Chapter 4
For three years, I had imagined my husband dying alone.
That was the part that haunted me most.
Marcus trapped inside his overturned truck.
Rain beating against the windshield.
Nobody there to hold his hand.
Nobody there to tell him we loved him.
But now Maya was saying someone else had been with him.
I stared at her.
"What do you mean there was another person?"
She looked down.
"Mrs. Harris said Dad wasn't alone."
Mrs. Harris.
Maya's history teacher.
A Black woman in her fifties named Lorraine Harris.
I'd met her twice at school conferences.
She was kind.
Soft-spoken.
And always seemed unusually interested in how Maya was coping after her father's death.
I had assumed she was simply a caring teacher.
Now I wasn't sure.
"How would she know?" I asked.
Maya swallowed.
"She said Dad called her that night."
I felt dizzy.
"Why would he call your teacher?"
"Because she used to work with him."
I frowned.
"At the transportation company?"
Maya nodded.
"She worked in their records department before she became a teacher."
I stared toward the bedroom window.
Marcus had never mentioned Lorraine.
At least, not by that name.
I remembered him talking about a woman named Lori.
Someone who helped him with paperwork.
Could it be the same person?
I reached for my phone.
"Did Mrs. Harris give you a number?"
Maya nodded.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
A phone number was written across it.
Beneath the number were three words.
DON'T TRUST CURTIS.
My stomach twisted.
I photographed the paper and contacted Detective Brooks.
She asked us not to approach Lorraine without coordination.
I agreed.
But waiting was almost unbearable.
***
That evening, Patrice welcomed us into her home.
She hugged Maya first.
Then she looked at me.
Her face crumpled.
"Oh, Angie."
I hadn't heard anyone call me that in years.
I collapsed against her.
She held me tightly.
For a moment, I was seventeen again.
The younger sister who always ran to Patrice when something frightened her.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She pulled back.
"For what?"
"For disappearing after Marcus died."
Her eyes filled.
"You were grieving."
"I pushed everyone away."
She shook her head.
"Then come back."
I started crying harder.
She hugged me again.
"You're here now."
***
Patrice made dinner.
Maya barely touched her food.
Afterward, my sister helped her settle into the guest bedroom.
I sat alone in the living room.
My phone lay on the coffee table.
I kept staring at Lorraine's number.
At nine fifteen, Detective Brooks called.
She had spoken with Lorraine.
The teacher had agreed to provide a statement.
She also confirmed something important.
Marcus had contacted her shortly before his death.
My throat tightened.
"What did he say?"
Brooks paused.
"She reported that he believed certain company safety records had been altered."
I closed my eyes.
Marcus had been complaining about paperwork for months before the crash.
I remembered him sitting at the kitchen table.
He looked exhausted.
I'd asked what was wrong.
He'd said:
"Sometimes doing the right thing makes powerful people uncomfortable."
I'd kissed his forehead and told him not to bring work home.
I wished I'd listened.
The detective continued.
"Lorraine says Marcus asked her to preserve copies of several documents."
"Did she?"
"She says she did."
My heart began pounding.
"Where are they?"
"We're working with her to obtain them."
I swallowed.
Then asked:
"What about the other person in the truck?"
There was a pause.
"Angela, Lorraine believes someone met Marcus that night. But she doesn't have firsthand knowledge that another person was inside his vehicle."
I felt disappointed.
And strangely relieved.
At least there was a possibility that Maya had misunderstood.
But then Brooks added:
"We are reviewing the original crash investigation."
My hands tightened.
"Do you think it wasn't an accident?"
"We don't have enough evidence to say that yet."
I appreciated her honesty.
Even if it terrified me.
***
The next morning, Maya woke screaming.
I rushed into her room.
She was sitting upright in bed.
Her face was covered in tears.
"Mom!"
I grabbed her hands.
"I'm here."
She looked around wildly.
"He was in the room."
I felt cold.
"Who?"
"The man with the boots."
I pulled her close.
"It was a dream."
She shook against me.
"I could hear him walking."
I held her until her breathing slowed.
Then I realized how much she'd been carrying alone.
Weeks of threats.
Fear.
Secrets.
The belief that telling me would put my life in danger.
I kissed her forehead.
"You don't have to protect me by hurting yourself."
She started crying again.
"I thought if I found out what happened to Dad, everything would be okay."
My heart broke.
"Oh, sweetheart."
"I miss him so much."
I held her tighter.
"So do I."
We cried together.
For the first time in three years, neither of us pretended to be fine.
***
Later that day, Lorraine Harris came to Patrice's house with Detective Brooks.
She carried a small brown envelope.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
"Angela."
I stood.
"Mrs. Harris."
"Please. Call me Lorraine."
I studied her face.
"How did you know my husband?"
She took a breath.
"Marcus and I worked together for eight years."
I frowned.
"He never mentioned your full name."
"He called me Lori."
My chest tightened.
I remembered.
"Lori from records."
She smiled sadly.
"That's me."
We sat around Patrice's dining table.
Lorraine explained that Marcus had been investigating suspicious maintenance reports connected to several large commercial vehicles.
He believed some vehicles were being declared safe despite serious mechanical problems.
When he raised concerns, his supervisors told him to stop.
He kept collecting evidence.
Then he contacted Lorraine.
"He was frightened," she admitted.
I stared at her.
"Marcus wasn't easily frightened."
"I know."
Her eyes filled.
"That's why I took him seriously."
She opened the envelope.
Inside were copies of emails.
Inspection forms.
And a photograph of Marcus standing beside a company truck.
Lorraine pointed toward a man in the background.
I stared at him.
Blue jeans.
Brown work boots.
Short hair.
A heavy build.
"Curtis Bell," she whispered.
My stomach twisted.
I recognized him.
He'd been at Marcus's funeral.
Then Lorraine turned another photograph toward me.
This one showed Marcus standing beside a woman outside a roadside diner.
She wore a dark jacket.
Her face was partially hidden.
I stared at the picture.
"Who is she?"
Lorraine hesitated.
"That's what Marcus was trying to tell me."
I looked up.
"What?"
She swallowed.
"The woman claimed she could prove the company was covering up dangerous repairs."
My heart began pounding.
"Did he meet her the night he died?"
Lorraine nodded slowly.
"He was supposed to."
May you like
Then she said something that made the room go silent.
"But when I tried calling her afterward, somebody answered and told me she'd disappeared."
