’ll say the wrong thing.
All these thoughts fly through her mind, bouncing off one another. Making noise. It’s enough to drive someone crazy. If she thinks about it for one more minute, that might just happen.
A knock at the door saves her.
Must be Heath. By now, Wes has made the news. His picture from the Siphon website is everywhere. His reputation in Fair Valley has been shot to hell, probably forever. No matter what happens next, he’ll always be the guy whose picture was in the news for all the wrong reasons.
She opens the door, expecting to see her best friend.
A woman is standing on her porch. Someone she doesn’t know. She has blond hair, curly spirals that tumble down to her shoulders. Round face, pink cheeks, and blue eyes that remind Ivy of a chambray shirt.