Not Guilty (28 page)

“Whew,” said Dylan.

“I know,” Nicole whispered. She held the baby and rocked in the chair, keeping her gaze on the baby’s face. “When did you get home?” she asked casually.

He realized instantly that she knew where he had been. There wasn’t much point in pretending. “Today,” he said.

Nicole nodded, and there was an awkward silence. Finally Nicole said, “Where’d your mom go?”

Dylan looked at the clock again. “She just went out,” he said irritably. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Nicole shrugged. “I was supposed to come over here and pretend it
was my idea to ask her, and you, too, if you want, to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Whose idea was it?” Dylan asked.

“My dad’s,” she said. “I think he kinda likes your mother.”

“Divorced?” Dylan asked.

Nicole shook her head. She kept her gaze fastened to Abby. “My mom died.”

Dylan nodded. “Oh. Sorry.”

Nicole shrugged in acknowledgment.

Dylan sighed. “Well, thanks for asking, but right now, I don’t know what she wants to do,” he said. He walked over to the window and stared out into the darkness. “I don’t even know where she is.”

Y
ou were lucky,” said the man in coveralls who had arrived from the towing service. “Damn lucky you didn’t tip over. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to pull these SUVs upright after an accident like this.”

Keely nodded. She was shivering uncontrollably.

“You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” the tow truck operator asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Keely whispered.

The man made some notes on a clipboard and handed it to Keely.
“Here, sign this. You should call the cops on that guy, you know. These kind of nuts cause more trouble. I don’t know why everybody’s in such a big hurry these days. I’d call ’em if I were you.”

“I just want to get home,” said Keely. “I have two kids waiting for me.”

The driver shrugged. “Well, she’s good to go. You sure you’re okay now?”

“I’m okay,” Keely insisted, scribbling her signature in the spot marked by an X.

The man gave Keely back her auto service card, then walked over and climbed back up into the cab of his truck. “Keep ’er in the road,” he called down to Keely.

Keely nodded and climbed back into the SUV. She turned on the ignition, then slid the heat indicator as high as it would go. In a few minutes, the vehicle’s interior was stifling. Keely felt her chills subsiding, but she still didn’t feel ready to start driving. She picked up her cell phone out of her bag and stared at it. Then slowly, she punched in the number at home.

“Hello?”

“Dylan,” she said. “Is everything all right there?”

“Yeah, where the heck are you, Mom?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s okay,” she lied.

“Did you see the guy?”

“What? What guy?”

“The pizza guy.”

“No,” she said. “No, I didn’t. I waited for a long time, but he didn’t show up.”

“Oh,” he said. She could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“Is Abby okay?”

“Yeah. She had a meltdown, but that girl Nicole came by. She helped me scrape her off the ceiling.”

“She’s okay now?”

“Yeah, she’s sleeping.”

“Okay, good,” Keely whispered.

“Nicole’s dad wanted to ask us over for dinner or something,” he said offhandedly.

Keely did not reply.

“Mom?”

“I heard you.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t sound right,” said Dylan.

“I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m on my way home. Why don’t you lock the door and get up to bed. You sound very tired.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll see.”

There was a silence.

“I just wanted to check,” said Keely, “to be sure you and Abby were okay.”

“You didn’t trust me?” he asked.

“You know better,” she said.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, hanging up.

Keely exhaled and put the phone back in her purse on the seat. She glanced up and down the street, but there was no sign of another car.
It was just some nut,
she told herself.
He had some frustration to burn and you just happened to be in his path.
That’s what it had to be. It had to be
because she couldn’t allow herself to think it might have been deliberate. That someone had followed her and run her off the road on purpose. No, it wasn’t possible.

Keely glanced into her mirror and put her shaking hands on the wheel. She suddenly felt afraid to get back out on the road. Part of her just wanted to sit there and weep. But she was desperate to be home, and there was only one way to get back to her children. She took a deep breath, shifted the SUV out of park, then nosed it back out onto the quiet, empty street.

T
HE HOUSE WAS PEACEFUL
when she arrived back. Once she had locked and bolted the doors and checked on Abby, Keely called softly up the stairs. Dylan grumbled in reply. Satisfied, Keely went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. She was delaying going up to Dylan’s room. She thought perhaps, if she waited long enough, he would be asleep. He needed his rest, she told herself. But she knew that, most of all, she didn’t want to have to explain to him what had happened. Maybe by the morning he would forget to even ask her. Or if he asked her, she could satisfy him with some vague reply. He didn’t need extra worry at this point in his life. He didn’t need fear. She sipped and dawdled over her tea until it was cold in the cup. She could still feel the sickening sensation of the other car bumping her vehicle; the tires slipping, and the car starting to spin. Try as she might, she could recall nothing about that other car—another good reason not to call the police. She hadn’t paid any attention to it until it was assaulting her with the high beams. By then, it was impossible to see it. All she could see was a blinding light. She got up and dumped the contents of her teacup into the sink. Then, having stalled as long as she could, she tiptoed up the stairs and down the hall to the door of Dylan’s room. She saw that it was standing open a few inches. Inside the room was dark and silent.

