A Bend in the Road

by Nicholas Sparks

  "I know how hard this is--"

  With that, Miles shrugged off Charlie's hand and stared at him. His eyes flashed.

  "No, you don't," Miles snapped, "and you never will, Charlie. Brenda's still around, remember? You still wake up in the same bed, you can call her anytime you want. No one ran her down in cold blood, no one got away with it for years. And mark my words, Charlie, no one's gonna get away with it now."

  Despite Miles's words, Charlie left ten minutes later with the file and the guns. Neither man said another word.

  There was no need for that. Charlie was doing his job.

  And Miles was going to do his.

  Once she was alone, Sarah sat in the living room, numb to everything around her. She hadn't moved from the couch even after she'd stopped crying, feeling somehow that the slightest movement would shatter her tenuous composure.

  Nothing made sense.

  She didn't have the energy to separate her emotions; instead they were jumbled together, indistinguishable. Like an over-loaded outlet, she felt as if a breaker had tripped inside her, leaving her incapable of any action.

  How on earth had this happened? Not Brian's accident--she could understand that, at least on the surface. It was terrible, and what he had done afterward was wrong, no matter how she looked at it. But it was an accident. She knew that. Brian couldn't have avoided it, any more than she would have been able to avoid it.

  And in the blink of an eye, Missy Ryan had died.

  Missy Ryan.

  Jonah's mother.

  Miles's wife.

  That's what didn't make any sense.

  Why had Brian hit her?

  And why, of all the people in the world, had it been Miles who later came into her life? It was almost impossible to believe, and as she sat on the couch, she couldn't reconcile everything she'd just learned--her horror at Brian's confession and the obvious guilt he was suffering... her anger and revulsion at the fact that he'd hidden the truth, set against the implacable knowledge that she would always love her brother...

  And Miles...

  Oh God... Miles .. .

  What was she supposed to do now? Call him with what she knew? Or wait a little until she composed herself and figured out exactly what to say?

  The way Brian had waited?

  Oh, God...

  What would happen to Brian?

  He would go to jail. .. .

  She felt ill.

  Yes, that's what he deserved, even if he was her brother. He broke the law and should pay for his crime.

  Or should he? He was her little brother, just a kid when it happened, and it hadn't been his fault.

  She shook her head, suddenly wishing Brian hadn't told her.

  Yet in her heart, she knew why he had told her. For two years, Miles had paid the price of his silence.

  And now, Otis was going to pay.

  She inhaled deeply, bringing her fingers to her temples.

  No, Miles wouldn't go that far. Would he?

  Maybe not now, but it would eat away at him as long as he believed Otis was guilty, and one day he might--

  She shook her head, not wanting to think about that.

  Still, she didn't know what to do.

  Nor had any answers come to her a few minutes later, when Miles showed up at her door.

  "Hi," Miles said simply.

  Sarah stared at him as if in shock, unable to move her hand from the doorknob. She felt herself tense, her thoughts veering in opposite directions.

  Tell him now, just get it over with. . . .

  Wait until you've figured out what to say first. . . .

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Oh... yeah...um...," she stammered. "Come in."

  She stepped back, and Miles closed the door behind him. He hesitated for a moment before heading toward the window, where he pulled the curtains and scanned the road; then he made a circuit of the living room, obviously distracted. Stopping at the mantel, he absently adjusted a picture of Sarah and her family, angling it so it faced the living room. Sarah stood in the center of the room without moving. The whole thing felt surreal. All she could think as she watched him was that she knew who'd killed his wife.

  "Charlie came by this morning," he said suddenly, and the sound of his voice brought her back. "He took the file I had on Missy."

  "I'm sorry."

  It sounded ridiculous, but it was the first and only thing that came to mind.

  Miles didn't seem to notice.

  "He also told me that he'd have me arrested if I so much as look at Otis Timson."

  This time, Sarah didn't respond. He'd come to vent; the defensive posture he held made that clear. Miles turned toward her.

