cliff for an hour and then in one step you’re over.”
“Pleasant analogy, that.”
I shrugged, scrunching closer under his arm.
“Whatever you—”
In a split second he’d shot a foot away from me. “Whatever I did? You want to know?”
“I didn’t say—”
“But you do, don’t you?”
“Hey, where’d this come from?”
He turned, strode off toward the fire. Really unpredictable!
I raced after him, grabbed his arm, turned him toward me. “Yeah, I want to know. Because whatever it is, it’s okay. No, wait! Don’t start that business of my not being able to say without knowing first, just fucking tell me. Did you kill someone?”
He looked down at me and our gazes locked. “I used to think that ‘worse than death’ was hyperbole. Now I know better.”
I just buried my face in his chest and pulled him tight to me. I realized he was shaking. In that moment it was as if I was both present and also looking down on the scene. And then, providing the backdrop to his grief, like an over-the-top movie set, were the fire and the sirens and the flashing lights, and it was almost too much. “How?”
“I let him die.”
You stood there and watched him die? “How?”
“I walked away.”
“So, you were a bystander?”
“I was in it up to—as high up as you can go. I could have . . . but I didn’t. If I had . . . but I didn’t. Because, see, I wanted to save my own skin. It’s the old story about guilt. A thousand plots make this point. My ancient twisted karma.”
A deafening bang came from the pier. Fire shot up.
“Lucky you got my rig out of there when you did. That fire’s going to eat up the pier. Look how fast it’s coming—”
“Omigod, Gary’s car! I jumped out of it to get the truck. It’s still back there! Gary’s Honda!”
“Flip me the keys!”
“They’re in the car.” I ran full out, but he was taller, faster. Smoke was filling my mouth; I could taste it. By the time I rounded the corner onto the pier, Guthrie was nearly at the door.
A police car—light bar flashing—sped toward us.
“Deal with them!” I yelled.
The cop screeched up five yards from the car. Guthrie was at his door before he could get out.
With a last burst of power, I dashed for Gary’s car, swung in, and did a 180, pushing the passenger door so it popped open right next to Guthrie. He leapt in and I hit the gas.
We rounded the corner, laughing.
He leaned over and kissed me sideways. I could just see over his ear to drive. “We’re going to make one helluva team!”
I pulled up next to his truck and reached for him.
My cell phone rang.
I shrugged it off and pulled him to me for a long, giddy kiss, the kind we’d be sharing a lot after triumphs by Lott and Guthrie.
The phone started up again. I shrugged and clicked it on.
“Darcy!”
My brother John, I mouthed.
“There’s been a—”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“—a fire—”
“We all waited for you. We sat around the table, Darcy, waiting for you. You get us all here and then don’t show.”
“I can still—”
“Too late.” The phone clicked off. I could picture him stabbing his thumb into the button and slamming the phone shut.
“Oh, shit, it’s after eight.”
Guthrie was staring at me. “What?”
“I was supposed to be at Mom’s at seven. Shit. There was a family meeting; they all think I arranged it. They’re . . . pissed doesn’t begin to describe it.” I squeezed his arm. “I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. Trust me, you do not want to face this scene.”
He was deciding where to move the truck as I headed for the freeway. I made it almost to the gate before admitting I needed a few minutes to get myself together before heading onto the bridge. I pulled over and checked messages and got an earful.
7:46 P.M. “Darce, you okay?” Gary asked. “Call me. My car, is it okay? If you haven’t driven it into the Bay, you’re still in deep shit with
“Pleasant analogy, that.”
I shrugged, scrunching closer under his arm.
“Whatever you—”
In a split second he’d shot a foot away from me. “Whatever I did? You want to know?”
“I didn’t say—”
“But you do, don’t you?”
“Hey, where’d this come from?”
He turned, strode off toward the fire. Really unpredictable!
I raced after him, grabbed his arm, turned him toward me. “Yeah, I want to know. Because whatever it is, it’s okay. No, wait! Don’t start that business of my not being able to say without knowing first, just fucking tell me. Did you kill someone?”
He looked down at me and our gazes locked. “I used to think that ‘worse than death’ was hyperbole. Now I know better.”
I just buried my face in his chest and pulled him tight to me. I realized he was shaking. In that moment it was as if I was both present and also looking down on the scene. And then, providing the backdrop to his grief, like an over-the-top movie set, were the fire and the sirens and the flashing lights, and it was almost too much. “How?”
“I let him die.”
You stood there and watched him die? “How?”
“I walked away.”
“So, you were a bystander?”
“I was in it up to—as high up as you can go. I could have . . . but I didn’t. If I had . . . but I didn’t. Because, see, I wanted to save my own skin. It’s the old story about guilt. A thousand plots make this point. My ancient twisted karma.”
A deafening bang came from the pier. Fire shot up.
“Lucky you got my rig out of there when you did. That fire’s going to eat up the pier. Look how fast it’s coming—”
“Omigod, Gary’s car! I jumped out of it to get the truck. It’s still back there! Gary’s Honda!”
“Flip me the keys!”
“They’re in the car.” I ran full out, but he was taller, faster. Smoke was filling my mouth; I could taste it. By the time I rounded the corner onto the pier, Guthrie was nearly at the door.
A police car—light bar flashing—sped toward us.
“Deal with them!” I yelled.
The cop screeched up five yards from the car. Guthrie was at his door before he could get out.
With a last burst of power, I dashed for Gary’s car, swung in, and did a 180, pushing the passenger door so it popped open right next to Guthrie. He leapt in and I hit the gas.
We rounded the corner, laughing.
He leaned over and kissed me sideways. I could just see over his ear to drive. “We’re going to make one helluva team!”
I pulled up next to his truck and reached for him.
My cell phone rang.
I shrugged it off and pulled him to me for a long, giddy kiss, the kind we’d be sharing a lot after triumphs by Lott and Guthrie.
The phone started up again. I shrugged and clicked it on.
“Darcy!”
My brother John, I mouthed.
“There’s been a—”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“—a fire—”
“We all waited for you. We sat around the table, Darcy, waiting for you. You get us all here and then don’t show.”
“I can still—”
“Too late.” The phone clicked off. I could picture him stabbing his thumb into the button and slamming the phone shut.
“Oh, shit, it’s after eight.”
Guthrie was staring at me. “What?”
“I was supposed to be at Mom’s at seven. Shit. There was a family meeting; they all think I arranged it. They’re . . . pissed doesn’t begin to describe it.” I squeezed his arm. “I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. Trust me, you do not want to face this scene.”
He was deciding where to move the truck as I headed for the freeway. I made it almost to the gate before admitting I needed a few minutes to get myself together before heading onto the bridge. I pulled over and checked messages and got an earful.
7:46 P.M. “Darce, you okay?” Gary asked. “Call me. My car, is it okay? If you haven’t driven it into the Bay, you’re still in deep shit with
Similar Books
