Becoming Grey: Episode 19

Chapter 19 

Fall 2020 

Callie had learned that silence from a two-year-old was not peace. It was evidence. 

She realized the house had gone quiet somewhere between the second and third problems on her physics assignment. Her pencil stopped halfway through an equation, hovering over the notebook spread across the kitchen table among the ordinary debris that seemed to accumulate wherever she attempted to do homework now. Her laptop occupied one corner, two textbooks were stacked beside it, and three purple crayons had somehow migrated onto the page where she’d been calculating velocity. There was also a plastic dinosaur beside her water glass and one tiny pink sock near her calculator, though Callie had no memory of putting either of them there. She sat still for a moment and listened. The television murmured from the living room, the furnace hummed somewhere beneath the floor, and Maggie’s thumb made a faint tapping sound against her phone across the table. There was no toddler voice, no running feet, no plastic toy being dragged across hardwood. Nothing. “Juna?” 

No answer came from the living room. 

Maggie glanced up from her phone. “That sounded ominous.” 

“It is.” Callie set down her pencil and pushed away from the table. She found Juna crouched beside the entertainment center with one hand hidden behind her back, and the moment Callie stepped into the room, her daughter looked up and froze. Callie stopped too. They sized each other across several feet of carpet, Juna wearing the solemn expression of a person who had been caught in possession of something she absolutely knew she wasn’t supposed to have. “What do you have?” 

“Nuffin.” 

Callie folded her arms. “Juna.” 

“Nuffin.” 

“Show me your hand.” 

Juna’s eyes wandered toward the ceiling with elaborate innocence, but the hand remained firmly behind her back. At two years old, she had apparently already discovered plausible deniability. Callie crouched in front of her and held out one hand. “What did you take?” 

Juna considered her options before slowly producing the missing television remote. 

“Thank you.” 

“No.” Juna clutched it against her chest. 

“You can’t have the remote.” 

“Mine.” 

“It is definitely not yours.” 

“Mine.” 

“Okay, excellent argument. Still no.” Callie knew better than to grab for it. She reached instead for the stuffed purple Ridgeback lying beside the couch and lifted it between them. Juna’s attention shifted immediately. “Trade?” 

“Gus.” 

“Yes, Gus.” 

The remote landed in Callie’s palm, Gus disappeared into Juna’s arms, and her daughter ran toward the kitchen as though she had just negotiated the Louisiana Purchase. Callie suspected Juna had gotten the better end of the deal anyway. 

Luke was leaning against the kitchen counter when she returned. He watched Juna barrel past him with Gus and shook his head. “She hustled you.” 

“She gave me the remote.” 

“For something she already owns.” 

“That’s not the point.” 

“That feels exactly like the point.” 

Callie put the remote on top of the refrigerator, safely beyond Juna’s reach, and reclaimed her chair. “Do either of you want to babysit instead?” 

“Nope,” Luke said immediately. 

Maggie pointed accusingly at him. “Coward.” 

“You didn’t volunteer.” 

“I was about to.” 

“No, you weren’t.” 

“I was thinking about it.” 

“Thinking isn’t volunteering.” 

“Both of you can leave now.” Callie found the place in her physics problem where she’d stopped, erased a number, and tried to reconstruct whatever she’d been thinking before the suspicious silence began. Juna climbed onto the chair beside Maggie and deposited Gus in her lap, and within seconds Maggie had abandoned the argument to make the stuffed Ridgeback dance across the table. 

“Hi, buddy. Did your mean mother take away your remote?” 

Juna nodded solemnly. 

“Traitor,” Callie muttered. 

