Keep Quiet(15)

Dad, I swear, I won’t tell Mom. I won’t tell anybody.

Jake couldn’t process the information. He wanted to pull over but there wasn’t time. He felt his gorge rising, but swallowed hard. He had to stay on plan. He blinked his tears away and tried vainly to ignore the pain in his chest. He drove ahead, past clapboard Cape Cods, new brick split levels, and a Dutch Colonial with white stucco, wondering if Kathleen Lindstrom lived with her family in a house like one of these. Pike Road was only ten minutes away.

Jake gritted his teeth, trying to recover. The stretch of road he was looking for lay just ahead, a two-lane street lined with houses, trees, and a strip mall that held a Chinese restaurant, a Wawa convenience market where he always stopped for coffee on the way to work, and the auto body shop he’d used for years. He’d given plenty of free financial advice to its owner Mike Ayanna, and Mike owed him a favor, but Jake wasn’t about to depend on Mike, favor or no. The police would undoubtedly be investigating the local body shops, and Mike would be compelled to turn over his records.

Jake put on his right blinker when he spotted the Wawa sign, glowing a corporate red, and slowed as he approached its parking lot. It was the side entrance to the store, with a line of parking spaces under a white sign, NO IDLING—DIESEL POWERED VEHICLES OVER FIVE TONS. The parking spaces ended next to a bundle of cardboard recycling, a stack of flat boxes, and a green metal Dumpster. The side lot was completely empty, which is what Jake would’ve expected this early in the morning.

He turned into the parking lot and aimed at the Dumpster. He hit the gas, steering slightly to the right, knowing that the damage would obliterate the dents from last night. The Dumpster raced forward to meet him.

Jake braced himself for impact, feeling that if anything went wrong, he deserved to die.

Kathleen, I am so very sorry.





Chapter Seven


The Audi slammed into the Dumpster, and Jake jolted forward, caught by his shoulder harness. His airbag exploded, hit him in the face, and pushed him backwards. The odor of plastic and a chemical powder filled his nostrils.

Abruptly the airbag deflated, imploding in a pile on his lap and draping over the steering wheel. The engine was still running, and the windshield was cracked but intact. The hood had buckled and his right front bumper crumpled into the Dumpster. No one would ever see the dent again.

Jake realized he’d succeeded, but he still felt sick to his stomach. The collision reminded him of last night, a memory embedded in his very body. He moved the airbag from his lap, his muscles stiff from shock, not of the accident, but of the revelation.

I killed a kid and left her dead. To save my own kid.

Jake was alive, but he didn’t deserve to be.

“Jake, Jake!” someone called out, near the car. It was Christopher, a Wawa clerk, hurrying toward him. They knew each other because Jake always stopped here on the way to work. Christopher appeared at the driver’s-side window, his young face creased with concern. “Jake! Are you okay?”

Jake nodded, collected his phone and jacket, opened the door, and got out of the car, his knees suddenly wobbly. “Christopher, My God—”

“You look white as a ghost, Jake. Stay still, I’ll call 911. My phone’s in my locker, ’cause we have to lock it up during work.” Christopher turned to hurry off, but Jake touched his arm.

“No, no, stay. I’m fine.”

“For real?”

“Yes.” Jake tried to recover. “I’m just a little … upset is all. I surprised myself. It’s kind of a shock.”

“Sure, I get it. You gonna toss ’em? You look it.”

“No, I’m fine. Don’t call.”

“You sure you don’t wanna go to a hospital? My manager might want you to.” Christopher frowned, scanning him with worried eyes.

“Nah. I’m fine, thanks.”

“Coulda been worse, I guess, huh?”

“Right.” Jake dusted the airbag powder off his clothes. “I thought I hit the brake, but I must’ve hit the gas instead.”

Christopher shrugged sympathetically. “You didn’t have your coffee yet.”

“Right.” Jake walked to the front of the car, leaned on the hood, and surveyed the damage. He was thinking of Kathleen, her body broken in her running gear. It was too awful to comprehend. There was so much death and destruction, all of a sudden. He shuddered to his very bones, eyeing the car. “Damn, I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“You never know. Mike next door can fix it.”

“I’ll let him take it, it’s not drivable with that windshield anyway. My wife will pick me up.” Jake slipped into his jacket, put his cell phone in his pocket, and gestured at the Dumpster, which had a large dent in its middle. “It looks like I did a number on your Dumpster, too. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, forget about it.” Christopher waved him off, but that was the wrong answer for Jake. He felt bad manipulating the kid, but it couldn’t be helped. That was why he’d damaged their property. They would be required to make a police report for liability purposes, and he needed everything to be documented, so there would be no questions later.

“No, make a report, so my insurance will pay.”

“But it’s just a trash can. Who cares?”

“The store doesn’t own the Dumpster, the hauling company does. See?” Jake gestured at the Waste Control logo on its lid. “The store will have to pay for the damage, and you shouldn’t be in that position. I’ll put in a claim, but we’ll have to call the police.”