Long Drive Home

by Will Allison

  “No need,” Tawana said. “Juwan was the same way, so stubborn sometimes—” She caught herself and smiled, to show me she didn’t mean any offense, but the tears were already coming. Sara crossed her arms and scowled at us. Burris was still at the window, probably wondering if he should come out and put a stop to whatever was going on. I felt like crawling under the car. As much as I wanted to get out of there, though, I couldn’t just drive off and leave Tawana like that. I waited until she got control of herself. She blew her nose and took out her keys.

  “He was a good boy,” she said. “I know it must not seem like it, but it’s true.”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  She looked at me like I still needed convincing. “He just made some bad decisions.”

  I nodded. “Like everybody does.”

  _______

  Once upon a time, I didn’t think I wanted kids. In fact, even after you were born, there were days when I felt that becoming a parent was something I’d done for you and your mom, not for myself. I got over that in a hurry, but the shame of it has never completely gone away. There are still days I know I don’t deserve you.

  _______

  “Why did you say that?” Sara said. “Why did you make her not believe me?”

  I was driving her back to school, hating myself for running roughshod over her, wishing there had been another way. And it was only going to get worse, because now she’d go tell her mom, looking for sympathy, and Liz would realize there was still more about the accident I’d kept to myself.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. Sometimes people remember things differently.”

  Our eyes met in the rearview mirror. She was staring at me in disbelief. She knew perfectly well what she’d seen. She knew perfectly well what I’d seen.

  I pulled over and killed the engine. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m the one who got confused.”

  At first she wouldn’t even come up front. Then, after she had a long cry, she gave me a solemn stare. “I accept your apology.”

  That was something she’d learned in school, instead of saying “That’s all right” when really it wasn’t. She wiped her eyes and leaned her head on my chest. I could have sat there like that all day, feeling the weight of her, listening to the traffic go by.

  My phone beeped, a text message from Liz. All it said was, “So?”

  Might as well get it over with, I thought. Sara was going to tell her what happened sooner or later. At least this way, I’d know what was said. I dialed Liz’s office and told her Sara was with me, that she hadn’t been feeling well so I’d brought her along to the lawyer’s office. Then I put her on speaker, hoping for the best.

  “Hi, butterfly,” Liz said. “I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”

  “I feel better,” Sara said. “Dad and I were having a fight, but now we’re making up.”

  “Oh, no. About what?”

  “About the dead boy—”

  “Not a fight,” I said. “A disagreement. I remembered something wrong, and Sara corrected me.”

  Sara liked the sound of that. “I have the best memory in the family. That’s what Nana says.”

  “Tawana was there,” I said, changing the subject. “She was waiting for us after the meeting. She apologized for the accident and said it was his F-A-U-L-T.”

  “Why are you spelling?” Sara said. “What’s the secret?”

  “She said she wasn’t the kind of person who goes around S-U-I-N-G.”

  “She really said that?” Liz said. “I mean, you have to admit, it’s almost too perfect.”

  “What’s ‘suing,’ ” Sara said. “Will someone please let me into the conversation?”

  “Hey.” I took her nose between my knuckles. “How about some ice cream before we go back?”

  When the three of us went out for burgers after the class play that night, nobody called it a celebration, but that’s how it felt to me—just the fact that Liz was okay with our being seen in public. She’d had time to think over what Tawana had said. She still wasn’t going to get her hopes up, but she wasn’t going to ignore a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel, either. Now it was just a matter of waiting to make sure we were in the clear. Her main concern was Rizzo.

  “Because if he presses charges,” she said, while Sara was in the bathroom, “Tawana will change her mind. She’d almost have to.”

  That night, as I was tucking Sara in and telling her what a good, authentic Pilgrim she’d been, I remember thinking I’d been right to go along with the separation after all, just as I’d been right in thinking it wouldn’t last. Liz was starting to seem like a reasonable human being again. We had hurt Sara, but she’d get over it. I only wished there were some way to let her know that now, soon really did mean soon.

  Telling Liz good-bye was even stranger now that there seemed so little point in our being separated. I was hoping she’d say enough was enough and ask me to stay the night. I was still hoping on the drive home, expecting it to be her when my phone rang.

  “Rizzo here,” the detective said.

  I asked him to hold on and pulled over, wishing I hadn’t answered, wishing I hadn’t had a beer at dinner. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  He was curt. He said he’d appreciate my coming to his office the next morning. “More questions.” There was a siren in the background, voices and traffic.

  “Sure,” I said. What else could I say? I closed the phone and sat there, whipsawed, trying to imagine what could be so important that he’d call at ten-fifteen, from what sounded like the scene of a crash. Whatever it was, he’d been all business. I felt like a fool for having believed, even briefly, that the accident was behind us. It was like Liz had said: did I really think there weren’t going to be consequences? And now I surely had it coming—lying to Tawana’s face the way I had, twisting Sara’s words.

  The out of order sign was gone from the elevator. My phone rang again as I was waiting. This time it really was Liz, calling to say Rizzo was trying to reach me.

  “I gave him your number,” she said. “I told him you’d moved out.”

  “He just called. He wants me to come downtown for more questions.”

