A Bend in the Road (25 page)

“Stop! You’re
hurting him!” Sarah screamed.

Miles held up a
warning hand in her direction. “Stay out of this!”

“Why are you
doing this! You don’t have to hurt him!”

“He’s under
arrest!”

“It was an
accident!”

But Miles was
beyond reason, and he twisted Brian’s arm hard again, forcing him away from the
couch, away from Sarah, toward the front door. Brian almost stumbled, and Miles
grabbed at him, his fingers digging into Brian’s flesh.  Miles pushed Brian into the wall as he
reached for the handcuffs that were hanging on a peg near the door. Miles
slapped them around one wrist and then the next, pinching them tightly.

“Miles! Wait!”
Sarah shouted.

Miles opened the
door and pushed Brian out, forcing him onto the porch.

“You don’t
understand!”

Miles ignored
her. He grabbed Brian’s arm and began dragging him toward the car.  It was difficult for Brian to keep his
balance, and he stumbled. Sarah rushed up behind them.

“Miles!”

Miles spun
around. “I want you out of my life,” he hissed.

The hatred in his
voice shocked Sarah into stopping.

“You betrayed
me,” Miles said. “You used me.” He didn’t wait for Sarah to respond. “You
wanted to try to make things better—not for me and Jonah, but for you and
Brian. You thought if you did that, you’d feel better about yourself.” She
paled, incapable of saying anything.

“You knew from
the beginning,” he went on. “And you were willing to let me go on without ever
knowing the truth until someone else got arrested for it.”

“No, that’s not the way it happened—”

“Stop lying to
me!” he boomed. “How the hell can you live with yourself?” The comment lashed
at her, and she responded defensively. “You’ve got it all wrong, and you don’t
even care.”

“I don’t care?
I’m not the one who did anything wrong here.”

“Neither did I.”

“And you expect
me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!”
Then, despite her anger, Brian saw her eyes begin to well up with tears.

Miles paused
momentarily but showed no sympathy at all. “You don’t even know what the truth
is.”

With that, he
turned and opened the door to the car. He shoved Brian in, then slammed the
door and reached in his pocket for his keys. He pulled them out as he got in
behind the wheel.

Sarah was too
shocked to say anything more. She watched as Miles started the car, pressed the
accelerator, then jammed the car into gear. The tires squealed as the car moved
into reverse, backing toward the road. 
Miles never glanced her way, and a moment later, he vanished from sight.

Miles drove
erratically, smashing the accelerator and slamming on the brakes, as if testing
how hard he could push the car before one or the other ceased to work. More
than once, his arms locked behind him, Brian nearly toppled over as the car
careened through a turn. From his vantage point, Brian could see the muscle in
Miles’s jaw tensing and relaxing, as if someone were flicking a switch. Miles
held the wheel with both hands, and though he seemed to be concentrating on the
road, his eyes continually darted to the rearview mirror, where they sometimes
caught Brian’s.

Brian could see
the anger in his eyes. It was reflected plainly in the mirror, yet at the same
time, he saw something else there, something he hadn’t expected.  He saw the anguish in Miles’s eyes, and
Brian was reminded of the way Miles had looked at Missy’s funeral, trying and
failing to make sense of all that had happened. Brian wasn’t sure if the
anguish Miles was feeling came from Missy or Sarah, or even both. All he knew
was that it didn’t have anything to do with him.

From the corner
of his eye, Brian watched the trees whizzing past his window.  The road curved, and again Miles took the
turn without slowing down. Brian planted his feet; despite that, his body
shifted and he slid toward the window. 
In a few minutes, he knew, they would pass the spot of Missy’s accident.

• • •

The Good
Shepherd Community Church was located in Pollocksville, and the driver of the
church van, Bennie Wiggins, had never had so much as a speeding ticket in his
fifty-four years of driving. Though it was a source of pride for Bennie, the
reverend would have asked him to drive even if his record hadn’t been so good.  Volunteers were hard to find, especially
when the weather wasn’t so good, but Bennie was one he could always count on.