  "Can you believe that? All I did was arrest the guy who killed my wife and this is what happens."

  It took all the control she could summon to keep her composure.

  "I'm sorry," she said for the second time.

  "So am I." He shook his head. "I can't look for Sims, I can't look for evidence, I can't do anything. I'm supposed to sit at home and wait for Charlie to handle everything."

  She cleared her throat, struggling for a way out. "Well... don't you think that might be a good idea? For a little while, I mean?" she offered.

  "No, not really. Christ, I'm the only one who kept looking after the initial investigation dried up. I know more about this case than anyone."

  No, Miles, you don't.

  "So what are you going to do?"

  "I don't know."

  "You'll listen to Charlie, though, won't you?"

  Miles looked away, refusing to answer, and Sarah felt something drop in her stomach.

  "Listen, Miles," she said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but I think Charlie's right. Let other people handle Otis."

  "Why? So they can screw it up a second time?"

  "They didn't screw it up."

  His eyes flashed. "No? Then why is Otis still walking around? Why was it up to me to find the people who fingered him? Why didn't they look harder for any evidence back then?"

  "Maybe there wasn't any," she answered quietly.

  "Why do you keep playing devil's advocate about this?" he demanded. "You did the same damn thing yesterday."

  "No, I didn't."

  "Yeah, you did. You didn't listen to anything I said."

  "I didn't want you to do anything--"

  He held up his hands. "Yeah--I know. You and Charlie both. Neither one of you seems to realize what the hell is going on here."

  "Of course I do," she said, trying to hide the tension in her voice. "You think Otis did it and you want revenge. But what happens if you find out later that Sims and Earl were wrong somehow?"

  "Wrong?"

  "With what they heard, I mean...."

  "You think they're lying about this? Both of them?"

  "No. I'm just saying that maybe they heard it wrong. Maybe Otis said it, but he didn't mean it. Maybe he didn't do it."

  For a moment, Miles was too thunderstruck to speak. Sarah pressed on, talking over the lump in her throat.

  "I mean, what if you find out that Otis is innocent? I know you two don't get along--"

  "Don't get along?" he said, cutting her off. He stared hard at her before taking a step toward her. "What the hell are you talking about? He killed my wife, Sarah."

  "You don't know that."

  "Yes, I do," he said. He moved even closer to her. "What I don't know is why you're so convinced that he's innocent."

  She swallowed. "I'm not saying that he is. I'm just saying that you should let Charlie handle this so that you don't do anything..."

  "Like what? Kill him?"

  Sarah didn't answer and Miles stood before her. His voice was strangely calm. "Like he killed my wife, you mean?"

  She paled. "Don't start talking like that. You've got Jonah to think about."

  "Don't bring him into this."

  "It's true, though. You're all he's got."

  "Don't you think I know that?
What do you think kept me from pulling the trigger in the first place? I had the chance but I didn't do it, remember?" Miles exhaled sharply as he turned from her, almost as if he were disappointed that he hadn't. "Yeah, I wanted to kill him. I think he deserves it for what he did--an eye for an eye, right?" He shook his head and looked up at her. "I just want him to pay. And he will. One way or another."

  With that, Miles abruptly walked to the door, slamming it as he left.

  Chapter 32

  Sarah couldn't sleep that night.

  She was going to lose her brother.

  And she was going to lose Miles Ryan.

  As she lay in bed, she was reminded of the evening she and Miles had first made love in this room. She remembered it all-- the way he'd listened when she told him she couldn't have children, his expression when he'd told her that he loved her, how they'd whispered together for hours afterward, and the peace she'd felt in his arms.

  It had seemed so right, so perfect.

  The hours after Miles had left produced no answers. If anything, she was more confused than she had been earlier; now that the shock had passed and she was able to think more clearly, she knew that no matter what decision she made, nothing would ever be the same again.

  It was over.