  “Oh, God, not again.”

  There wasn’t much else to say. I pushed the elevator button a second time. Either someone was holding it, or it was still broken.

  Lying in bed that night with Chairman Meow at my feet, I wanted to believe Rizzo was just trying to scare me. But what if he wanted me to take a lie detector test? What if he’d come up with proof I’d lied about the photos? What if he’d found another witness? It would be my word against theirs, and mine wasn’t much more than a balloon waiting to be popped.

  By the time I dropped Sara off at school, I was imagining myself not coming home. I hugged her for so long, she asked what was wrong.

  “Let’s do something special this afternoon,” I said. “Anything you want.”

  * * *

  The prosecutor’s office was in the county courthouse. I parked in the garage and went in the back, joining the line of people waiting to go through security. Just being inside the building, surrounded by so many police officers and lawyers, made me feel like I didn’t have a chance. After the metal detector, I took an escalator up to the main floor and found the elevators. Six or seven jurors were waiting to go up to one of the courtrooms; I was the only person who got off on the fifth floor.

  I told the woman behind the thick glass I was there to see Rizzo. He came out a few minutes later. Still all business. I followed him to an anonymous-looking office. Behind a metal desk, a small window gave onto a sliver of downtown Newark. A few personal items were lined up on the sill like pieces of evidence that he actually worked there: a chipped coffee mug with “Dad” on it, a cactus, a Rubik’s Cube that had either been solved or never touched.

  After he closed the door, Rizzo said he was sorry to hear Liz and I were having trouble. “Been there. Not fun.” Then he asked how Sara was.


  I said she was fine, that we still saw each other every day.

  “Good for you,” he said, motioning for me to sit. He took down my new address on an old-fashioned Rolodex card, then laced his fingers on the desk. “Here’s the situation. I was speaking with Tawana Richards yesterday, and she mentioned running into you and Sara. She said Sara claimed you were involved in a separate incident with Juwan prior to the accident.”

  He leaned back in his chair, waiting for me to take it from there. I just stared. I didn’t believe Tawana thought what Sara had said was worth reporting. Maybe she happened to mention it to Burris and he’d encouraged her to call, or maybe Rizzo had spoken with her for some other reason and it had just come up.

  “Is that correct, Mr. Bauer?”

  “Yes, that’s what she said.” The words were like glue in my mouth. “But it was a misunderstanding. She got him confused with a different guy we saw on the drive home that day.”

  “Ms. Richards indicated she was quite insistent.”

  “She’s six,” I said. “She doesn’t like being told she’s wrong.”

  “She’s an eyewitness to a fatal car accident.” Rizzo came around and sat on the corner of the desk, close enough that I could smell the wool of his suit. “Look, Sara could clear this up. I’ve interviewed kids before. If you’re worried about me upsetting her—”

  “It’s not that. I just think—my wife and I both—she’s been through enough. Like we said.”

  “Let me ask you something, Mr. Bauer. Do you ever think about what his family’s been through?”

  Rizzo was finally showing his true colors. Outside, sunlight glinted off a high-rise, but the window was so narrow, I couldn’t tell which direction I was looking in.

  “It’s been three weeks,” I said, trying to remain civil. “If she knew anything, it would have come out by now.”

  When I didn’t—couldn’t—meet his eye, he went back to his chair. He knew I was lying; that much was clear. What I needed to know was whether he’d figured out why. That would give him a motive, which for all I knew was the only thing stopping him from pressing charges.

  “You’re putting me in a tough spot here,” he said. “Without Sara, all I’ve got to go on is a report that the only person besides you who saw the accident made a statement that contradicts what you’ve told me.”

  When I still didn’t have anything to say for myself, he proceeded to tell me I had the right to remain silent, that anything I said could and would be held against me in a court of law, that I had the right to an attorney, and that if I couldn’t afford one, one would be appointed to me. Then he asked if I understood.

  What I understood was this: now that he knew I knew he thought I was lying, he could stop pretending I was just a witness. I was officially a suspect. I didn’t have to tiptoe anymore, either. I ignored the blood pounding in my temples.

  “Are you arresting me?”

  “No.”

  “Are you taking me into custody?”

  “I’d say you’re in a custodial situation. Do you understand your rights or not?”

  “I do,” I said. “I don’t need a lawyer.”

  “So you’re willing to continue?”

  He seemed mildly surprised. I guess I was, too. I was ready for whatever he had, one way or another. Wasting no time, he took out his pen and asked what my route had been on the day of the accident. After I’d laid it out for him, street by street, he gave a nod, as if I’d confirmed what he already knew. Then he opened a file folder on his desk and took out a sheet of paper. He said he was holding a statement he’d gotten yesterday from a village patrolman who’d seen a silver Jaguar convertible pass through a safety checkpoint just prior to the accident.

  “He remembered the vehicle because it exited the checkpoint at a high rate of speed. He said it made a sharp turn onto Kingsley, into your neighborhood. That puts you and Juwan in the same place at about the same time.”

  “I remember the checkpoint.”

  “And the convertible?”

  I shook my head.

  “Mr. Bauer, are you aware of the penalties for making a false statement?”