On that
morning, the reverend had asked Bennie to drive the van to New Bern to pick up
the donations of food and clothing that had been collected over the weekend,
and Bennie had shown up promptly. He’d driven in, had a cup of coffee and two
doughnuts while he waited for others to load the van, then had thanked everyone
for their help before getting behind the wheel to head back to the church.

It was a little
before ten when he turned onto Madame Moore’s Lane.  He reached for the radio, hoping to find some gospel music to
liven up the ride back. Even though the road was slick, he began fiddling with
the knob.  Up ahead and out of sight, he
had no way of knowing that another car was heading his way.

• • •

“I’m sorry,”
Brian finally said, “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.” At the sound of
his voice, Miles glanced in the mirror again. Instead of responding, however,
he cracked the window.

Cold air rushed
in. After a moment, Brian huddled down, his unzipped jacket flapping in the
wind.

In the
reflection, Miles stared at Brian with unbridled hatred.

• • •

Sarah sped
around the corner much as Miles had done, hoping to catch up with his car. He
had a head start—not much, maybe a couple of minutes, but how far was that? A
mile? More? She wasn’t exactly sure, and as the car hit a straight stretch, she
pressed the accelerator even harder.

She had to
catch them. She couldn’t leave Brian in his care, not after the uncontrolled
fury she had seen in his face, not after what he’d nearly done to Otis.

She wanted to
be there when Miles brought Brian in, but the problem was that she didn’t know
where the sheriff’s department was. She knew where the police station was, the
courthouse, even the City Hall, since they were all located downtown. But she’d
never been to the sheriff’s department. For all she knew, it was located in the
outer reaches of the county somewhere. 
She could stop and call, or check a phonebook somewhere, but that would
only put her farther behind, she thought frantically. She would stop if she had
to. If she didn’t see him in the next couple of minutes . . .

• • •

Commercials.

Bennie Wiggins
shook his head. Commercials and more commercials. That’s all there was on the
radio these days. Water softeners, car dealerships, alarm systems . . . after
every other song, he heard the same litany of businesses hawking their wares.

The sun was
beginning to peek over the treetops, and the glare from the snow caught Bennie
off-guard. He squinted and pulled down the visor just as the radio faded into
silence for a moment.

Another
commercial. This one promised to teach your child to read. He reached for the
knob.

He didn’t
notice that as he eyes locked on the dial, he began drifting over the center
line. . . .

• • •

“Sarah didn’t
know,” Brian finally offered into the silence. “Sarah didn’t know about any of
it.”

Over the wind,
Brian wasn’t sure if Miles could hear him, but he had to try. He knew this was
the last chance he would get to speak to Miles without other people around.
Whatever lawyer his father would arrange for him would advise him to say
nothing more than he had already said. And Miles, he suspected, would be
ordered to stay away from him.

But Miles had
to know the truth about Sarah. Not so much for the future—as Brian saw it, they
had no chance at all—but because he couldn’t bear the thought of Miles
believing that Sarah had known all along. He didn’t want Miles to hate her.
Sarah, above everyone, didn’t deserve that. Unlike Miles or him, Sarah hadn’t
had any part in this at all.

“She never told
me who she was seeing. I was away at school and I didn’t find out until
Thanksgiving that it was you. But I didn’t tell her about the accident until
yesterday. She didn’t know anything until then. I know you don’t want to
believe me. . . .”

“You think I
should believe you?” Miles shot back.

“She didn’t know
anything,” Brian repeated. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“What would you
lie about, then?”

Brian regretted the
words as soon as he’d said them and felt the chill cut through him as he
imagined his answer.Going to the funeral. His dreams. Watching Jonah at school.
Stalking Miles at his home . . .

Brian shook his
head slightly, forcing the thought away. “Sarah didn’t do anything wrong,” he
said instead, avoiding the question. 
But Miles persisted. “Answer me,” he said. “What would you lie about?
The dog, maybe?”

“No.”

“Missy didn’t
jump in front of your car.”

“She didn’t mean
to. She couldn’t help it. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just happened. It was an
accident.”