  If she didn't tell Miles, how could she face him in the future? She couldn't imagine Miles and Jonah in her home, sitting around the Christmas tree and opening gifts, she and Brian smiling, pretending that nothing had ever happened. She couldn't imagine looking at Missy's pictures in his house, or sitting with Jonah, knowing that Brian had killed his mother. Nor, of course, would it be the right thing to do. Not with Miles hell-bent on making sure that Otis paid for the crime. She had to tell him the truth, if for no other reason than to make sure that Otis Timson wasn't punished for something he didn't do.

  More than that, Miles had the right to know what really happened to his wife. He deserved that.

  But if she did tell him, then what? Would Miles simply believe Brian's story and let it go? No, not likely. Brian had broken the law, and once she told him, Brian would be arrested, her parents would be devastated, Miles would never speak to her again, and she would lose the man she loved.

  Sarah closed her eyes. She could live with never having met Miles.

  But to fall in love with him and then lose him?

  And what was going to happen to Brian?

  She felt sick to her stomach.

  She got out of bed, slid into a pair of slippers, and went to the living room, wanting desperately to find something, anything, to think about instead. But even there, she was reminded of all that had happened, and she knew with sudden certainty what she had to do. As painful as it was going to be, there was no other way around it.

  When the phone rang the following morning, Brian knew it was Sarah on the other end. He'd been expecting the call, and he reached for the phone before his mother would have the chance to answer it.

  Sarah got right to the point; Brian listened quietly. In the end, he said that he would. A few minutes later, his feet leaving foot-prints in the light snow, Brian made his way to the car.

  His mind wasn't on the drive; instead it was on the things he'd said the day before. He had known when he'd told her that Sarah would be unable to keep his secret. Despite her worries about him, about her future with Miles, she would want him to turn himself in. That was her nature; above all, his sister knew what it was like to be betrayed, and keeping silent would be a betrayal of the worst kind.

  It was the reason, he thought, that he'd told her.

  Brian spotted her just before he parked the car, outside the Episcopal church, where he'd once attended Missy's funeral. Sarah was sitting on a bench, one that overlooked a small cemetery, so old that most of the writing on the headstones had worn away over the centuries. Even before he stepped out the door, Brian could see her plainly. She looked forlorn, truly lost in a way that he'd seen only once before.

  Sarah heard him pull up and turned, though she did not wave. A moment later, Brian sat next to her.

  Sarah, he knew, must have called in sick. The school where she taught, unlike his, had another week to go before vacation. As he sat there, he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had he not come home for Thanksgiving and seen Miles at the house or if Otis hadn't been arrested.

  "I don't know what to do," she finally whispered.

  "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

  "You should be."

  Brian could hear the bitterness in her tone.

  "I don't want to go over all of it again, but I need to know that you were telling me the truth." She turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed in the chill, as if someone had pinched them.

  "I was."

  "I mean about all of it, Brian. Was it really an accident?"

  "Yes," he said.

  She nodded, though his answer didn't seem to comfort her. "I didn't sleep last night," she said. "Unlike you, I can't ignore this."

  Brian didn't respond. There was nothing he could say.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked at last. "When it happened, I mean?"

  "I couldn't," Brian answered. The day before, she had asked the same question, and he had answered in the same way.

  She sat in silence for a long moment. "You have to tell him," she said, staring out over the headstones. Her voice sounded like a shadow of itself.

  "I know," he whispered.

  She lowered her head, and he thought he saw tears beginning to form. She was worried about him, but it wasn't her worry that caused the tears. Sitting beside her, Brian knew that she was crying for herself.

  Sarah went with Brian to Miles's house. As she drove, Brian stared out the window. The movement of the car seemed to drain Brian of energy, but he was strangely unafraid of what was coming. His fear, he knew, had been passed to his sister.

  They crossed the bridge, then turned on Madame Moore's Lane, following the winding curves until they reached Miles's driveway. Sarah pulled alongside his pickup and turned the key, extinguishing sound.

