Will didn’t want to go home. An entire evening at home nearly drove him crazy with his mother chattering while his father hid behind a tome on some war—Will thought certainly by now his father must be back to the times before Alexander the Great. Because of a trust fund left to him by his grandmother, Will had the money to live other places and had always taken advantage of that freedom.
Christmas was another matter, though. His parents insisted he be home at Christmas, and considering how little grief they’d given him over the years for his many scholastic and business failures, he thought a couple of weeks in Aurora Falls wouldn’t kill him. Besides, except for last year, Catherine Gray always came home for Christmas, too.
And Will always decorated little John David’s grave—the grave Will knew would be there for the rest of his life, haunting him, calling to him.
The memory of John’s death seemed to fill the cold night as Will reluctantly started for home. God, if only he’d gone out that night with some of his friends everything would have been different, but he didn’t have a lot of friends in Aurora Falls. He’d gone to private schools and hadn’t associated a lot with “the guys” when he came home summers. He didn’t fit in with “the guys.” He’d usually gotten along better with girls.
Girls like Melody Simmons. She danced in his dreams, drunk and loud, just as she had that fatal night. Then the dancing and singing would stop. He would see her sick and scared. Then he would see nothing except her big brown eyes, full of hatred and accusation.
Thinking of her sent him back through the years and made him remember the night she’d come to his house around nine o’clock, her long, dark hair tousled, her brown eyes sparkling, her jeans and T-shirt looking painted on her fantastic eighteen-year-old body. She was thrilled and had dragged him outside to see the silver Corvette her father had given her. Will had walked around the car, making the all the appropriate noises, oohing and aahing as he sat in the driver’s seat, looking under the hood and thinking this 345-horsepower engine was too much car for Melody, who had trouble even parallel parking.
She’d wanted them to go to the Lonesome Me Tavern to celebrate. Will hadn’t wanted to go—even under normal circumstances, Melody talked too loud, squealed, burst into song, and did just about anything she could think of to get people’s attention. On the other hand, earlier in the day Will had run into Catherine Gray, already preparing to enter her senior year of college in the fall. She’d been shopping for a birthday present for her mother and he’d invented a female cousin and asked Catherine to help him pick out a present for her.
Catherine had been even more beautiful than he remembered, serene, composed, and funny in her understated, charming way. Also, whenever they met, she somehow made him feel as if he were the person she’d most like to be with at the moment, although she never flirted. She’d intimidated the hell out of him that day as always. Still, after they’d parted, he’d berated himself for not asking her out and decided that somehow he must get up the nerve to ask for a date. He’d been mulling over the problem for hours, and having his deep thoughts about Catherine interrupted by boisterous Melody had made him irritable.
His mother made him more irritable, though, and when Melody insisted they go to the Lonesome Me and that she would drive, he’d consented, thinking maybe by the time he got home his mother would have gone to bed.
The Lonesome Me Tavern had been crowded and the music loud, but Melody had still managed to be seen and heard. She’d danced, she’d sung, she’d bragged about her new car, surreptitiously doing shots of gin she’d brought in a flask while Will chastely sipped on a tonic and lime, thinking that an evening at home with his mother would have been better than this.
On his second tonic and lime, this one spiked with a shot of Melody’s gin, Will had struck up a conversation with a woman in her mid-twenties sitting beside him. Her husband was playing pool while Melody had been whooping and occasionally managing an unsteady belly dance on the dance floor. Suddenly Melody had nearly flown to Will’s side, cursed him, called the woman a bitch, and slapped her. Before the manager had time to do anything, Will had grabbed Melody and tried to drag her from the bar. She’d broken free, called him a few more colorful names, and vanished out the door. Will had made it outside just in time to see her spinning gravel as she soared from the parking lot. A few people, enjoying the entertainment, had followed them outside, clapping and yelling as Melody disappeared in her new car.
