“Why do you have to tell her?” she asked, feeling her eyes brighten with tears she knew she wouldn’t be able to shed.
“Because, Sierra, we have to go back. You have to talk to the police. They’re looking for you. They want to question you. I’m sure they want to know how the accident happened. Maybe they hope you can get them to the guy.”
“Why? The guy he hit recovered. Can’t we just stay away?”
“Here’s the deal, Sierra. They know it was your car, they know you’ve disappeared, they know there was a felony hit-and-run. If you know they’re looking for you in a felony investigation and you don’t come forward, they can hit you with obstruction. Or you can wait till they find you, and it can sneak up on you. At the most inconvenient moment, you can find yourself taken into custody for questioning and I want to be with you. I don’t want that to happen while I’m busy having a baby. Let me tell Maggie why I have to go back with you and let’s get this done.”
“And what if we get there and they lock me up?” she asked.
“Cooperating now is the safest thing to do. Once you tell the police where you are and how you can be reached, they probably won’t restrict you. I don’t think they will anyway. You’re not their primary suspect.”
“Who could be a witness?” she asked, frowning in confusion.
Cal shook his head. “Another motorist? Maybe even the victim?”
“Cal. He drove a red Nissan GT—a sports car. It was almost new. Candy-apple red.”
“That might help, but it’s a popular car. They’re going to ask you why you ran if you weren’t driving the car.”
“Can they make me press charges against him? Seeing him again terrifies me.”
Cal just locked eyes with her, looking at her steadily. “You might have to be braver than you’ve ever been. If I thought there was an easier way, I’d tell you.”
She laughed without humor. “Eventually you always have to pay the bill.”
“It was not your fault,” Cal said.
“Oh, I know that,” she said. “But running away made me feel like a victim. And by saying nothing, I hid him. And because I was too afraid of him to act, he might be getting away with everything. Now I have to ask myself—how many people has he hurt in this past year?”
“What are we going to do about that?” Cal asked her.
“I’m going to tell the truth. And pray.”
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
—Anatole France
Chapter 14
A YEAR AGO TOM had wondered if he would ever have a full life. He had four great kids and was certainly blessed with work. While a lot of people couldn’t find a job it seemed like he had jobs coming out of his ears. He had even accepted that he had a very unusual relationship with his wife. His ex-wife. They lived apart and he raised the children, but she was a regular presence for a few days at a time. Kind of like being married to an airline pilot.
And then he had to face the hard truth—Becky was not just a divorcée who had occasional boyfriends. She was a prostitute. She called herself an escort, but the bottom line was always the same—she padded her pocketbook by sleeping with men. He conceded she was a pretty upscale hooker who made excellent money. He was even grateful she didn’t seem to fit the profile he’d seen on most cop shows—she hadn’t been driven into prostitution by a pimp or dependence on drugs. No, nothing as horrifying as that. She was just a beautiful woman who had found a way to supplement her income with sex. Which she enjoyed.
“Not with strangers,” she’d argued. “They were all gentlemen I was seeing, men I knew. If I hadn’t taken money, I’d be just an average woman—dating, having sex sometimes as adults do.”
“I’m not buying it,” Tom had said. “And the house rules change, right now. The kids aren’t going to your place anymore and you’re not spending the night here.”
“You can’t do that,” she said. “They’re my kids, too.”
“We do this my way or I’ll tell them.”
“No, don’t! They’re too young to understand!”
“Becky, I’m too young to understand!” he shot back.
“Fine. I’ve stopped that job anyway.”
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “You’ve been lying to me for years, why would I believe you now? So here’s the deal—you can visit the kids here, with my supervision, as long as you make plans ahead of time. No overnights.”
“What am I supposed to tell them?” she asked.
“Tell them you’re very busy with your second job. And if you run into trouble with that second job again, don’t call me. Call your lawyer.”
He knew that was the right thing to do but that action took some getting used to. Up to that moment, he’d had someone in his life, at least now and then. First he had to deal with the shock and hurt it caused him. Then there was the loneliness. Then the dread of telling his kids—they’d be devastated, he was sure. He knew he’d have to tell them someday.
But they barely noticed their mom was hardly around anymore. They were busy kids; they were a busy family! Every hour was accounted for. They had a lot of responsibility with school and their extracurricular activities.
He’d dealt with the disappointment. He’d always had a passion for Becky, but knowing the wide range her affections had traveled, his urges where she was concerned were gone. He’d finally adjusted to the shock. He could thank Cal for some of that. Cal, who had represented Becky in court, had a unique perspective: “Given my line of work, I’ve been professionally acquainted with a number of working women, you should pardon the expression. I’ve always thought the laws unbalanced in the emphasis, discriminating against women. They should be going after the pimps, traffickers and johns before the working girls. I don’t care who an adult has sex with but I do care about human trafficking, kidnapping, child abuse, extortion, human bondage, slavery, et cetera. A good old-fashioned hooker, exercising some discrimination, her own boundaries, minding health and safety...” He had shrugged.