  Sarah didn't get out right away. Instead, she sat, holding the keys in her lap. She took a deep breath, then finally faced him. Her mouth was set in a tight, forced smile of support, then vanished. She slid her keys into her purse, and Brian pushed open the door. Together they started toward the house.

  Sarah hesitated at the step, and for a moment, Brian's eyes darted to the corner of the porch, where he'd stood so many times. As soon as it happened, he knew that he would tell Miles about the crime, but just as he had with his sister, he would keep silent about the other things he had done.

  Steeling herself, Sarah walked to the door and knocked. A moment later, Miles opened the door.

  "Sarah... Brian...," he said.

  "Hi, Miles," Sarah answered. Her voice, Brian thought, was surprisingly steady.

  At first, no one moved. Still upset from the day before, Miles and Sarah simply stared at each other, until Miles took a small step backward.

  "Come in," he said, leading them inside. He closed the door behind them. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "No, thank you."

  "How about you, Brian?"

  "No. I'm fine."

  "So what's up?"

  Sarah absently adjusted her purse strap. "There's something I...I mean we, have to talk to you about," she said awkwardly. "Can we sit down?"

  "Sure," Miles answered. He motioned toward the couch.

  Brian took a seat next to Sarah, across from Miles. Brian took a deep breath, almost starting then, but Sarah cut him off.

  "Miles... before we start, I want you to know that I wish I didn't have to be here. I wish that more than anything. Try to keep that in mind, okay? This isn't easy for any of us."

  "What's going on?" he asked.

  Sarah glanced toward Brian. She nodded, and with that, Brian felt his throat suddenly go dry. He swallowed.

  "It was an accident," he said.

  At that, the words poured forth, the wa
y he'd rehearsed them a hundred times in his head. Brian told him everything about that night two years ago, leaving nothing out. His mind, however, wasn't on the words.

  Instead it was on Miles's reaction. At first there was none. As soon as Brian began, Miles slipped into a different posture, that of someone who wanted to listen objectively, without interruption, the way he'd been trained as a sheriff. Brian, he knew, was making a confession, and Miles had learned that silence was the best way to get an uncensored version of events. It wasn't until later, when Brian mentioned Rhett's Barbecue, that Miles finally began to realize what Brian was telling him.

  Then the shock set in. As Brian went on, Miles froze, his face draining of color. His hands tightened reflexively on the armrest. Nonetheless, Brian pressed forward. In the background, as if from somewhere far away, Brian heard his sister inhale sharply as he described the accident. He ignored the sound, continuing with his story, stopping only when he described the next morning in the kitchen, and his decision to keep silent.

  Miles sat like a statue through it all, and when Brian lapsed into silence, Miles seemed to take a moment to register everything that Brian had told him. Then, finally, his eyes focused on Brian, as if seeing him for the first time.

  In a way, Brian knew he was.

  "A dog?" he rasped out. His voice was low and gravelly, as if he'd been holding his breath through the confession. "You're saying she jumped in front of your car because of a dog?"

  "Yes." Brian nodded. "A black dog. A big one. There was nothing I could do."

  Miles's eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to keep control. "Then why did you run?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I can't explain why I ran that night. The next thing I knew, I was in the car."

  "Because you don't remember." The anger in Miles's tone was unmistakable, barely suppressed. Ominous.

  "I don't remember that part of it, no."

  "But the rest of it you do. You remember everything else about that night."

  "Yes."

  "Then tell me the real reason you ran that night."

  Sarah reached out to touch Miles's arm. "He's telling the truth, Miles. Believe me--he wouldn't lie about this."

  Miles shook off her hand.

  "It's okay, Sarah," Brian said. "He can ask whatever he wants."

  "You're damn right I can," Miles added, his voice lowering even more.

  "I don't remember why I ran," Brian answered. "Like I said, I don't remember even leaving the scene. I remember being in the car, but that's it."