Will had gone back inside, apologized profusely to the woman whose cheek had reddened from Melody’s slap. While she’d talked her husband out of suing that little bitch for assault, Will had finished his drink. Because Melody had let everyone know she’d brought Will in her new Corvette, people knew she’d left him stranded. Someone offered to take him home, but he said he’d just as soon walk off how mad he was at her. That had brought a laugh.
Home being less than a mile away, he’d begun walking north. Construction interfered with traffic on this stretch of road during the day, and even at eleven thirty p.m. few cars drove farther than to the Lonesome Me.
Will had been humming, calming down, hoping he never saw Melody Simmons again in his life, when he spotted her Corvette stopped on the side of the road. He’d picked up his pace, and when he’d finally reached the car he’d seen Melody bent over the wheel. She must have passed out, he’d thought, until she raised her head and said, “God, Will, I’m sick. I’m sick enough to die. I’m…” She’d begun heaving and Will quickly opened the door, looking away until she’d finally stopped vomiting and started to cough.
“I can’t drive home, Will. I just can’t,” she wailed. “Oh, my daddy is gonna be so mad at me.”
“He’s not the only one who’s mad at you,” Will had nearly shouted. “You acted like you were crazy in the bar. You hit that woman! Her husband is talking about having you arrested!”
“She was flirtin’…flirtin’…”
Melody nearly fell out of the car and onto her head as the last of her stomach contents streamed out. “Oh, Will, if you just drive me back home…”
“If I drive you back home, what? Your dad won’t know you’re drunk?”
“He’ll be in bed and I’ll be okay in the morning. I just gotta get the car home. We don’t live too far apart. You could leave the car at my house—”
“And walk back to mine.” Will had looked at her in disgust. He’d wanted to say no, not just to teach her a lesson for embarrassing him but also because he was already hot and miserable. Still, she would wreck if she tried to drive home, he’d thought. He hadn’t wanted that on his conscience. “Scoot the hell over.”
He’d stepped around the vomit and gotten behind the wheel while Melody had clambered into the passenger’s seat. “Oh, fank you,” she’d slurred. “I never felt so tur’ble in my whole life. Fanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now shut up.”
Melody remained quiet for two whole minutes as they passed the lane leading to Will’s house. Her house was less than half a mile farther, he’d thought in relief. He was doing the right thing by getting her home safely. After he got her in the door of her house, though, he never wanted to see her again.
Melody had suddenly come to life. “I’ll send that woman flow’rs.”
“Forget it. You can’t send flowers—you don’t even know her name.”
“But she was flirtin’ with you! You’re my boyfrien’. Mine! Ever’body knows that!”
“I am not your boyfriend, Melody! Now just be quiet.”
She’d lunged at him so fast he hadn’t even sensed momentum gathering in her. She clawed at his face, screaming. Will fought her, knowing he’d have to pull off the road—
Then he’d seen a blur, heard a thump, felt the front tires rising over something—something small, something soft. In spite of her hysteria, Melody had been aware of it, too. She’d looked at him with wide bloodshot brown eyes and passed out.
Will had pushed her back to the passenger’s side and gotten out of the
car, muttering, “Oh my God. Let it just be an animal. God, please—”
He went absolutely still when he saw the body of a little boy lying no more than two feet behind the car. One blue-jeaned leg lay straight, the other at an angle from a small body that didn’t move. Will stared at the child, for a few moments almost uncomprehending. A little kid? At this hour? Then he stooped down and looked at the boy’s face, its eyes closed, blood oozing from the mouth.
Will knew he should do something like CPR, but he didn’t know CPR. The child wore a faded jacket—too light for this weather—zipped shut. Will had tentatively unzipped the jacket and put out his right hand toward the little boy’s chest, determined to find out if he had a heartbeat, when headlights cut through the night, freezing Will’s body, stealing his breath.
Will’s thoughts had gone wild. What could he say? It was an accident. Will hadn’t deliberately run down a kid. That had to count for something!
“Looks like you’re having a bad night, Will.”
Will had slowly looked up to see Dillon Archer standing with his hands in his coat pockets, his gaze moving between the boy and Will.