“No, it
wasn’t!”Miles boomed, wheeling around. Despite the roar of the wind from the
open windows, the sound seemed to ricochet in the car. “You weren’t paying
attention and you ran her down!”

“No,” Brian
insisted. He was less afraid of Miles than he knew he should be. He felt calm,
like an actor reciting his lines by rote. No fear. Just a sense of profound
exhaustion. “It happened just like I told you.” Miles pointed his finger at
Brian, halfway turned in his seat now. “You killed her and you ran!”

“No—I stopped
and I looked for her. And when I found her . . .” Brian trailed off.

In his mind he
saw Missy, lying in the ditch, her body angled wrong. Staring up at him.

Staring at
nothing.

“I felt sick,
like I was going to die, too.” Brian paused, turning away from Miles. “I
covered her up with a blanket,” he whispered. “I didn’t want anyone else to see
her that way.”

• • •

Bennie Wiggins
finally found a song he wanted. The glare was intense and he sat straight in
his seat just as he realized where he was on the road. He righted the van,
guiding it back in his lane.

The approaching
car was close now.

He still didn’t
see it.

• • •

Miles flinched
when Brian mentioned the blanket, and for the first time Brian knew that he was
really listening, despite his shouts to the contrary. Brian kept talking,
oblivious to Miles, oblivious to the cold.

Oblivious to
the fact that Miles’s attention was focused entirely on him and not on the
road.

“I should have
called then, that night, after I got home. It was wrong. There’s no excuse for
it, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to you and I’m sorry for what I did
to Jonah.”

To Brian, his
voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else.  “I didn’t know that keeping it inside was worse. It ate away at
me. I know you don’t want to believe that, but it did. I couldn’t sleep. I
couldn’t eat—” “I don’t care!”

“I couldn’t
stop thinking about it. And I’ve never stopped thinking about it. I even bring
flowers to Missy’s grave. . . .”

• • •

Bennie Wiggins
finally saw the car as he rounded a bend in the road.  It was happening so fast, it almost didn’t seem real. The car was
headed right at him, jumping from slow motion to full speed with terrifying inevitability.  Bennie’s mind clicked into overdrive, trying
frantically to process the information.

No, that
couldn’t be. . . . Why would he be driving in my lane? That doesn’t make sense.
. . . But he is driving in my lane. Doesn’t he see me? He’s got to see me. . .
. He’ll jerk the wheel and right himself.

All this
happened in less than a few seconds, but in their span, Bennie knew with utter
certainty that whoever was driving was going too fast to get out of the way in
time.

They were
heading straight for each other.

• • •

Brian caught the
reflection of the sun against the windshield of the approaching van just as it
rounded the corner. He stopped talking in midsentence and his first instinct
was to use his hands to brace himself for the impact. He jerked hard enough for
the handcuffs to cut into his wrists as he arched his back, screaming,“Watch
out!”

Miles whipped
around, then immediately, instinctively, jerked the wheel hard as the cars
closed in on each other. Brian tumbled to the side, and as his head slammed
into the side window, he was struck by the utter absurdity of what was
happening.

This had all
started with him in a car on Madame Moore’s Lane.

And this was how
it would end.

He braced himself
for the thunderous impact that was coming.

Only it never
came.

He did feel a
hard thump, but it was toward the rear of the car, on his side.

The car began to
slide and left the road just as Miles slammed on the brakes.

The car shot over
the snow, just off the road, closing in on a speed limit sign.

Miles struggled
to keep control, then felt the wheels catch at the last moment.

The car swerved
again and jerked suddenly, coming to a halt in a ditch.  Brian landed on the floor, dazed and
confused, crumpled between the seats; it took a moment for him to orient
himself. He gasped for air, as if surfacing from the bottom of a pool. He
didn’t feel the cuts on his wrist.  Nor
did he see the blood that had been smeared against the window.

Are you okay?”

Sounds were
fading in and out, and Brian groaned. He was struggling to get off the floor of
the car, his arms still manacled behind his back.  Miles pushed open the door, then opened Brian’s. Cautiously he
pulled Brian out and helped him to his feet. The side of Brian’s head was
matted with blood that was also dripping down his cheek. Brian tried to stand
on his own but staggered, and Miles took his arm again.

