“What did I do?”
“You braked. Then you turned toward the rock wall.”
Noah’s brow furrowed. “Why would I do that?”
“It kept you away from the ravine.”
“It sounds like the wrong choice.”
“It probably kept the van from going over.”
I looked at him.
He did not look back.
His attention remained fixed on Elias, as though the man had become a doorway into a place Noah feared but could not stop trying to enter.
“I couldn’t keep the pipes on the trailer,” Elias continued. “I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop the truck. I’ve been driving since I was twenty-one. All those years, I thought if something failed, I’d react fast enough. I thought experience would matter.”
His hands tightened on his knees.
“It didn’t.”
The words remained between them.
Not an excuse.
A fact.
Noah’s grip shifted around mine.
“I don’t remember you,” he said.
Elias closed his eyes briefly. “I know.”
“I don’t remember seeing the truck.”
“That may be merciful.”
“I’m not sure.”
“No.” Elias opened his eyes. “I suppose you wouldn’t be.”
Noah looked toward the window.
“I remember knocking.”
“The firefighter?”
“Yes.”
“I saw them carry you up the slope.”
Elias lowered his head.
“I thought you were dead.”
Noah’s fingers clamped around mine hard enough to hurt.
