A Bend in the Road (27 page)

Miles didn’t
come for me that night.

Bone tired, I
remember forcing myself from my bed at dawn the following morning to shower. I
was stiff from the accident, and as I turned the faucet on, I felt a shooting
pain from my chest to my back. My head was tender when I washed my hair. My
wrists ached when I ate breakfast, but I finished before my parents made it to
the table, knowing that if they saw me wince, they would ask questions I wasn’t
prepared to answer. My father was heading into work; because it was nearly
Christmas, I knew my mother would head out for errands as well.  I would tell them later, after Miles came
for me.

Sarah called
that morning to check on me. I asked the same questions of her. She told me
that Miles had come by the night before, that they talked for a minute, but
that she didn’t know what to make of it.

I told her that I
didn’t, either.

But I waited.
Sarah waited. My parents went on with their lives.

In the afternoon,
Sarah called again.

“No, he still
hasn’t come,” I told her. He hadn’t called her, either.

The day passed,
the evening came. Still no Miles.

On Wednesday,
Sarah went back to school. I told her to go, that I’d reach her at the school
if Miles came. It was the last week of school before Christmas break, and she
had work to do. I stayed home, waiting for Miles.  I waited in vain.

Then it was
Thursday and I knew what I had to do.

• • •

In the car,
Miles waited as he sipped a cup of coffee he’d picked up at a convenience
store. The gun was on the seat beside him, beneath a fold of newspapers, fully
loaded and ready to go. The side window was beginning to steam with his breath,
and he wiped it with his hand. He needed to see clearly.  He was in the right place; he knew that. Now
all he had to do was watch carefully, and when the time was right, he would
act.

• • •

That afternoon,
just before dusk, the sky was glowing red and orange over the horizon as I got
in the car. Though it was still chilly, the bitter cold had passed and
temperatures had returned to normal. The rain over the previous couple of days
had melted all the snow; where I once saw lawns blanketed in white, I now saw
the familiar brown of centipede grass, gone dormant over the winter. Wreaths
and red bows decorated windows and doors in my neighborhood, but in the car I
felt disconnected from the season, as if I’d slept through it all and had
another year to wait.

I made a single
stop on my way, my usual. I think the man there had come to know me, since I
made the same purchase every time. When he saw me come in, he waited by the
counter, nodded when I told him what I wanted, then returned a few minutes
later. We had never shared small talk in all the time I’d been coming to his
shop. He didn’t ask me what they were for; he never did.

He did,
however, say the same thing every time he handed them to me:

“They’re the
freshest I’ve got.”

He took my
money and rang up the purchase. On my way back to the car, I could smell them,
their sweet, honeyed fragrance, and I knew he was right. The flowers, once
again, were beautiful.

I set them on
the car seat beside me. I followed roads familiar to me, roads I wish I’d never
traveled, and I parked outside the gates. I steeled myself as I stepped out of
the car.

I saw no one in
the cemetery. Gripping my jacket near the collar to pull it tighter, I walked
with my head down; I didn’t have to watch where I was going.  The ground was wet, clinging to my feet. In
a minute, I was at the grave.

As always, I
was struck by how small it was.

It was
ridiculous to think this, but as I stared, I couldn’t help it. The grave, I
noticed, was well tended. The grass was neatly trimmed, and there was a silk
carnation in a small holder in front of the headstone. It was red, as was every
other carnation near every other headstone I could see, and I knew that the
groundskeeper had placed them all.

I bent over and
propped the flowers against the granite, making sure not to touch the stone. I
never had. It wasn’t, nor had it ever been, mine.  Afterwards, my mind drifted. Usually, I thought about Missy and
the wrong decisions I had made; on that day, I found my thoughts drawn to
Miles.  I think that was the reason why
I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until they were already upon me.

• • •

“Flowers,”
Miles said.

Brian turned at
the sound of his voice, half-surprised, half-terrified.  Miles was standing near an oak tree whose
limbs fanned out over the ground. He was wearing a long black coat and jeans;
his hands were buried in his pockets. 
Brian felt the blood drain from his face.

