Page 39 of Swerve
“With an eighteen-year-old taking over the job, I have no doubt she got shorted.”
“But you were there for her. What if you hadn’t been?”
The shadow that crosses her face tells him it’s something she’s considered. “I can’t imagine.”
“I’m sure she couldn’t either.”
She glances at him, and he lets his eyes meet hers for a second before turning back to the road. In that brief flash of connection, he realizes she’s let the veil down, her pain clearly visible. “Tell me about the friend,” he says.
“Grace,” she says, the name little more than a whisper. “She’s a follower. Mia is the leader in the friendship. But it seems to work for them.”
“They’ll separate them,” he says. At Emory’s stricken glance, he shakes his head. “Sorry. I have a bad habit of voicing my thoughts out loud.”
Tears well in her eyes, and he could kick himself for the visual he’s given her. “Emory—”
“It’s okay. I want your honesty. I have nothing to gain from being told anything that isn’t true.”
Traffic starts to pool in front of the Jeep. He brakes, slowing the Jeep to a crawl. “Did Mia mention anyone unusual in the days before her disappearance?”
Emory bites her lower lip, and he sees her concentration, her desire not to give him an answer until she’s considered the breadth of her memory. “The only new person in her life was a guy at school. She thought he was cute. A football player. She hasn’t been too interested in dating so my ears perked up at that, but she never mentioned anything that would make me worry.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“What?” she asks, swinging her gaze to mine.
“Worry.”
She shrugs. “More than Mia would like.”
“Did . . . does she keep things from you because you worry?”
As if she realizes where he’s going with this, she says, “I think she understands why I’m protective.”
“But would she keep things from you if she thought you might worry about her if you knew?”
“Maybe,” she concedes.
“So you can’t be sure that what you know of her daily habits, routines, choices is definitely what you believe them to be?”
“Detective Helmer,” she says, her voice iron-edged now, “why is it starting to feel like I’m under investigation here?”
“You are,” he says, following through on her desire for honesty. “Anyone I can find who has any connection to your sister is under investigation, as far as I’m concerned. I’m connecting dots here. And I’ll follow whichever dot leads to the next one. That is the only chance of connecting them all so that we have any hope of ever seeing a complete picture.”
“How did this happen?” she asks softly, shaking her head. “Is life really this random? Do any of the efforts we make to drive the speed limit, eat the right foods, pick the right guy, never run on the jogging path alone, does any of it matter at all? Or is the asteroid headed right toward us the whole time so that none of the things we do ever matter at all?”
He draws in a breath, blows it out slowly. He’d like to reassure her, tell her he believes those efforts do matter. But the truth is, he’s seen too much evidence to the contrary.
“That’s all right,” she says, holding up a hand. “You don’t need to say anything. I should know the answer to my own question. My parents were two of those people who tried to live within the lines. And one driver who decided to get under the wheel after a night partying with his buddies obliterated all of their efforts in a single moment.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, because what else is there to say?
“So maybe the truth is we’re all living under this grand illusion that we’re in charge of our lives and what happens to us. I’m working on another year of education in a field where I’m supposed to end up being someone who tells other people how they can regain control of their lives. How crazy is that?” She laughs a short laugh, and then the laughter flows up and out of her. She leans forward with her arms wrapped around her waist and tries to stop. But she can’t.
He’s debating what to say when the laughter instantly changes to a sob, and her shoulders begin to shake hard. And she’s crying, as he’s never heard anyone cry before.
He takes the next exit, staying to the right until he finds a parking lot to turn into. He pulls in a spot and cuts the engine, unhooking his seat belt and turning a knee toward her. He feels awkward and unsure what to do. “Has anyone hugged you since this happened?” he asks finally.
She looks up, tears still flowing. She shakes her head a little, as if the realization has just occurred to her.