“Hold on—your
head’s bleeding. You sure you’re okay?” Brian swayed a little as the world
around them moved in circles. It took a moment for him to understand the
question. In the distance, Miles could see the driver of the van climbing out
of his vehicle.

“Yeah . . . I
think so. My head hurts. . . .”

Miles kept his
hand on Brian’s arm as he glanced up the road again. The driver of the van—an
elderly man—was crossing the road now, coming toward them. Miles bent Brian
forward and gently checked the wound, then stood Brian up again, looking
relieved. Despite Brian’s dizziness, the expression on Miles’s face struck him
as preposterous, considering the last half hour.  “It doesn’t look deep. Just a surface cut,” Miles said. Then,
holding up a couple of fingers, he asked, “How many?”

Brian squinted,
concentrating as they came into focus. “Two.”

Miles tried
again. “Now how many?”

Same routine.
“Four.”

“How’s the rest
of your vision? Any spots? Black around the edges?”

Brian shook his
head gingerly, his eyes halfway closed.

“Broken bones?
Your arms okay? Your legs?”

Brian took a
moment, testing out his limbs, still having trouble keeping his balance. As he
rolled his shoulders, he winced. “My wrist hurts.” “Hold on a second.” Miles
pulled the keys from his pocket and removed the handcuffs. One of Brian’s hands
went immediately to his head. One wrist felt bruised and achy, the other seemed
stiff to the point of immobility. With his hand on the wound, blood seeped
between his fingers.  “Can you stand on
your own?” Miles asked.

Brian knew he
was still swaying slightly, but he nodded and Miles went to his door again. On
the floor was a T-shirt that Jonah had left in the car, and Miles grabbed it. He
brought it back and pressed it against the gash in Brian’s head.  “Can you hold this?”

Brian nodded
and took it just as the driver, looking pale and scared, came huffing up.

“Are you guys
okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re
fine,” Miles answered automatically.

The driver, still
shaken up, turned from Miles to Brian. He saw the blood trickling down Brian’s
cheek, and his mouth contorted.  “He’s
bleeding pretty bad.”

“It’s not as
bad as it looks,” Miles offered.

“Don’t you
think he needs an ambulance? Maybe I should call—” “It’s all right,” Miles
said, cutting him off. “I’m with the sheriff’s department. I’ve checked it out
and he’ll be fine.”

Brian felt like
a bystander, despite the pain in his wrists and head.  “You’re a sheriff?” The other driver took a step back and glanced
toward Brian for support. “He was over the line. It wasn’t my fault. . . .”
Miles held up his hands. “Listen . . .”

The driver’s
eyes locked on the handcuffs Miles still held and his eyes widened.  “I tried to get out of the way, but you were
in my lane,” he said, suddenly defensive.

“Hold on—what’s
your name?” Miles asked, trying to control the situation.

“Bennie Wiggins,”
he answered. “I wasn’t speeding. You were in my lane.”

“Hold on . . . ,”
Miles said again.

“You were over
the line,” the driver repeated. “You can’t arrest me for this. I was being
careful.”

“I’m not going
to arrest you.”

“Then who are
those for?” he said, pointing at the handcuffs.  Before Miles could answer, Brian cut in. “They were on me,” he
said. “He was bringing me in.”

The driver
looked at them as if he didn’t understand, but before he could say anything,
Sarah’s car came to a sliding halt near them. They all turned as she scrambled
out, looking frightened, confused, and angry all at once.  “What happened?” she shouted. She looked
them all over before her eyes finally locked on Brian. When she saw the blood
she went toward him. “Are you okay?” she asked, pulling him away from Miles.

Though still
woozy, Brian nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. . . .” She turned toward Miles furiously.
“What the hell did you do to him? Did you hit him?”

“No,” Miles
answered with a quick shake of the head. “There was an accident.”

“He was over the
line,” the driver suddenly offered, pointing toward Miles.

“An accident?”
Sarah demanded, turning toward him.