It was difficult to remember sometimes that there had been a version of her life in which none of this existed. The kitchen smelled faintly of the macaroni and cheese Juna had eaten earlier and the lavender detergent Sally bought in quantities suggesting she expected civilization to abruptly stop manufacturing it. A basket of folded laundry waited at the bottom of the stairs. Plastic farm animals had colonized the strip of floor between the kitchen and living room, and one corner of Callie’s notebook bore a green crayon line from Tuesday, when she’d made the tactical error of leaving it unattended for approximately seventeen seconds. None of it looked particularly remarkable to her anymore. She simply moved the crayons when she needed room, checked the floor before stepping backward, and had become capable of distinguishing from another room whether a crash meant something fell over or something requires an adult immediately. Motherhood had stopped feeling like something she was learning how to do. Most days she simply did it. 

Maggie checked the time on her phone. “We should probably go.” 

Callie’s pencil slowed against the page. It was stupid to feel disappointed. She’d known all week they were going, and she had been invited too. For about two glorious hours on Wednesday, she’d even thought she might actually make it. Then the person who was supposed to watch Juna had canceled, parents already had plans, Hannah was going out with friends and Callie’s Friday night had quietly returned to its usual shape. Now Maggie was dressed to go out, and Luke had somehow spent twenty minutes pretending not to care which shirt he wore before choosing the one Callie had told him to wear in the first place. She wanted to go with them. That was the entire ugly little truth of it, and admitting it didn’t mean anything beyond that. “Yeah. You should.” 

Maggie studied her for a second too long. 

Callie knew that look. “No.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You were going to.” 

“I can stay.” 

“No.” 

“Callie.” 

“Maggie, go to the party.” 

“I don’t care that much.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

“I care more about you.” 

Something tightened pleasantly and annoyingly in Callie’s chest. She covered it with a look. “That was disgusting.” 

Maggie smiled. “You’re welcome.” 

“Go.” 

“Seriously, I can stay.” 

“And do what? Watch me give her a bath and argue with her about pajamas?” 

From beside her, Juna announced, “No jammies.” 

Callie pointed toward her daughter without looking away from Maggie. “See?” 

Luke snorted. 

“I’m fine,” Callie continued. “I’m allowed to be annoyed I can’t go without everybody rearranging their night around me.” 

Maggie’s smile softened, which was worse. Callie didn’t want pity, particularly not from Maggie. She also didn’t want her best friend voluntarily surrendering one of her own Friday nights because Callie’s life had acquired responsibilities theirs hadn’t. “Seriously. Go be seventeen.” 

“Technically, I’m eighteen,” Luke said. 

“Nobody asked you.” 

“Just establishing the record.” 

“You’re doing a great job.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Still wasn’t a compliment.” 

“Still taking it.” 

Maggie stood and came around the table, squeezing Callie’s shoulder as she passed. Callie caught her wrist before she could get away. “One thing.” 

“Oh my God.” 

“If you drink, don’t drive.” 

Luke made a noise behind them. 

Callie turned toward him. “And don’t get in a car with somebody who has.” 

“Yes, Mom.” 

She stared at him. 

Luke grinned while Maggie joined in. “Should we text when we get there?” 

“Yes.” 

Maggie blinked. “I was making fun of you.” 

“I wasn’t.” 

“Should we send pictures of our outfits?” 

“If you want.” 

“Should we tell you when we’re going to bed?” 

“You’re both assholes.” Callie pointed toward Juna, who had abandoned Gus in favor of pushing a plastic cow across the table. “I have credentials.” 

Maggie bent forward laughing, and Juna immediately joined her despite having no idea what anyone found funny. Callie smiled too, but she let the laughter settle before looking at both of them again. “I’m serious, though. If you need a ride, call me. I don’t care what time it is, I don’t care if you’re drunk, and I don’t care if you’re throwing up. Call me.” 

“We will,” Maggie said. 

“Promise.” 

“I promise.” 

Callie looked at Luke. 

He raised one hand. “Promise.” 

“Good.” 

Luke grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “Can we leave now, Mrs. Grey?” 

“Get out of my house.” 

“It isn’t your house.” 

“Luke.” 

“Leaving.” 

Maggie kissed two fingers and pressed them against Juna’s forehead on her way past. “Bye, tiny menace.” 

“Bye!” 