Will had barely known Dillon, but that night he’d launched into a detailed account of the evening, including Melody leaving the Lonesome Me without him, his finding her pulled off the road and sick, taking over the wheel, and Melody attacking him in the car. He’d caught only a flash of movement before he ran over the child, he’d almost wailed. He’d sounded as if he were defending himself to a judge instead of a teenage guy he barely knew.
Dillon had looked at him without emotion. “You’ve had a little trouble with the cops before about your speeding, haven’t you?”
“A warning. Two tickets. That’s all.”
“Yeah. And you’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
“A little bit.”
“Could you pass a Breathalyzer test?”
“Sure.” Will had thought about his automatic response. “I don’t know.”
“So you’re in a whole lot of trouble here, Wilfred Addison the Fourth.”
“It was an accident!”
“Do you think the cops care about that? You’re drunk, you were no doubt driving too fast again, and you hit a kid.”
“What am I going to do?” Will had shouted, nearly crying.
Dillon had cocked his head for a moment. Then he’d said, “You’re going to let me help you. You’re going to do everything I say and you’re going to be fast about it. Alright?”
“Al—alright.”
Dillon had gone straight to the child and put his ear against the boy’s chest. Then he’d felt his pulse. “I was afraid of this.”
“Afraid of what?” Will quavered.
Dillon had gotten in the Corvette, started it, and calmly backed over the child. Later Will remembered screaming like a girl. Then Dillon had put the car into drive and run over the boy again. He got out of the car and walked back to the child, feeling for a pulse, listening for a heartbeat. “Guess we got it right this time,” he said more to himself than to Will. “No chance in hell of a witness.”
Dillon had gone back to the car, hauled the still-unconscious Melody onto the driver’s seat, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and run it around the steering wheel and over the top of the gearshift. He’d put Melody’s right hand on the gearshift and both of her hands—especially the fingers—on the steering wheel before letting them drop back into her lap. He shut the car door, looked at Will, and said, “I’ll take you home.”
“Take me home?” a shuddering Will had asked.
“Yeah. It looks like she was headed for her house. You had to walk to your house, which isn’t this far north. You didn’t know a damned thing about this accident because you didn’t walk this far, did you?” Will stared at him. “Well, did you?”
“N-no.”
“Okay. Get in my car and hurry. People will be leaving the Lonesome Me pretty soon. I have to get you home before anyone sees us.”
Later, Will couldn’t remember his thoughts as Dillon turned around his car and headed to the Addison house. He’d pulled into the circular driveway, stopped, and turned to Will. “You know what would have happened if the cops knew you were driving that car, don’t you? Think about prison. Pretty boy like you in prison?” Dillon shook his head. “Not a good thought. I know you feel bad about that kid, but he never knew what hit him, literally.”
“And Melody Simmons is a total bitch. If the positions were reversed, she’d have thrown you to the wolves and never thought another thing about it. I know right now you’re all shaken up and feeling bad and guilty, but later, when all of this has had a chance to sink in, the first thing you’ll think of is how grateful you are that I saved you. Maybe someday you can do the same for me. Maybe we’ve never been friends, but we’ve never been enemies, either. I’ve always thought you were an okay guy. I don’t want to see your life go down the drain because of Melody Simmons. So you think of all that. And don’t you dare act guilty. Don’t act anything except surprised when you hear the news. She’ll claim you were driving, but you’ve got all those people in the Lonesome Me who know she took off without you.
“Now get in the house and go to your bedroom. You look like hell. We don’t want anyone to see you looking like this. Try to sleep. And Will—don’t forget what I said. Maybe I’ll call on you someday for help and you’ll remember what I did for you tonight.”
Will had climbed from Dillon’s car on shaking legs, used his key to get into the house, gone straight to his bedroom and the adjoining bathroom and thrown up. He’d undressed, crawled into bed, and shivered all night. He’d been cold, so cold. He’d added another blanket to his bed, but it hadn’t helped.
