where my dad died.”
Gavin slowed down the car, pulling off into the dirt on the side of the road. “Your dad died at that crossing? That cross is for him?”
“Cross?” I’d never actually gotten the nerve to visit the spot. Even though I hadn’t gone to see the accident scene, I could picture the mangled metal of his car. My chest tightened at the thought of looking at the crossing.
“Have you never seen it?”
“No.”
Gavin unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to look at me. “I’m really sorry to hear that. You said it was five years ago, so you were in high school?”
“It was the summer before college.”
“That must have been tough.”
“It was, mostly because it was my fault.” I looked down at my hands in my lap.
“Your fault? But you weren’t with him, right?”
“He did it because of me,” I said it quickly, waiting for Gavin’s reaction, knowing the sympathy would disappear.
“What? It was a suicide?”
“Not one that could be proved. He didn’t leave a note, but why else would he drive onto the tracks? He was a very safe driver. It made no sense.”
“Accidents rarely make sense.”
“He’d lost his job a few weeks before, and earlier that week he told me.” Once I started telling the story, I couldn’t stop.
Gavin’s hands squeezed mine reassuringly, and I tried to concentrate on the contact rather than the story. “He told me he couldn’t pay for college, and instead of understanding, I threw a fit. I yelled at him and told him it wasn’t fair. I got the grades and a partial scholarship to Boston University. He’d promised to pay the rest.”
I didn’t dare look up at Gavin. I couldn’t handle seeing the look of disgust. “He told me I needed to grow up and accept that things change. I could take a semester off, maybe take some classes at a community college and hope for a scholarship from one of the state schools. I told him I hated him. I didn’t talk to him. Two days later, he was gone.”
“You can’t actually think you had anything to do with it, even if he did kill himself. You know that right?”
“I know he died with us fighting, and I know I made him feel like he let me down. Why wouldn’t I believe I pushed him over the edge?”
Gavin shook his head and didn’t say anything for a minute. I waited nervously for him to change his tune and tell me he was disappointed to hear I would treat someone that way. Instead, he steered the conversation in a different direction.
“But you still went to BU, right?”
“I did. Mom tried to make me use some of the life insurance money. They never even investigated whether it was an accident or not. I refused to take any of it. I took out loans for what the scholarship didn’t cover. I still can’t look at my mom and sister without feeling sick. I robbed them of him, and they both know it.” What I didn’t tell Gavin was how I still cringed every time I heard a train whistle late at night, or how I’d drive miles out of the way just to avoid ever crossing railroad tracks.
“Molly, please. Have you really been carrying this around with you for five years?”
I suddenly realized how ridiculous it was to be pouring all of this out on a guy I hardly knew. A barking dog broke through the silence of the night. “I’m sorry, we can go.”
“No. No, we can’t go. You need to stop beating yourself up.”
“It’s why Ben and I broke up, you know,” I said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t there for me that night. He was too busy getting high with his friends. He said he didn’t hear his phone, but I have no idea whether he did or not. I decided he wasn’t responsible enough for me. I couldn’t rely on him.”
“Ben was a druggie, huh?”
“Not exactly.” It felt wrong to discuss Ben like that. My instinct was to defend him. “He liked to get high, and I hated that he did. He tried to hide it from me, but I always knew.”
“Well, I can’t comment on the Ben part, but you
Gavin slowed down the car, pulling off into the dirt on the side of the road. “Your dad died at that crossing? That cross is for him?”
“Cross?” I’d never actually gotten the nerve to visit the spot. Even though I hadn’t gone to see the accident scene, I could picture the mangled metal of his car. My chest tightened at the thought of looking at the crossing.
“Have you never seen it?”
“No.”
Gavin unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to look at me. “I’m really sorry to hear that. You said it was five years ago, so you were in high school?”
“It was the summer before college.”
“That must have been tough.”
“It was, mostly because it was my fault.” I looked down at my hands in my lap.
“Your fault? But you weren’t with him, right?”
“He did it because of me,” I said it quickly, waiting for Gavin’s reaction, knowing the sympathy would disappear.
“What? It was a suicide?”
“Not one that could be proved. He didn’t leave a note, but why else would he drive onto the tracks? He was a very safe driver. It made no sense.”
“Accidents rarely make sense.”
“He’d lost his job a few weeks before, and earlier that week he told me.” Once I started telling the story, I couldn’t stop.
Gavin’s hands squeezed mine reassuringly, and I tried to concentrate on the contact rather than the story. “He told me he couldn’t pay for college, and instead of understanding, I threw a fit. I yelled at him and told him it wasn’t fair. I got the grades and a partial scholarship to Boston University. He’d promised to pay the rest.”
I didn’t dare look up at Gavin. I couldn’t handle seeing the look of disgust. “He told me I needed to grow up and accept that things change. I could take a semester off, maybe take some classes at a community college and hope for a scholarship from one of the state schools. I told him I hated him. I didn’t talk to him. Two days later, he was gone.”
“You can’t actually think you had anything to do with it, even if he did kill himself. You know that right?”
“I know he died with us fighting, and I know I made him feel like he let me down. Why wouldn’t I believe I pushed him over the edge?”
Gavin shook his head and didn’t say anything for a minute. I waited nervously for him to change his tune and tell me he was disappointed to hear I would treat someone that way. Instead, he steered the conversation in a different direction.
“But you still went to BU, right?”
“I did. Mom tried to make me use some of the life insurance money. They never even investigated whether it was an accident or not. I refused to take any of it. I took out loans for what the scholarship didn’t cover. I still can’t look at my mom and sister without feeling sick. I robbed them of him, and they both know it.” What I didn’t tell Gavin was how I still cringed every time I heard a train whistle late at night, or how I’d drive miles out of the way just to avoid ever crossing railroad tracks.
“Molly, please. Have you really been carrying this around with you for five years?”
I suddenly realized how ridiculous it was to be pouring all of this out on a guy I hardly knew. A barking dog broke through the silence of the night. “I’m sorry, we can go.”
“No. No, we can’t go. You need to stop beating yourself up.”
“It’s why Ben and I broke up, you know,” I said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t there for me that night. He was too busy getting high with his friends. He said he didn’t hear his phone, but I have no idea whether he did or not. I decided he wasn’t responsible enough for me. I couldn’t rely on him.”
“Ben was a druggie, huh?”
“Not exactly.” It felt wrong to discuss Ben like that. My instinct was to defend him. “He liked to get high, and I hated that he did. He tried to hide it from me, but I always knew.”
“Well, I can’t comment on the Ben part, but you
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