The front door opened and let in a brief wash of cool autumn air smelling of leaves and distant woodsmoke before closing behind them. Callie stood listening to their voices fade toward the driveway, aware of the disappointment settling back into the space their noise had occupied. She had wanted to go. There was no reason to lie to herself about that. Then Juna tugged on the leg of her jeans and said, “Mommy,” and Callie looked down at her. 

“What?” 

“Hungry.” 

“You ate forty minutes ago.” 

“Hungry.” 

“You had macaroni.” 

“Hungry.” 

“And peas.” 

Juna’s face twisted with remembered betrayal. 

“Yeah, I remember your opinion about the peas.” 

“Snack?” 

Callie sighed. “Fine.” 

Juna threw both arms into the air. “Snack!” 

“Don’t celebrate yet. It’s fruit.” 

The arms came down. “No.” 

Callie laughed despite herself and headed for the kitchen. 

By eight thirty-seven, Juna had escaped the bathtub naked. Callie had turned away for perhaps three seconds to grab a towel, and when she looked back, the tub contained several plastic fish, a foam letter M, and no child. A wet giggle from the hallway told her everything else she needed to know. She found Juna ten feet away, dripping water onto the carpet with the delighted expression of somebody who believed she had successfully escaped the law. 

“Oh, come on. Juna, come here.” 

“No!” 

She ran. 

Callie went after her, caught her halfway to the stairs, and scooped her around the middle while Juna shrieked happily. “You are naked.” 

“No!” 

“You are objectively naked.” 

“No!” 

“I can see your butt.” 

That produced another shriek. Callie carried her back to the bathroom, wrapped her in the towel, and rubbed her hair dry while Juna squirmed and protested an injustice entirely of her own creation. By nine fifteen she was finally wearing pajamas. At nine twenty she needed water. At nine twenty three the water became unacceptable because Callie had put it in the blue cup instead of the purple one. By nine twenty eight the purple cup had been located, and at nine thirty-one Juna remembered she could not possibly sleep without Gus, who was downstairs because of course he was. 

At nine thirty six, Callie finally sat against the headboard with Juna sprawled against her chest, one hand moving slowly over her daughter’s back. The damp ends of Juna’s hair smelled like shampoo, and her eyes had been closed for almost a minute when she whispered, “Not tired.” 

“Not tired?” 

“No.” 

Juna yawned. 

“Obviously.” 

“No bed.” 

“You’re already in bed.” 

“No.” 

“Okay.” Callie didn’t argue. She had learned that too. The room gradually settled around them, illuminated only by the pale glow of the night-light near Juna’s bed and the thin strip of hallway light beneath the door. Somewhere downstairs the furnace kicked on, and Callie could feel Juna becoming heavier against her as sleep finally won the argument her daughter insisted she wasn’t having. 

Her phone buzzed beside her. Callie picked it up carefully, moving as little as possible, and found a picture from Maggie. She and Luke stood squeezed among several people Callie recognized from school, somebody behind Luke holding two fingers over his head while everyone crowded toward the camera. Callie smiled and then kept looking at the picture longer than she needed to. There were nights when the difference between her life and theirs barely registered anymore, and others when it seemed enormous. It wasn’t because she wanted Juna gone. That wasn’t it, and she no longer felt guilty for knowing the distinction. She wanted this too: the warm little body against her, the damp hair smelling of shampoo, the ridiculous purple cup downstairs, the plastic dinosaurs among her physics homework, the sleepy little voice that called for her whenever the world went wrong. She loved being Juna’s mother so completely that sometimes the size of it frightened her. She also wanted to be in Maggie’s picture. She wanted to stand in somebody’s kitchen with music too loud and laugh at something stupid. She wanted a Friday night where her biggest responsibility was deciding whether she liked the boy looking at her from across the room instead of remembering whether there were enough pull-ups to make it through the weekend. Both things could be true. Callie had gotten pretty good at letting them be. 

She typed back, You guys look dumb. 