“Because, Sierra, we have to go back. You have to talk to the police. They’re looking for you. They want to question you. I’m sure they want to know how the accident happened. Maybe they hope you can get them to the guy.”
“Why? The guy he hit recovered. Can’t we just stay away?”
“Here’s the deal, Sierra. They know it was your car, they know you’ve disappeared, they know there was a felony hit-and-run. If you know they’re looking for you in a felony investigation and you don’t come forward, they can hit you with obstruction. Or you can wait till they find you, and it can sneak up on you. At the most inconvenient moment, you can find yourself taken into custody for questioning and I want to be with you. I don’t want that to happen while I’m busy having a baby. Let me tell Maggie why I have to go back with you and let’s get this done.”
“And what if we get there and they lock me up?” she asked.
“Cooperating now is the safest thing to do. Once you tell the police where you are and how you can be reached, they probably won’t restrict you. I don’t think they will anyway. You’re not their primary suspect.”
“Who could be a witness?” she asked, frowning in confusion.
Cal shook his head. “Another motorist? Maybe even the victim?”
“Cal. He drove a red Nissan GT—a sports car. It was almost new. Candy-apple red.”
“That might help, but it’s a popular car. They’re going to ask you why you ran if you weren’t driving the car.”
“Can they make me press charges against him? Seeing him again terrifies me.”
Cal just locked eyes with her, looking at her steadily. “You might have to be braver than you’ve ever been. If I thought there was an easier way, I’d tell you.”
She laughed without humor. “Eventually you always have to pay the bill.”
“It was not your fault,” Cal said.
“Oh, I know that,” she said. “But running away made me feel like a victim. And by saying nothing, I hid him. And because I was too afraid of him to act, he might be getting away with everything. Now I have to ask myself—how many people has he hurt in this past year?”
“What are we going to do about that?” Cal asked her.
“I’m going to tell the truth. And pray.”
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
—Anatole France
Chapter 14
A YEAR AGO TOM had wondered if he would ever have a full life. He had four great kids and was certainly blessed with work. While a lot of people couldn’t find a job it seemed like he had jobs coming out of his ears. He had even accepted that he had a very unusual relationship with his wife. His ex-wife. They lived apart and he raised the children, but she was a regular presence for a few days at a time. Kind of like being married to an airline pilot.
And then he had to face the hard truth—Becky was not just a divorcée who had occasional boyfriends. She was a prostitute. She called herself an escort, but the bottom line was always the same—she padded her pocketbook by sleeping with men. He conceded she was a pretty upscale hooker who made excellent money. He was even grateful she didn’t seem to fit the profile he’d seen on most cop shows—she hadn’t been driven into prostitution by a pimp or dependence on drugs. No, nothing as horrifying as that. She was just a beautiful woman who had found a way to supplement her income with sex. Which she enjoyed.
“Not with strangers,” she’d argued. “They were all gentlemen I was seeing, men I knew. If I hadn’t taken money, I’d be just an average woman—dating, having sex sometimes as adults do.”
“I’m not buying it,” Tom had said. “And the house rules change, right now. The kids aren’t going to your place anymore and you’re not spending the night here.”
“You can’t do that,” she said. “They’re my kids, too.”
“We do this my way or I’ll tell them.”
“No, don’t! They’re too young to understand!”
“Becky, I’m too young to understand!” he shot back.
“Fine. I’ve stopped that job anyway.”
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “You’ve been lying to me for years, why would I believe you now? So here’s the deal—you can visit the kids here, with my supervision, as long as you make plans ahead of time. No overnights.”
“What am I supposed to tell them?” she asked.
“Tell them you’re very busy with your second job. And if you run into trouble with that second job again, don’t call me. Call your lawyer.”
He knew that was the right thing to do but that action took some getting used to. Up to that moment, he’d had someone in his life, at least now and then. First he had to deal with the shock and hurt it caused him. Then there was the loneliness. Then the dread of telling his kids—they’d be devastated, he was sure. He knew he’d have to tell them someday.
But they barely noticed their mom was hardly around anymore. They were busy kids; they were a busy family! Every hour was accounted for. They had a lot of responsibility with school and their extracurricular activities.
He’d dealt with the disappointment. He’d always had a passion for Becky, but knowing the wide range her affections had traveled, his urges where she was concerned were gone. He’d finally adjusted to the shock. He could thank Cal for some of that. Cal, who had represented Becky in court, had a unique perspective: “Given my line of work, I’ve been professionally acquainted with a number of working women, you should pardon the expression. I’ve always thought the laws unbalanced in the emphasis, discriminating against women. They should be going after the pimps, traffickers and johns before the working girls. I don’t care who an adult has sex with but I do care about human trafficking, kidnapping, child abuse, extortion, human bondage, slavery, et cetera. A good old-fashioned hooker, exercising some discrimination, her own boundaries, minding health and safety...” He had shrugged.