She pushed the door open. In the darkness, she could see the outline of his head on the pillow and discern the shape of his body in his T-shirt and sweatpants sprawled on the bed, his feet sticking out from beneath an afghan Ingrid had made for him.
Oh, good,
she thought with a sigh.
He’s sleeping.

“Mom?”

Keely started. “Hi, sweetie,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Keely hesitated in the doorway. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry or anything?”

The figure on the bed was silent.

She came into the room. “Dylan?” she said.

“I don’t need anything,” he said irritably.

She hated that note of impatience in his voice, as if everything she did was aggravating to him. It was as if they had made no progress at all, were no closer than they had been . . . before.

“What’s the matter, Dylan?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“What took you so long tonight?” he asked.

Immediately, she started to formulate a lie. But then she realized she was doing it again, the very thing she had vowed not to do—treating him as if she couldn’t trust him with the truth. As if he were too young to understand.

“Well, I . . . I did stay there a long while and wait for the man to show up,” she said. “When he didn’t come back, I left and started driving home. There was a driver following me. I . . . we nearly got into an accident. The Bronco went off the road. I had to call a tow truck.”

He sat up in his bed. “What happened? You stopped short?”

Keely chewed on her lower lip, considering how much she should
say.

“What happened, Mom?” he demanded.

“I don’t want you to get upset, Dylan. You just got home and you’re—”

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“The other car . . . ran me off the road,” she said.

He was silent. She could not see his face in the darkness of the room. “I don’t know what I did to provoke this guy,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I must have done something, because one minute, I was driving along, and the next minute, he was rear-ending my car with his. The road was wet, and before I knew it—”

“He could have killed you,” he said flatly.

“Oh, now, none of that, honey. It wasn’t that serious.”

“But it could have been,” he said.

“Well, it wasn’t,” she said firmly.

He was silent for a minute. Then he said coldly, “What if you did die?”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m not going to die.”

“Why is it silly? Dad did.”

She noticed that he did not mention Mark. “I didn’t mean silly,” she said carefully. “It’s not silly. It’s probably only natural, after all you’ve experienced, that you might worry. But Dylan, you know very well that Dad . . . took his own life.”

Dylan reached automatically for the bandage that was still on his neck. Keely thought about Dr. Stover’s words. That Dylan had a lot of pain about Richard’s death that he hadn’t expressed.
This isn’t a good time,
she thought immediately. And then she had to admit to herself that she was just trying to spare herself a difficult conversation. When
would
be a good time? She walked over to the edge of his bed and sat down.

“We’ve never really talked about Dad’s death all that much,” she said.

“We talked about it,” he said defensively.

“You were such a little boy when it happened. Finding him like that—it was terrible for you, I know. I probably should have gotten someone to talk with you about it. Someone professional who could have helped you through it. I tried to help you, but obviously I didn’t do a very good job.”

“I don’t want to discuss this,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Why are you stirring this up again?”

“I just want to be sure that you understand, Dylan. Dad’s death—it didn’t have anything to do with you. He loved you so much. He didn’t want to leave you. Or me. It was just the headaches. He was suffering so.”

There was a tomblike silence from where he sat on the bed.

“You probably don’t remember all of this, but his life had become a torment to him. He went to every doctor, he tried every kind of treatment.
Nothing helped. The headaches were coming closer and closer together. There was no relief. He just couldn’t keep going on that way,” she said. “I don’t know if I ever really explained this to you—”

“You don’t know anything,” he said in a strangled voice.

She was startled by his accusation. “Dylan!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Forget it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “Why did you say that?”

There was silence again from the bed. She waited.

“I shouldn’t have said that . . .” he muttered.

“But you did.”

“I just don’t want to talk about this,” he said.

“Well, I’m sorry, but not talking about it has only led us to grief. Now, if you have something to say to me, why don’t you just say it? If you blame me, just go ahead and say so. I won’t be mad at you. I promise.”

There was another long silence. When he spoke, his words were completely unexpected. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you,” he said.
“About Dad.”

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. “Really?” she asked, trying to sound calm.

Dylan sighed. “You’re going to be pissed at me.”

Keely shook her head, though her heart was beating a cadence in her ears. She tried to make her voice sound unruffled.

“Try me,” she said.

“It happened . . . It’s about when . . . Dad died.”