Three dots appeared almost immediately. 

JEALOUS 

Callie smiled. Deeply. 

Another message arrived. 

Should’ve come 

Callie looked down at Juna, whose cheek was pressed against her shirt and whose breathing had gone deep and even. I know. Have fun. 

She put the phone facedown beside her and stayed where she was a while longer. 

 

The ringing dragged her out of sleep. 

Callie opened her eyes in darkness and spent one confused second not knowing what had awakened her before the phone rang again. She rolled over, grabbed it from the nightstand, and squinted at the screen. 

1:37 a.m. 

LUKE 

She sat up. “Hello?” 

Music thudded somewhere behind him, accompanied by voices and the hollow rush of wind against the microphone. “Callie?” 

Luke sounded strange. Not frightened. Just very, very drunk. 

Callie closed her eyes. “You drank.” 

There was a pause. “Possibly.” 

“You called me, Luke.” 

“I know.” 

“So I’m pretty sure we’re past possibly.” 

Someone near him laughed. Maggie. 

Callie pushed the blankets aside and swung her legs out of bed. “Where are you?” 

Luke told her. 

“Are you both there?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you driving?” 

“No.” 

“Did either of you get in a car?” 

“No.” 

That answer woke her the rest of the way. “Okay. Good.” 

“We listened.” 

“I am incredibly proud.” 

“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.” 

“I am. Stay there.” 

“Okay.” 

“And Luke?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do not decide you’re suddenly sober in the next twenty minutes.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Put Maggie on.” 

There was fumbling, followed by Maggie’s voice. “Hiiii.” 

Callie rubbed her forehead. “Oh, Jesus Christ.” 

“Callie.” 

“Yes?” 

“You’re my best friend.” 

“I know.” 

“No. Like, you’re my best friend.” 

“I know, Maggie.” 

“And you’re very pretty.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like really pretty.” 

“Give Luke the phone.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too. Give Luke the phone.” 

More fumbling followed before Luke returned. “Hello?” 

“Keep her there.” 

“I will.” 

Callie hung up, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, shoved her feet into shoes, and left her room as quietly as she could. She checked Juna on the way past. Her daughter hadn’t moved. 

A downstairs light came on before Callie reached the bottom of the stairs. Stuart appeared in the hallway wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt, his hair flattened on one side and his eyes narrowed against the light. “Everything okay?” 

“Maggie and Luke need a ride.” 

He glanced toward the clock. “Now?” 

“They’ve been drinking.” 

That woke him up. Callie held out her hand. “Can I take the car?” 

Stuart studied her for half a second. “You haven’t been drinking?” 

Callie stared at him, then gestured toward the ceiling. “I spent tonight arguing with a two-year old about the color of her cup.” 

“Fair.” He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with the keys. “Text me when you get there.” 

“I will.” 

“And when you’re leaving.” 

“I will.” 

“If anything feels wrong, call.” 

“Dad.” 

“I know.” 

She took the keys, and Stuart squeezed her shoulder once before letting her go. 

 

The party was still going when Callie arrived. Cars lined both sides of the street, some parked halfway onto lawns, and music thudded faintly through the walls of the house while clusters of people stood outside in hoodies and jackets talking too loudly in the cold. Callie pulled over where she could stop safely and texted Luke that she was there. She had barely put the phone down before the front door opened and Luke emerged with Maggie gripping the back of his jacket. 

Callie lowered the window. “Wow.” 

Luke stopped beside the car. “What?” 

“You look terrible.” 

“Thanks.” 

Maggie leaned toward the window. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“You came.” 

“I told you I would.” 

Maggie smiled at that with the unfocused warmth of somebody who found the fulfillment of this very ordinary promise deeply meaningful. Callie unlocked the doors. “Get in.” 

Luke opened the rear door for Maggie and swept one hand toward it. “Chivalry.” 

“You almost walked into the mailbox.” 

“I avoided it.” 

“Barely.” 

“That still counts.” 