“I was just
driving along,” he continued, “and when I rounded the curve, this guy was
coming right at me. I swerved, but I couldn’t get out of the way. It was his
fault. I hit him, but I couldn’t help it—” “Barely,” Miles interrupted. “He
grazed the rear end of my car and I swerved off the road. We barely bumped each
other.”

Sarah turned her
attention to Brian again, suddenly not knowing what to believe.

“Are you sure
you’re okay?”

Brian nodded.

“What really
happened?” she asked.

After a long
moment, Brian pulled his hand away from his head. The shirt was wet and spongy,
soaked in red. “It was an accident,” he said. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It
just happened.”

It was, of
course, the truth. Miles hadn’t seen the van because he was turned around in his
seat. Brian knew he hadn’t meant for it to happen.  What Brian didn’t realize was that these were the same words he’d
used when describing the accident with Missy, the same words he’d said to Miles
in the car, the same words he’d repeated to himself ad nauseam for the last two
years.  Miles, though, didn’t miss it.

Sarah closed in
on Brian again, slipping her arm around him. Brian closed his eyes, feeling
suddenly weak again.

“I’m taking him
to the hospital,” Sarah announced. “He needs to see a doctor.”

With a gentle
nudge, she began to lead him away from the car.

Miles took a step toward them. “You can’t do that—”

“Try and stop
me,” she cut him off. “You’re not getting anywhere near him again.”

“Hold on,” Miles
said, and Sarah turned, looking at him contemptuously.

“You don’t have
to worry. We’re not going to make a run for it.”

“What’s going
on?” the driver asked, panic in his voice. “Why are they leaving?”

“None of your
business,” Miles answered.

• • •

All he could do
was stare.

He couldn’t
bring Brian in looking the way he did, nor could he leave the scene until the
situation there was settled. He supposed that he could have stopped them, but
Brian needed to see a doctor, and if he held on to him, he’d have to explain
what was going on to whoever came to investigate—something he didn’t feel up to
right then. So instead, feeling almost helpless, he did nothing. When Brian
glanced back, however, he heard the words once more.  It was an accident. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Brian, Miles
knew, was wrong about that. He hadn’t been watching the road—hell, he hadn’t
even been facing the right direction—because of the things Brian had been
saying.

About Sarah.
About the blanket. About the flowers.

He hadn’t
wanted to believe him then, nor did he want to believe him now. Yet .  . . he knew Brian wasn’t lying about those
things. He’d seen the blanket, he’d seen flowers at the grave every time he’d
gone . . .

Miles closed
his eyes, trying to shake the thought.

None of that
matters and you know it. Of course Brian was sorry. He’d killed someone. Who
wouldn’t be sorry?

That was what
he’d been screaming at Brian when it happened. When he should have been
watching the road. But instead—ignoring everything but his own anger—he’d
almost driven head-on into another driver.

He’d almost
killed them all.

But afterward,
even though Brian had been hurt, Brian had covered for him. And as he watched
Brian and Sarah shuffling off, he knew instinctively that Brian would always
cover for him.

Why?

Because he felt
guilty and it was another way to ask for forgiveness? To hold something over
Miles? Or had he really believed what he’d said?  In his mind, that might be how he saw it. Miles hadn’t meant for
it to happen, after all, so that made it an accident.

As it had been
with Missy?

Miles shook his
head.No . . .

That was
different, he told himself. And it wasn’t Missy’s fault, either.

The breeze kicked
up, swirling with light snow flurries.

Or was it?

It doesn’t
matter, he told himself again. Not now. It’s too late for that.  Up on the road, Sarah was opening the car
door for Brian. She helped him in and glanced toward Miles, not hiding her
anger.

Not hiding how
much she’d been hurt by his words.

Sarah hadn’t
known until yesterday, Brian had said.She never even told me who you were.

At the house
only minutes ago, it seemed so obvious that Sarah had known all along. But now,
with the way she was looking at him, it suddenly wasn’t so clear. The Sarah
he’d fallen in love with wasn’t capable of deceit.  He felt his shoulders give just a little.

No, he knew
that Brian hadn’t lied about that. Nor had he lied about the blanket or the
flowers or how sorry he’d been. And if he’d told the truth about those things .
. .

