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And why?
They were the first of many questions, questions that had arisen as she’d read the file. It made for difficult reading. The clinical verbiage did nothing to ease the panic that washed over her as she’d read the description of Samantha’s car and the injuries they’d both sustained.
Alexa had flipped past the autopsy report but nausea had still risen in her throat, forcing her to the bathroom where she’d hunched over the toilet, a sheen of cold sweat springing out on her forehead and upper lip.
She’d always thought she was blessed not to remember the accident. She remembered parts of the party before that, the music, people dancing and drinking and making out, but her first memory after that was in the hospital two weeks after she’d been brought in by ambulance.
Her mom told her she’d been in and out of consciousness, but Alexa didn’t remember any of those moments, only the one when she opened her eyes and recognized her mom sitting in the chair near her bed. That was the moment she considered to be the beginning of her recovery. It had been the first time she’d been conscious of what was going on around her and didn’t leak memories like a sieve afterward.
But clearly her psyche remembered everything that had happened to her even if her mind had conveniently blocked it out, because the accident file had almost leveled her. She’d called in sick twice, something she’d done exactly once in the years she’d been at the AG’s office, staying in bed with something that felt like the flu combined with depression so crippling she felt like a black hole had opened up where her heart used to be.
Finally she’d managed to stagger out of bed and read the file with the eye of a lawyer making a case rather than a victim, and then she’d understood what Nick had been talking about, had understood why he’d felt like something was off with the whole thing.
Not that that excused his lie.
“There you are!” Alexa jumped and turned to find her mom walking toward her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Alexa made herself smile but it felt twisted and fake. “It’s okay.”
Her mom’s forehead creased with worry and she reached out to lay her palm against Alexa’s cheek. Her eyes — the same blue as Alexa’s — were bright with concern. “Are you coming down with something? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” Alexa said. “I think I’m just hungry.”
They’d spent the morning shopping for her mom, who’d decided she needed to freshen up her wardrobe but had only bought two new T-shirts and a new pair of jeans.
“Let’s get lunch.” Her mom held up a shopping bag emblazoned with the bookstore’s logo. “I already paid.”
“Sounds good,” Alexa said, setting the book in her hand back on the shelf.
“You’re not getting anything?”
“I don’t need anything,” Alexa said. “I have a huge pile of books I have to get through.”
Her mom laughed. “That’s never stopped you before.”
“It should have,” Alexa said.
Her mom took her arm. “Normal rules don’t apply to books, you know that.”
The weather was mild, spring close enough to touch even if they did still need their coats. They piled her mom’s packages into the trunk of Alexa’s car and walked to Legal Seafood where they ordered bowls of clam chowder and side salads.
The restaurant was warm and cozy, and the smell of the food made Alexa’s stomach rumble. She sipped at a Coke, trying not to think about how the sugar would wreak havoc on her body, while they waited for their food. She felt like she was crashing. She needed a sugar boost even if she would pay for it later.
“What’s up, honey?” Her mom tucked a lock of brown hair threaded with gray behind one ear.
Alexa blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Lex.” Her mom looked insulted that Alexa would even try to pretend everything was fine.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Alexa said.
Her mom smiled. “No one would ever accuse you of not being able to handle things, but you don’t have to do everything alone you know. And I’m worried about you.”
Alexa sighed. “It’s nothing serious.”
“But it is something,” her mom said.
If she was going to be forced to confess to her mom, she would offer up the situation with Nick as a sacrifice. She hadn’t been the only one suffering through years of physical therapy and rehabilitation after her accident. Her parents had been along for the ride, driving her to and from her sessions, icing her leg, getting her in and out of the car when she was still in a wheelchair, holding her while she cried, crying with her.
