Page 112 of Goodbye Days

I wonder what I’ll do when they say it. When they tell me I’m finished. I wonder if I’ll cry. If I’ll scream. If I’ll have a panic attack. If I’ll just pass out.

“…not the result of criminal conduct, and our office will not be seeking an indictment against the fourth surviving juvenile involved….”

My mom explodes in sobs. My dad exhales and buries his face in his palms, weeping. I sit completely still and mute. I’m not sure I’ve heard what I think I’ve heard, like when you watch TV half-asleep and you have to chew on each sentence to make sure you didn’t imagine it.

“…We extend our condolences once more to the Edwards, Bauer, and Lloyd families. We take this opportunity to warn young people against the dangers of texting and driving. Even when it does not rise to the level of criminal conduct, it has terrible consequences, as we’ve seen. Our office will continue to—”

My mom grabs me in a hug from one side. “Oh, praise Jesus,” she murmurs over and over. Her Mississippi shows most at times of great emotional duress. My dad hugs me from the other side. I stare dazed at the television.

My mom’s phone rings. “Hello? Oh, my goodness, yes, you have no idea. Yes. Yes, he is, I’ll give you to him. And thank you so, so much. All right. All right, bye.”

My mom hands the phone to me. “Mr. Krantz,” she whispers.

“Hello?”

“Carver! Well? Looks like you’re off the hook, son.”

“Um, yeah, that’s great.” I try to mirror his enthusiasm.

“I knew it’d be a stretch to try to charge you. They made the right choice.”

“Yeah.”

“Now, you may not be completely out of the woods yet. The DA could still reconsider, so don’t go talking about the accident. Also, Edwards could still file a civil lawsuit seeking monetary damages. And it would be easier for him to win that without a criminal acquittal. Anyway, I gotta run; I have a client. Congratulations and take care, all right?”

“Okay.”

I hang up and draw a deep breath. I’m exhausted. I want to be alone.

“I need to go lie down,” I say.

“That’s fine, sweetie,” my mom says, hugging me again. “I’m going to go pick up some hot chicken from Hattie B’s to celebrate.”

In another life, that news alone would have made my night.

I go to my room and collapse on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I cry until warm tears enter my earholes, muting sound as if I’m underwater.

I have no idea why I’m crying. I think I’m happy but I’m not sure. Happiness would be not dealing with any of this. I guess I’m relieved, but an odd disappointment tempers any relief. It’s like I’ve been tied to a stake for days, the ropes rubbing my wrists and ankles raw; my tongue bloated and cracked from thirst. And the guy in the black hood coming with a torch to light the kindling under me turns and walks away, leaving the torch burning on the ground. And I’m still tied to the stake.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Jesmyn! She saw the news. She’s calling to congratulate me, to tell me that if the DA doesn’t consider it worthwhile to punish me, neither does she.

It’s a number I don’t recognize. A reporter? Did the police give out my number while they had my phone?

“Hello?”

“Carver Briggs?” asks the crisp, starchy female voice on the other end.

I really hate hearing people say my first and last names on the phone these days. I stand and pace. “Yes. This is me—he.”

“Please hold for Judge Frederick Edwards.”

And she’s gone before I can say, No, please, no. Anybody but him.

I sit; my legs have turned into octopus tentacles.

I hear the other end pick up and a long breath. “Do you know the means by which I obtained this number?” Judge Edwards’s voice sounds carved from granite.