Maggie climbed into the back seat, and Callie was reaching to turn down the radio when movement across the street caught her attention. Myles was walking toward his car. Not toward somebody else’s car. His. 

“Myles.” 

He either didn’t hear her or ignored her. Callie opened her door and stepped out. “Myles!” 

This time he turned. Even from across the street, she could see enough in the slight sway before he stopped and the fraction too long it took his expression to settle on her. He had been drinking. 

“Myles, get in.” 

He glanced toward her car and then back at her. “I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“I’m good.” 

“You’ve been drinking.” 

“So?” 

“So get in.” 

Myles shook his head and reached for his driver’s door. The casualness of the movement tightened something in Callie’s stomach. “Luke.” 

Luke had been halfway into the back seat. He straightened. “Yeah?” 

“Take his keys.” 

Whatever humor remained in Luke’s face disappeared. He started across the street. “Myles, dude. Come on.” 

Myles got into the driver’s seat before Luke reached him, and the locks clicked just as Luke came alongside the car. Luke knocked against the window. “Seriously? Open the door.” 

Myles shook his head and waved him away. 

Callie started across the street. “Are you kidding me?” 

“Callie.” 

She turned. Jason had stepped away from a group on the lawn and was already moving toward Myles’s car. Callie knew him well enough from school, games, parties, the ordinary overlap of people who had spent years in the same building. More importantly, he looked sober. Maybe not Callie spending Friday night giving a toddler a bath sober, but steady on his feet and clear-eyed enough that she didn’t have to wonder. 

“I got him,” Jason said. 

“He’s been drinking.” 

“I know.” 

“He’s trying to drive.” 

“I know.” Jason kept moving toward the driver’s side. “Get your friends home. I’ve got him.” 

Callie hesitated. Luke was standing beside Myles’s car. Maggie was already buckled into the back seat of hers. Jason knocked against Myles’s window and bent toward it, saying something Callie couldn’t hear through the glass. She had two drunk friends she had promised to get home, and there was a sober person standing beside Myles’s car actively trying to deal with him. There was nothing irresponsible about leaving. If anything, dragging Luke back to her own car instead of allowing three people to argue with Myles in the street was the sensible thing to do. 

“Luke.” 

He looked back at her. 

“Come on.” 

Luke hesitated before backing away from the car. 

Jason gave Callie a quick nod. “I’ve got him.” 

“Don’t let him drive.” 

“I won’t.” 

Callie took Luke by the sleeve and steered him back across the street. “Come on.” 

He climbed into the passenger seat this time, and Callie checked that Maggie was buckled before settling behind the wheel. Luke was still staring toward Myles’s car. 

“Seat belt.” 

He pulled it across himself. “Yes, Mom.” 

“Not tonight.” 

Something in her voice made him stop smiling. He clicked the belt into place, and Callie pulled away. 

For the first few minutes, the drive was almost normal, or as normal as driving two drunk friends home at nearly two in the morning could be. Maggie had gone from affectionate to sleepy and leaned against the rear window, while Luke kept adjusting the air vent until Callie finally slapped his hand away from it. 

“Stop touching that.” 

“I’m hot.” 

“Then take off your jacket.” 

“I like my jacket.” 

“Then be hot.” 

Luke considered that. “That’s fair.” 

Callie shook her head and kept driving. The streets thinned as they moved farther from the neighborhood, houses giving way to darker stretches of road where the pools of streetlight grew farther apart. She had begun thinking about which of them she should drop off first when Luke glanced over his shoulder, looked forward again, and then twisted around for a second look. 

“Isn’t that Myles’s car?” 

Callie checked the rearview mirror. A pair of headlights was approaching behind them, still far enough away that she couldn’t see the car itself clearly, but coming faster than the speed limit should have allowed. 

Maggie lifted her head from the window. “What?” 

Luke turned farther around. “That looks like Myles.” 

Maggie twisted in her seat. “I thought Jason had him.” 

“He did.” 

Callie’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel as she checked the mirror again. The headlights were closer now. 