“She doesn’t need
flowers anymore,” Miles said. “You can stop bringing them.”

Brian didn’t
respond. What was there really to say?

Miles stared at
him. With the sun sinking below the horizon, his face was shadowed and dark,
his features hidden. Brian had no idea what he was thinking.  Miles pushed the coat outward with both
hands, as if he were holding something beneath its folds.

Hiding
something.

Miles made no
move toward Brian, and for a fleeting second, Brian had the urge to run. To
escape. He was younger by fifteen years, after all—a quick burst might be
enough to allow him to reach the road. Cars would be there, people would be all
around.

But just as
quickly as the thought came, it left him, draining whatever energy he had. He
didn’t have any reserves left. He hadn’t eaten for days. He’d never make it,
not if Miles really wanted to catch him.

And more than
that, Brian knew he didn’t have any place to go.  So Brian faced him. Miles was twenty feet away, and Brian saw his
chin rise slightly. Miles met his gaze. Brian waited for him to do something,
make a gesture; perhaps, he thought, Miles was waiting for the same thing. It
struck Brian that they must have looked like a couple of gunfighters in the Old
West, preparing to draw.

When the silence
became too much to bear, Brian looked away, toward the street.

He noticed that
Miles’s car was parked behind his, the only two he could see.

They were alone
here, among the gravestones.

“How did you know
I was here?” Brian finally asked.

Miles took his
time in answering. “I followed you,” he said. “I figured you’d be leaving the
house sometime and I wanted to be alone with you.” Brian swallowed, wondering
how long Miles had been watching him. 
“You bring flowers, but you don’t even know who she was, do you?” Miles
said quietly. “If you knew her, you would have been bringing tulips. Those were
the ones she would have wanted here. Those were her favorite—yellows, reds,
pinks—she loved them all. She used to plant a garden every spring with
tulips.  Did you know that?”

No, Brian
thought, I didn’t. In the distance, he heard the whistle of a train.  “Did you know that Missy used to worry about
the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes? Or that her favorite breakfast was
French toast? Or that she always wanted to own a classic Mustang convertible?
Or that when she laughed, it was all I could do to keep my hands off her? Did
you know she was the first woman I’d ever loved?”

Miles paused,
willing Brian to look at him.

“That’s all I
have left now. Memories. And there will never be any more. You took that from me.
And you took that from Jonah, too. Did you know that Jonah has had nightmares
since she died? That he still cries out for his mother in his sleep? I have to
take him in my arms and hold him for hours until it finally stops. Do you know
how that makes me feel?”

His eyes
pierced Brian’s, pinning him to the patch of ground where he stood.  “I spent two years looking for the man who
ruined my life. Jonah’s life. I lost those two years because it was all I could
think about.” Miles glanced toward the ground and shook his head.

“I wanted to
find the person who killed her. I wanted that person to know how much he’d
taken away from me that night. And I wanted the man who killed Missy to pay for
what he did. You have no idea how much those thoughts consumed me.  Part of me still wants to kill him. To do
the same thing to his family that he did to mine. And now, I’m looking at the
man who did it. And this man is putting the wrong flowers on my wife’s grave.”

Brian felt his
throat constrict.

“You killed my
wife,” he said. “I’ll never forgive you, and I’ll never forget.  When you look in the mirror, I want you to
remember that. And I don’t want you to ever forget all that you took from me.
You took away the person that I loved most in the world, you took my son’s mother,
and you took two years from my life. Do you understand?”

After a long
moment, Brian nodded.

“Then
understand something else. Sarah can know what happened here, but only her. You
take this conversation—and everything else—to your grave. Tell no one else
about any part of it. Ever. Not your parents, not your wife, not your kids, not
your minister, not your buddies. And make sure you do something with your life,
something that doesn’t make me regret what I’m doing. Promise me those things.”

Miles stared, making
sure Brian had heard him, until Brian nodded again. Then, Miles turned to
leave. A minute later, he was gone.

Only then did
Brian realize that Miles was letting him go.