  “I think so.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to hear them. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to tell me what else the officer had seen. Instead, he sat back and waited too. We must have sat like that, silent, for one or two minutes, though it felt much longer. At some point, it occurred to me he might be bluffing. Because what did he really have? Even if he was able to prove I’d lied about seeing Juwan twice, that didn’t prove I’d caused the accident, much less that I’d cut the wheel on purpose. Maybe he didn’t have anything else, so all he could do was try to trick me into talking.

  “Why didn’t they stop him at the checkpoint?” I said.

  “Why should they? Because he was a black kid in a Jaguar?”

  “Because he was drunk.”

  “You’re from down South,” he said. “Kentucky. Isn’t that right?”

  It took me a moment to see what he was getting at. “This is bullshit.”

  He leaned forward, smiling a little, looking pleased to have gotten a rise out of me. “Here’s what comes next,” he said. “I start knocking on doors until I find somebody who saw what happened after he made that turn. If you have anything to tell me, I suggest you do it before then.”

  “Am I free to go?”

  He came around from his desk and opened the door. “Yes, you are.”

  I left the courthouse shaking all over, feeling like I might be sick, but Rizzo still wasn’t finished. Halfway back to the apartment, I got a call from Liz. He’d reached her at work, asking her for permission to speak with Sara.

  “Unbelievable,” I said. “I just told him no, not ten minutes ago.”

  She said maybe it was different now that we were separated; maybe he needed permission from only one of us. “What if he shows up at her school?”

  “He can’t do that,” I said.

  “He can do whatever he wants.”

  “I’m going to get Sara. We’ll come into the city.” I needed to tell Liz how things had gone with Rizzo, but not over the phone, not with fifteen miles and a river between us.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.” But she sounded relieved.

  I drove straight to school, told Warren I couldn’t do the crosswalk, and signed Sara out. Even though I knew Rizzo wasn’t going to show up, it made me feel better having her with me. I told her I was taking her to Central Park.

  “That’s the something special?” she said. “I thought I got to pick.”

  On the train, Sara sat on my lap for a better view, and as the houses and apartment buildings flashed by, it was all I could do not to lock my arms around her. The fact that I wasn’t going to be moving back home anytime soon was bad enough, but what if I really did get arrested? How would I explain that to her? I pictured Rizzo, already in our neighborhood, chatting up lawn crews, meter readers, jitney drivers, residents—anyone who might have been around to see us on Kingsley that day. There were ten or twelve houses on that block. All it would take was one person who’d happened to glance out the window when they heard the Jaguar come racing in off South Orange Avenue.

  If only I hadn’t brought Sara along to that meeting. If only I hadn’t stood there like an idiot letting her talk to Tawana.

  Sara was too excited about our trip to notice what a basket case I was. “Do I still get to do anything I want?” She couldn’t decide between the carousel and the playground with the big granite slide.

  “We’ll do both,” I said.

  Outside, factories and warehouses gave way to wetlands crisscrossed by truss bridges and raised highways. Along the rail bed, old power lines drooped from tilted poles into water dotted with discarded tires. The scenery wasn’t enough to hold Sara’s attention. She slid off my lap and took a notebook from her backpack. I called Helen to tell her we were going into the city. When I hung up, Sara was drawing a tree with branches
that looked like arms.

  “Is that Sicky?”

  She snapped the notebook shut and shook her head. After the way things had gone with Tawana, I could hardly blame her for being guarded. I turned back to the window, not wanting to make her any more self-conscious than I already had, but we were entering the tunnel, and there was nothing to look at on either side of us now but darkness.

  * * *

  Liz got away from work and met us at the playground, and the three of us walked over to the carousel. Sara was careful choosing a horse. Liz and I stood back so we could hear ourselves over the calliope. As the ride started, Sara let out a whoop and waved to us—pure, carefree happiness. I didn’t want to be the one who took that away from her.

  “He read me my rights,” I said.

  Liz stopped waving. She looked stricken. She put her arms around my neck and pressed her head into my chest. Sara went past on the carousel three times, staring at us, before Liz pulled herself together.

  “So what happened?” she said. “You stopped talking and then what? Tell me you didn’t keep talking.”

  When I didn’t answer, her arms fell away. She straightened up and wiped her cheeks. She took a step back, squinting at me as if I were a blur.

  “What is wrong with you, Glen? Are you trying to get caught?”

  I started to tell her what I’d been telling myself, that Rizzo would have arrested me if he could, but she turned away, disgusted. By now the ride was over and Sara was coming through one of the carousel’s brick archways, asking for a hot pretzel. She stopped short when she got a look at us. “What’s wrong?”

  We each forced a smile, said “nothing” at the same time. Sara frowned. She took Liz’s hand and mine and pressed them together.

  “Come on,” she said. “Make up.”

  * * *

  Liz took Sara back to her office that afternoon and gave two weeks’ notice. She didn’t tell me until that night, on the phone. Now that I was a suspect, she said, a lawsuit was almost guaranteed. We had to get serious about the separation, keep up appearances. For all we knew, I might even be under surveillance at some point. No more staying for dinner, no more putting Sara to bed.