Still, wracked with chills under his expensive blankets, he’d realized he had to feel warmer than that poor kid he’d left lying on the road in the middle of a frozen December night.
For years afterward, Will had tried to block out the image of John David Rowe with women, with liquor, with changes of universities. Everyone thought Will had been on the verge of expulsion from three universities before he quit. Actually, his grades had been fine. He’d simply lost interest and decided to drop out of each school. He only came home when his parents absolutely demanded it, although they could really make him do anything. In his twenties, he’d begun to wonder what he was going to do with a life he knew would be far longer than he’d like.
Then one Christmas his mother had dragged him to a party where Gretchen Montgomery would be giving a concert. Will didn’t care for classical music, but he’d found the pianist pretty in a demure, old-fashioned way. He’d struck up a conversation with her after the crowd had finished with their expected compliments, and Gretchen had charmed Will with her unassuming manner, her intelligence, and her sense of humor. When they started dating, she seemed happy. They had even made love and he hadn’t been surprised that she was a virgin.
After four months, though, she had begun to drift away—at first emotionally and then physically. The lovemaking had stopped altogether. Although Will had enjoyed the sexual part of their relationship, she had never overwhelmed him with passion. Or love. When Catherine Gray had come home in the spring to attend the Carlisle wedding, Will realized what he felt for Gretchen was fondness and deep friendship, but not “until death do us part” love like he did for Catherine. Shortly afterward, Gretchen had begun making excuses not to go places with him, and when they were together she didn’t have much to say. Then she had ended their romantic relationship but hollowly assured him they’d always be friends.
Will had been appalled when he learned she was dating Dillon Archer. He couldn’t understand why her parents let her see him. They’d barely let her see Will. Deeper than his shock, though, had been his concern for her. Although Will knew she wasn’t as innocent as she pretended to be, she certainly wasn’t experienced, not someone who would always make the right choices for herself, in many ways as naïve as a fifteen-year-old.
Will had never g
iven much thought to former girlfriends. He wished them well and he hoped they wouldn’t want to reconcile. He hadn’t taken advantage of any of them, but when a relationship was over he hadn’t cared to remain friends with them. His connection with Gretchen had been different from anything he’d ever known. Beyond his pride at dating a musical prodigy who at twenty-one was already poised to become world-renowned, Will’s pleasure in compliments he received on his girlfriend’s dainty, china doll beauty, his delight in their long talks about everything except who was dating whom, he cared about her maybe more than anyone he had in his life.
And that is why one evening when his parents were gone he’d insisted she come to his house. He’d planned what he was going to say to discourage her from seeing Dillon Archer, yet he didn’t want to reveal his or Dillon’s part in the little boy’s death. When she’d arrived, Will was so nervous, so fumbling, that Gretchen didn’t understand him. He remembered having a drink, another, another, another. Then came the one that put him over the edge and the whole, horrible story of John David Rowe had spilled out of him, shortly before the contents of his stomach when he realized what he’d done.
Gretchen had looked at him with disbelief at first, then in an old, tired, knowing way he would never forget. Just forty-eight hours later, she had fallen from the balcony in the Gray’s Island church—a fall Marissa Gray told police Dillon Archer had caused. The next day, Dillon Archer had vanished.
Now Will shuddered, feeling just as cold and nervous as he had that awful night he’d run down John Rowe. Maybe it was because he’d gone to the boy’s grave. Will’s hands jittered, probably because he hadn’t consumed any alcohol since the two martinis at a late lunch. He’d accepted that he’d become an alcoholic since the death of little John David Rowe—accepted it and didn’t intend to do anything about it. Liquor was the only thing that obliterated his thoughts of the little boy and of Gretchen, whom he was certain Dillon had murdered.
Will turned down the little lane that led to his parents’ big house. For once, he was glad to see it—the gigantic Christmas tree in the front window, colored lights around the double front doors, reindeer bearing miniature white lights on the front lawn. He wanted a drink, but almost as badly he wanted to be around people tonight. He didn’t care what his mother talked about—he just couldn’t stand to be alone in a silent house.
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