• • •

Later that
night, when Miles opened the door, Sarah simply stood on the doorstep looking
at him wordlessly, until Miles finally stepped out, closing the door behind
him.

“Jonah’s home,”
he said. “We’ll talk outside.”

Sarah crossed
her arms and looked out over the yard. Miles followed her eyes.  “I’m not sure why I’m here,” she said.
“Thanking you doesn’t seem very appropriate, but I can’t ignore what you did,
either.”

Miles nodded
almost imperceptibly.

“I’m so sorry
for everything. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been going through.”

“No,” he said.
“You can’t.”

“I didn’t know
about Brian. I really didn’t.”

“I know.” He
glanced toward her. “I shouldn’t have believed it otherwise. And I’m sorry for
the accusations.”

Sarah shook her
head. “Don’t be.”

He looked away,
seeming to struggle for words. “I guess I should thank you for letting me know
what really happened.”

“I had to. I
didn’t have a choice.” Then, after he grew quiet again, Sarah brought her hands
together. “How’s Jonah doing with all this?” “Okay. Not great. He doesn’t know
anything, but I think he sensed that something was going on by the way I was
acting. He’s had a couple of nightmares in the last few days. How’s he doing in
school?”

“So far, he’s
fine. In the last couple of days, I haven’t noticed anything unusual.”

“That’s good.”

Sarah ran a
hand through her hair. “Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if
you don’t want to.”

Miles turned.
“Why did I let Brian go?”

She nodded.

It took a long
time to answer. “I saw the dog.”

She turned toward
him in surprise.

“A big black dog,
just like Brian said. He was running around in a yard a couple of houses up
from where the accident happened.”

“You just drove
by and happened to see him?”

“No, not exactly.
I went looking for him.”

“To find out if
Brian was telling the truth?”

He shook his
head. “No, not really. I pretty much knew that he was telling the truth by
then. But I had this crazy notion in my head that I just couldn’t get rid of.”

“What notion?”

“Like I said, it
was crazy.”

She looked at him
curiously, waiting.

“When I got home
that day—when Brian told me, I mean—I just got to thinking that I had to do
something. Someone had to pay for what happened, but I just didn’t know who
until it hit me. So I got my father’s gun, and the next night, I went out to
look for the damn dog.”

“You were going
to shoot the dog?”

He shrugged. “I
wasn’t sure I’d even get the chance, but as soon as I pulled up, there he was.
He was chasing a squirrel through the yard.” “So you did it?”

“No. I got
close enough to do it, but when I got him in my sights, I got to thinking how
insane it was. I mean, I was out hunting somebody’s pet. Only someone seriously
deranged would do that. So I turned around and got in my car.  I let him go.”

She smiled. “Like
Brian.”

“Yeah,” he said.
“Like Brian.”

She reached for
his hand, and after a moment, he let her take it. “I’m glad,” she said.

“I’m not. Part
of me wishes that I would have. At least then I’d know that I’d done
something.”

“You did do
something.”

Miles squeezed
her hand before letting go. “I did it for me, too. And for Jonah.  It was time to let it go. I’d already lost
two years of my life, and I couldn’t see the point in prolonging it anymore.
Once I realized that . . . I don’t know . . . it just seemed like it was the
only thing I could do. No matter what happened to Brian, Missy wasn’t coming
back.”

He brought his
hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, and neither one of them said anything
for a while. The stars were out in full glory above them, and Miles found his
eyes traveling to Polaris, the North Star. 
“I’m going to need some time,” he said softly.

She nodded,
knowing he was talking about them, now. “I know.”

“I can’t tell you
how long it’ll be, either.”

Sarah glanced
toward him. “Do you want me to wait?”

It took a long
moment for him to answer.

“I can’t make any
promises, Sarah. About us, I mean. It’s not that I don’t love you anymore,
because I do. I’ve spent the last couple of days agonizing over that fact.
You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since Missy died. Hell, you’re the
only good thing that happened. For Jonah, too. He asked why you haven’t been
over lately, and I know he misses you. But no matter how much I want that to go
on, part of me just can’t imagine it. It’s not as if I can forget what
happened. And you’re his sister.”