Could he be
telling the truth about the accident as well?

That question
kept coming back to him, no matter how much he resisted it.  Sarah turned away and went around to the
driver’s side. Miles knew he could still stop them. If he really wanted to, he
could stop them.  But he didn’t.

He needed time
to think—about everything he’d heard today, about Brian’s confession . . .

And more than
that, he decided as he watched Sarah slide behind the wheel, he needed time to
think about Sarah.

• • •

Within a few
minutes, a highway patrolman arrived—a resident of one of the nearby houses had
called the incident in—and began making the report. Bennie was busy explaining
his version just as Charlie pulled up. The officer took a moment to talk to him
up on the road. Charlie nodded before approaching Miles.  He was leaning against the car, his arms crossed,
apparently lost in thought.

Charlie ran a
slow hand along the dent and scrape.

“For such a
little dent, you look like hell.”

Miles glanced up
in surprise. “Charlie? What are you doing here?”

“Heard you were
in an accident.”

“Word travels
fast.”

Charlie shrugged.
“You know how it goes.” He dusted the snowflakes from his jacket. “You okay?”

Miles nodded.
“Yeah. A little rattled, that’s all.”

“What happened?”

Miles shrugged.
“Just lost control. The roads were a little slick.”

Charlie waited to
see if Miles would add anything else.

“That’s it?”

“Like you said,
it’s just a little dent.”

Charlie studied
him. “Well, at least you’re not hurt. The other driver seems fine, too.”

Miles nodded, and
Charlie joined him against the car.

“Anything else
you want to tell me?”

When Miles didn’t
answer, Charlie cleared his throat. “The officer tells me that there was
someone else in the car with you, someone who was wearing handcuffs, but that a
lady came and took him away. Said she was taking him to the hospital.  Now . . .” He paused, pulling his jacket a
little tighter. “An accident is one thing, Miles. But there’s a lot more than
that going on here. Who was in the car with you?”

“He wasn’t hurt
that bad, if that’s what you’re worried about. I checked him out and he’ll be
okay.”

“Just answer
the question. You’re in enough trouble already. Now, who were you bringing in?”

Miles shifted
from one foot to the other. “Brian Andrews,” he answered. “Sarah’s brother.”

“So she’s the one
who took him to the hospital?”

Miles nodded.

“And he was
wearing handcuffs?”

No use trying to
lie about it. He nodded shortly.

“Did you somehow
forget that you’re on suspension?” Charlie asked. “That officially, you’re not
allowed to arrest anyone?”

“I know.”

“Then what the
hell were you doing? What was so damn critical that you couldn’t call it in?”
He paused, meeting Miles’s eyes. “I need the truth now—I’ll get it eventually,
but I want to hear it from you first. What was he doing, dealing drugs?”

“No.”

“You catch him
stealing a car?”

“No.”

“A fight of some
sort?”

“No.”

“Then what was
it?”

Though a part of
Miles was tempted to tell Charlie the whole crazy truth, to tell him that Brian
had killed Missy, he couldn’t seem to find the words. Not yet, anyway. Not
until he’d figured everything out.

“It’s
complicated,” Miles finally answered.

Charlie pushed
his hands into his pockets. “Try me.”

Miles glanced
away. “I need a little time to figure things out.”

“Figure what out?
It’s a simple question, Miles.”

Nothing is simple
about this.

“Do you trust
me?” Miles asked suddenly.

“Yeah, I trust
you. But that’s not the point.”

“Before we go
into everything that happened, I have to think this through.”

“Oh, c’mon—”

“Please,
Charlie. Can you give me just a little time? I know I’ve had you jumping through
hoops these last couple of days and I’ve been acting crazy, but I really need
this from you. And it has nothing to do with Otis or Sims or anything like
that—I swear I won’t go anywhere near them.” Something in the earnestness of
Miles’s plea, the weary confusion he saw in his eyes, told Charlie how much
Miles needed this from him.  He didn’t
like it, not at all. Something was going on here, something big, and he didn’t
like not knowing what it was.