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"Broken bones? Your arms okay? Your legs?"
Brian took a moment, testing out his limbs, still having trouble keeping his balance. As he rolled his shoulders, he winced. "My wrist hurts."
"Hold on a second." Miles pulled the keys from his pocket and removed the handcuffs. One of Brian's hands went immediately to his head. One wrist felt bruised and achy, the other seemed stiff to the point of immobility. With his hand on the wound, blood seeped between his fingers.
"Can you stand on your own?" Miles asked.
Brian knew he was still swaying slightly, but he nodded and Miles went to his door again. On the floor was a T-shirt that Jonah had left in the car, and Miles grabbed it. He brought it back and pressed it against the gash in Brian's head.
"Can you hold this?"
Brian nodded and took it just as the driver, looking pale and scared, came huffing up.
"Are you guys okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, we're fine," Miles answered automatically.
The driver, still shaken up, turned from Miles to Brian. He saw the blood trickling down Brian's cheek, and his mouth contorted.
"He's bleeding pretty bad."
"It's not as bad as it looks," Miles offered.
"Don't you think he needs an ambulance? Maybe I should call--"
"It's all right," Miles said, cutting him off. "I'm with the sheriff's department. I've checked it out and he'll be fine."
Brian felt like a bystander, despite the pain in his wrists and head.
"You're a sheriff?" The other driver took a step back and glanced toward Brian for support. "He was over the line. It wasn't my fault...."
Miles held up his hands. "Listen..."
The driver's eyes locked on the handcuffs Miles still held and his eyes widened. "I tried to get out of the way, but you were in my lane," he said, suddenly defensive.
"Hold on--what's your name?" Miles asked, trying to control the situation.
"Bennie Wiggins," he answered. "I wasn't speeding. You were in my lane."
"Hold on...," Miles said again.
"You were over the line," the driver repeated. "You can't arrest me for this. I was being careful."
"I'm not going to arrest you."
"Then who are those for?" he said, pointing at the handcuffs.
Before Miles could answer, Brian cut in. "They were on me," he said. "He was bringing me in."
The driver looked at them as if he didn't understand, but before he could say anything, Sarah's car came to a sliding halt near them. They all turned as she scrambled out, looking frightened, confused, and angry all at once.
"What happened?" she shouted. She looked them all over before her eyes finally locked on Brian. When she saw the blood she went toward him. "Are you okay?" she asked, pulling him away from Miles.
Though still woozy, Brian nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay...."
She turned toward Miles furiously. "What the hell did you do to him? Did you hit him?"
"No," Miles answered with a quick shake of the head. "There was an accident."
"He was over the line," the driver suddenly offered, pointing toward Miles.
"An accident?" Sarah demanded, turning toward him.
"I was just driving along," he continued, "and when I rounded the curve, this guy was coming right at me. I swerved, but I couldn't get out of the way. It was his fault. I hit him, but I couldn't help it--"
"Barely," Miles interrupted. "He grazed the rear end of my car and I swerved off the road. We barely bumped each other."
Sarah turned her attention to Brian again, suddenly not knowing what to believe. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Brian nodded.
"What really happened?" she asked.
After a long moment, Brian pulled his hand away from his head. The shirt was wet and spongy, soaked in red. "It was an accident," he said. "It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened."
It was, of course, the truth. Miles hadn't seen the van because he was turned around in his seat. Brian knew he hadn't meant for it to happen.
What Brian didn't realize was that these were the same words he'd used when describing the accident with Missy, the same words he'd said to Miles in the car, the same words he'd repeated to himself ad nauseam for the last two years.
Miles, though, didn't miss it.
Sarah closed in on Brian again, slipping her arm around him. Brian closed his eyes, feeling suddenly weak again.
"I'm taking him to the hospital," Sarah announced. "He needs to see a doctor."
With a gentle nudge, she began to lead him away from the car.
Miles took a step toward them. "You can't do that--"
"Try and stop me," she cut him off. "You're not getting anywhere near him again."
"Hold on," Miles said, and Sarah turned, looking at him contemptuously.
"You don't have to worry. We're not going to make a run for it."
"What's going on?" the driver asked, panic in his voice. "Why are they leaving?"
"None of your business," Miles answered.
All he could do was stare.
He couldn't bring Brian in looking the way he did, nor could he leave the scene until the situation there was settled. He supposed that he could have stopped them, but Brian needed to see a doctor, and if he held on to him, he'd have to explain what was going on to whoever came to investigate--something he didn't feel up to right then. So instead, feeling almost helpless, he did nothing. When Brian glanced back, however, he heard the words once more.
It was an accident. It wasn't anyone's fault.
Brian, Miles knew, was wrong about that. He hadn't been watching the road--hell, he hadn't even been facing the right direction--because of the things Brian had been saying.
About Sarah. About the blanket. About the flowers.
He hadn't wanted to believe him then, nor did he want to believe him now. Yet...he knew Brian wasn't lying about those things. He'd seen the blanket, he'd seen flowers at the grave every time he'd gone...
Miles closed his eyes, trying to shake the thought.
None of that matters and you know it. Of course Brian was sorry. He'd killed someone. Who wouldn't be sorry?
That was what he'd been screaming at Brian when it happened. When he should have been watching the road. But instead--ignoring everything but his own anger--he'd almost driven head-on into another driver.
He'd almost killed them all.
But afterward, even though Brian had been hurt, Brian had covered for him. And as he watched Brian and Sarah shuffling off, he knew instinctively that Brian would always cover for him.
Why?
Because he felt guilty and it was another way to ask for forgiveness? To hold something over Miles? Or had he really believed what he'd said?
In his mind, that might be how he saw it. Miles hadn't meant for it to happen, after all, so that made it an accident.
As it had been with Missy?
Miles shook his head. No ...
That was different, he told himself. And it wasn't Missy's fault, either.
The breeze kicked up, swirling with light snow flurries.
Or was it?
It doesn't matter, he told himself again. Not now. It's too late for that.
Up on the road, Sarah was opening the car door for Brian. She helped him in and glanced toward Miles, not hiding her anger.
Not hiding how much she'd been hurt by his words.
Sarah hadn't known until yesterday, Brian had said. She never even told me who you were.
At the house only minutes ago, it seemed so obvious that Sarah had known all along. But now, with the way she was looking at him, it suddenly wasn't so clear. The Sarah he'd fallen in love with wasn't capable of deceit.
He felt his shoulders give just a little.
No, he knew that Brian hadn't lied about that. Nor had he lied about the blanket or the flowers or how sorry he'd been. And if he'd told the truth about those things...
Could he be telling the truth about the accident as well?
That question kept coming back to him, no matter how much he resisted it.
Sarah turned away and went around to the driver's side. Miles knew he could still stop them. If he really wanted to, he could stop them.
But he didn't.
He needed time to think--about everything he'd heard today, about Brian's confession...