“Maybe he locked him out,” Maggie said. 

“Jason was right there.” 

“Maybe Jason thought he talked him down.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Or he waited until Jason walked away.” 

Nobody sounded accusatory. They were trying to make the pieces fit because, five minutes earlier, Jason had been standing beside Myles’s car saying he had him, and now someone who looked very much like Myles was gaining on them from behind. Callie watched the headlights close the distance and eased her foot off the accelerator. 

Luke looked at the speedometer. “What’re you doing?” 

“Letting him pass.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m not driving next to him like that.” 

She slowed enough to make her intention obvious without braking suddenly. The car behind them continued gaining until Myles pulled into the other lane and came alongside. For one uncomfortable second he was right there. Callie didn’t look over. She kept her eyes on the road and held her speed steady until his car surged ahead and returned to their lane. 

Luke watched him go. “He’s going way too fast.” 

“Yeah.” 

Callie didn’t accelerate again. She had Maggie and Luke in the car, both of them drunk, and absolutely no desire to be anywhere near Myles if he swerved, slammed on his brakes, or decided at the last second that he needed to turn somewhere. Let him get ahead. Let there be road between them. That felt safer. 

Myles’s taillights moved farther into the darkness. 

Maggie leaned forward between the seats. “Should we call him?” 

“He’s driving. Don’t.” 

“What if he answers?” 

“Exactly.” 

Luke watched the taillights. “He needs to slow down.” 

Callie didn’t answer. The road ahead was familiar enough that she knew what was coming, a long bend to the left that was hardly dangerous under ordinary circumstances. Nobody sober would have thought twice about it. You simply slowed a little and followed the road. 

Myles didn’t. 

The road curved left. 

His taillights kept going straight. 

Callie frowned. “What is he doing?” 

The brake lights flared. 

Too late. 

His car left the pavement. 

There was no explosion, no burst of fire, nothing that resembled the spectacular crashes movies had taught Callie to expect. There was the ugly rush of tires leaving pavement, the violent crunch of metal folding into something far stronger than itself, and then Myles’s car stopped against the trunk of an enormous old oak. 

Maggie screamed. 

Callie’s foot was already moving. She braked hard but under control, grateful without consciously thinking about it that she had backed off and let the distance grow. There was room to stop. The car came to rest along the shoulder well before the wreck, and for perhaps half a second the three of them sat motionless, staring through the windshield at something none of their minds had caught up with yet. 

Luke reached for his door. 

Callie grabbed his arm. “Stay in the car.” 

“That’s Myles.” 

“I know.” 

“I have to—” 

“Luke, stay in the car.” 

Something in her voice stopped him. Callie hit the hazard lights and grabbed her phone. Her hands had begun shaking, though the rest of her felt unnaturally steady, as if some part of her had simply stepped forward and taken control because there were things that needed to happen before she was allowed to feel anything about them. 

The dispatcher answered almost immediately. 

“There was an accident.” Callie’s voice sounded strange in her own ears, too controlled and too clear. She looked toward the last road sign they had passed, forcing herself to reconstruct exactly where they were and which direction they had been traveling. “A car went off the road and hit a tree.” 

The dispatcher asked for the location, and Callie gave it. 

“How many vehicles are involved?” 

“One.” 

“How many people are inside?” 

“One, I think. Just the driver.” 

“Are you involved in the collision?” 

“No. We were behind him.” 

“Is the vehicle on fire?” 

Callie looked through the windshield. The front of Myles’s car had folded around the oak, its shape wrong in ways she didn’t want to study closely. “No.” 

“Can you safely approach the vehicle?” 

Callie stared at it. She could see enough from where she was. She did not need to see more. “I don’t know.” 

“Stay where you are if it isn’t safe.” 

“Okay.” 

Behind her, Maggie was crying. Not loudly. That somehow made it worse. Luke sat rigidly in the passenger seat, his face pale in the intermittent orange flash of the hazard lights. 

