said.
“You always win, buddy,” Eric replied, rising and picking up his phone. “Be right back.”
“But even if you don’t win,” Katie added, throwing her arm around him, “I say you win.”
“I hope I get first,” Drew said, tilting the decanter so precariously Katie reached out to upright it. “But I know the shrimp will die.”
* * *
Back at the house, Katie had just begun to confront the kitchen, the counter stained by gritty creep of that morning’s coffee, a scattering of Cheerios mysteriously caught in the stovetop burners, when she heard Drew calling her name from the den.
“It’s on TV,” he said, remote in his hand.
“What is, honey?” Katie asked, Eric and Devon behind her.
“Ryan,” he said, pointing. “Being dead.”
On the screen a stern-faced reporter stood on Ash Road in front of the grappling elm. Despite the harsh lights illuminating him, everything looked so dark.
…The third accident in a year at this location. The latest victim is twenty-five-year-old Ryan Beck, who was struck and killed Saturday night in an apparent hit-and-run.
A photo of Ryan appeared. Chin raised, mouth slightly open, eyes vacant, like he was staring down a hole. He looked no more than sixteen.
“Why are those lines behind him?” Drew asked.
“Christ,” Eric said. “Did they have to use a mug shot?”
“I guess that’s all they had,” Katie said. “I didn’t realize…”
“Is that Ryan?” Devon said quietly, her gym bag slipping from her arm. “Is it him?”
No one spoke for a second, all eyes on the TV. Ryan’s glower.
Behind her, Katie heard a soft thud and realized Devon had left the room. She couldn’t blame her.
…Speculated Beck’s fall down the shoulder and into a ditch is the likely cause of the fatal head and neck injuries. A formal autopsy will confirm…
“What’s a mug shot?” Drew asked.
“I’ll explain later,” Eric said, hand on Drew’s shoulder, turning him. “Time for bed.”
Police are urging possible eyewitnesses to come forward .
Ryan’s image remained on the screen for a second. He looked both baby-faced and sullen, a spray of acne up one cheek like a scar.
A memorial service for Beck will be held tomorrow at noon.
“Are we going to go?” said Drew, looking at Katie. “To remember Ryan?”
“You both have school,” Katie said, fumbling. “So.”
She looked at Eric, who was still watching the TV.
There were no skid marks on the road , the reporter continued, gesturing down to the inky asphalt. Whoever the driver was, he never even set his foot on the brake.
“We’ll figure it out,” Eric said, not moving, not blinking. “Don’t worry. Everything’s okay.”
Chapter Seven
Car still up on the lift. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Eric’s text arrived as Katie drove to the funeral, alone. I’m so sorry, K.
It hurt her eyes, everything so garishly beautiful, the entire cemetery blushing with late-spring flowers, petals scattering everywhere, gathering at everyone’s feet.
Everyone came, all the parents. A half a dozen brought their daughters, the younger ones who trained under Hailey, taking them out of school, thrusting their hard little gymnast bodies into stiff dresses, shoulders straining eyelet.
Teddy and his wife, Tina, both pewter-haired, tanned, long-limbed, soared over everyone else, their eyes downcast. Grand and conspicuous, they moved like mourning royalty.
But then there was Hailey.
At first Katie didn’t even recognize her, her hair thick and uncombed, her athletic body seemingly wedged into someone else’s black dress. Her face looked raw, her freckles more conspicuous against her fading tan. Among the others—with their dark shades, the older women’s hats, all their funeral masks—she looked naked.
Through the service that followed, she didn’t cry at all, despite the large lace handkerchief that she held awkwardly, as if someone had forced it into her hand.
The small-boned woman
“You always win, buddy,” Eric replied, rising and picking up his phone. “Be right back.”
“But even if you don’t win,” Katie added, throwing her arm around him, “I say you win.”
“I hope I get first,” Drew said, tilting the decanter so precariously Katie reached out to upright it. “But I know the shrimp will die.”
* * *
Back at the house, Katie had just begun to confront the kitchen, the counter stained by gritty creep of that morning’s coffee, a scattering of Cheerios mysteriously caught in the stovetop burners, when she heard Drew calling her name from the den.
“It’s on TV,” he said, remote in his hand.
“What is, honey?” Katie asked, Eric and Devon behind her.
“Ryan,” he said, pointing. “Being dead.”
On the screen a stern-faced reporter stood on Ash Road in front of the grappling elm. Despite the harsh lights illuminating him, everything looked so dark.
…The third accident in a year at this location. The latest victim is twenty-five-year-old Ryan Beck, who was struck and killed Saturday night in an apparent hit-and-run.
A photo of Ryan appeared. Chin raised, mouth slightly open, eyes vacant, like he was staring down a hole. He looked no more than sixteen.
“Why are those lines behind him?” Drew asked.
“Christ,” Eric said. “Did they have to use a mug shot?”
“I guess that’s all they had,” Katie said. “I didn’t realize…”
“Is that Ryan?” Devon said quietly, her gym bag slipping from her arm. “Is it him?”
No one spoke for a second, all eyes on the TV. Ryan’s glower.
Behind her, Katie heard a soft thud and realized Devon had left the room. She couldn’t blame her.
…Speculated Beck’s fall down the shoulder and into a ditch is the likely cause of the fatal head and neck injuries. A formal autopsy will confirm…
“What’s a mug shot?” Drew asked.
“I’ll explain later,” Eric said, hand on Drew’s shoulder, turning him. “Time for bed.”
Police are urging possible eyewitnesses to come forward .
Ryan’s image remained on the screen for a second. He looked both baby-faced and sullen, a spray of acne up one cheek like a scar.
A memorial service for Beck will be held tomorrow at noon.
“Are we going to go?” said Drew, looking at Katie. “To remember Ryan?”
“You both have school,” Katie said, fumbling. “So.”
She looked at Eric, who was still watching the TV.
There were no skid marks on the road , the reporter continued, gesturing down to the inky asphalt. Whoever the driver was, he never even set his foot on the brake.
“We’ll figure it out,” Eric said, not moving, not blinking. “Don’t worry. Everything’s okay.”
Chapter Seven
Car still up on the lift. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Eric’s text arrived as Katie drove to the funeral, alone. I’m so sorry, K.
It hurt her eyes, everything so garishly beautiful, the entire cemetery blushing with late-spring flowers, petals scattering everywhere, gathering at everyone’s feet.
Everyone came, all the parents. A half a dozen brought their daughters, the younger ones who trained under Hailey, taking them out of school, thrusting their hard little gymnast bodies into stiff dresses, shoulders straining eyelet.
Teddy and his wife, Tina, both pewter-haired, tanned, long-limbed, soared over everyone else, their eyes downcast. Grand and conspicuous, they moved like mourning royalty.
But then there was Hailey.
At first Katie didn’t even recognize her, her hair thick and uncombed, her athletic body seemingly wedged into someone else’s black dress. Her face looked raw, her freckles more conspicuous against her fading tan. Among the others—with their dark shades, the older women’s hats, all their funeral masks—she looked naked.
Through the service that followed, she didn’t cry at all, despite the large lace handkerchief that she held awkwardly, as if someone had forced it into her hand.
The small-boned woman
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