“I told him to get in,” he said. 

Callie looked at him. 

“I told him.” 

“I know.” 

“He could’ve just gotten in.” 

“I know.” 

“I should’ve—” 

“No.” Callie’s answer came sharper than she intended, and Luke looked at her. She kept one hand pressed against the phone while the dispatcher spoke in her other ear. “Jason was there. We tried.” 

Luke swallowed and looked back through the windshield. 

Callie answered every question the dispatcher asked. Yes, the driver had been drinking. Yes, they knew him. Yes, people had tried to stop him from driving. No, as far as she knew there was nobody else in the vehicle. She kept her answers simple because simple things were manageable. Location. Direction. Vehicle. One occupant. Severe impact. Facts could be placed in order even when nothing else made sense. 

The first siren came faintly from somewhere behind them. 

Maggie covered her mouth. Callie reached backward without taking her eyes off the road until her hand found Maggie’s knee, and she left it there as the sirens grew louder. Red and blue light appeared around the distant bend and swept over the trees, road signs, and interior of Callie’s car before the first emergency vehicle passed them. 

“Okay,” Callie whispered, though she wasn’t sure whether she meant it for Maggie, Luke, the dispatcher, or herself. 

Emergency vehicles stopped around the wreck, and the darkness ahead filled with flashing light. People moved quickly once they were out of the vehicles, firefighters and paramedics and police doing jobs Callie couldn’t do and, for once, didn’t try to imagine herself doing. A police officer came to her window and asked whether they had witnessed the crash. When she said yes, he told them to remain where they were until someone could speak with them. 

So they stayed. 

Callie watched the responders move around Myles’s car while Maggie cried behind her and Luke sat with both hands pressed between his knees. Nobody made jokes anymore. Nobody sounded drunk. Callie could still smell the alcohol on them, so she knew it hadn’t magically disappeared from their systems, but whatever warm, stupid haze the party had left behind was gone. 

An officer eventually returned and took Callie’s statement. She told him everything from the beginning: Myles walking toward his car, her telling him to get in with them, Luke trying to take his keys, Myles locking the doors, Jason saying he would handle it. She explained that they had left because Jason appeared sober and she already had two intoxicated friends she was responsible for getting home. Then Myles had appeared behind them. She had slowed down because she didn’t want to share the road with him in that condition. He had passed them, approached the curve too fast, and gone off the road. Luke told the officer essentially the same thing. Maggie managed it through tears. 

Afterward, there was nothing left for them to do except wait. 

Nobody told them what was happening. Not really. Callie found that she didn’t want to ask, because asking meant somebody might answer, and right then uncertainty still contained possibilities that an answer might take away. She watched the emergency lights strobe through the branches of the oak and deliberately avoided looking at the center of all that activity. She couldn’t see Myles from where she was. She was grateful for that. 

Eventually, an officer told them they could leave. 

Callie put the car in drive. 

 

Maggie came home with her. 

Nobody discussed it. Callie simply drove past the turn that would have taken them toward Maggie’s house, and Maggie didn’t object. Luke remained silent in the passenger seat until they reached his street. When Callie stopped outside his house, he made no move to get out. 

“Luke.” 

He stared through the windshield. “I should’ve broken the window.” 

Callie closed her eyes briefly. “No.” 

“I could’ve.” 

“And then what?” 

“Taken his keys.” 

“He locked the door.” 

“I could’ve broken it.” 

“With what?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Exactly.” Callie turned toward him. She understood what he was doing because some part of her had already started doing the same thing, replaying the party and looking for the moment where one different decision might have rewritten everything that came afterward. “Jason was there. He was sober. He said he’d handle it. We had no reason to think Myles was going to get away from him.” 

Luke looked down. “I still left.” 

“So did I.” 

That silenced him. 

“We didn’t know,” Callie said. 

Luke nodded once and reached for the door. “Text me if you hear anything.” 

“I will.” 

She waited at the curb until he was inside before pulling away. Maggie said nothing from the back seat, and Callie didn’t force conversation into the silence. The streets of Ridgemont looked exactly as they always did at that hour, dark houses and empty intersections sliding past beneath streetlights, and their normalcy felt almost offensive. Somewhere people were sleeping. Somewhere somebody was watching television. Somewhere a baby was crying or somebody was making a sandwich or letting a dog into the backyard, and only a few miles away an entire section of road was still flashing red and blue around Myles Bennett’s car. 

The downstairs light was on when they reached the Grey house, and Stuart opened the door before Callie could get her key into the lock. He took one look at her and Maggie and stopped. “What happened?” 

Callie tried to answer, but for the first time all night the words didn’t come. 

Maggie started crying again. 

Stuart’s expression changed immediately. He stepped aside. “Come inside.” 

The house felt impossibly normal when Callie entered. The laundry basket was still waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Juna’s farm animals remained scattered across the living room floor. The purple cup stood upside down in the drying rack, and Callie’s physics homework was exactly where she’d left it on the kitchen table, complete with the crayons and plastic dinosaur and green line across the corner of the page. It looked like evidence from another life, though it had only been a few hours. 

Sally came downstairs in her robe and stopped when she saw Callie. “Oh, honey.” 

“Myles crashed.” Once Callie managed those two words, the rest came too quickly. “He’d been drinking. We tried to stop him, and Jason was with him. Jason said he’d take care of it, so I took Maggie and Luke and left, and then Myles was behind us. I let him pass because I didn’t want to be near him, and then—” 

Her voice broke. 

Sally crossed the room and wrapped both arms around her. 

Callie let her. 

For the first time that night, she felt seventeen. She wasn’t Juna’s mother or the person with the car keys or the one who knew what to say when everybody else had been drinking. She was just a girl standing in her parents’ living room at three in the morning with her mother’s arms around her after seeing something she couldn’t make sense of. 

“I saw it,” she whispered. “I saw him hit the tree.” 

“I know.” 

“I saw it.” 

“I know.” 

Maggie stood beside them crying until Stuart pulled her into the embrace too. They stayed that way until the urgency that had carried Callie from the moment they had dropped off Luke until now finally began to drain out of her, leaving exhaustion and a trembling she couldn’t quite stop. Eventually Stuart made Maggie drink some water while Sally found blankets, and Callie sat on the couch with her phone in both hands. 

No one had heard anything. 

The waiting was worse now that there was nothing left for Callie to do. At the roadside she had been able to answer questions, give directions, watch for emergency vehicles, explain what had happened. Here there was only the clock moving forward and the phone remaining silent. She checked it often enough that she stopped pretending she wasn’t checking it, each time finding the same blank lock screen. 

At 3:48 a.m., the phone vibrated. 

Luke. 

For a moment Callie couldn’t make herself open the message. She knew that was irrational. Whatever the words said was already true whether she read them or not, but her thumb still hovered above the screen before she finally touched it. 

There were only four words. 

He’s gone. They confirmed it. 

Callie stared at the message and read it again. Then once more. The words didn’t change. 

Maggie saw her face. “No.” 

Callie couldn’t speak. 

Maggie shook her head. “No.” 

Sally sat beside Callie and placed a hand against her back. Callie barely registered it. Her attention had gone to the stairs and everything waiting above them: her room, the clothes she’d meant to put away tomorrow, and Juna asleep in the dark. Safe. Warm. Completely unaware that the world had changed while she slept. 

Callie could still see Myles walking toward his car. She heard his voice telling her he was fine, saw Luke knocking against the locked window and Jason waving her toward her own car because he had it handled. She remembered the headlights gaining on them and the decision to slow down, a decision that had seemed so ordinary at the time. I’m not driving next to him like that. Then Myles’s taillights moving ahead. The road bending left. Two red lights continuing straight. 

Four words remained illuminated on the phone in her hand. 

Myles Bennett was dead. 

Upstairs, Juna slept through the night. 

 

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