In an Instant(60)

“As far as people remembering it different,” Burns goes on, “everyone deals with traumatic events in their own way, and sometimes it’s not really lying when they tell it different than it was so much as remembering in a way that allows them to live with it a little easier.”

“I get that,” Mo says. “I do. And I think that’s exactly what’s going on. But I can’t do that. I remember it exactly how it happened, all of it, and I can’t just pretend it away or disown the parts I don’t like.”

“So are you trying to get it straight just for yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“Or do you want to understand it so the others have to own up to it?”

Mo thinks for a minute before answering, “I don’t know. I think it’s just for me.” She frowns. “Though it does bother me that the people who seem to be distorting things the most also seem to be the ones suffering the least.”

“That does seem to be the unfortunate truth,” Burns says.

“So I guess that’s part of it,” Mo goes on, “not so much to make them own up to it as for me to know I have it—a record of what happened so, when I hear the lies, it won’t bother me as much.” There’s determination in her words, a vow to the ghost of her dream that she’s going to write it, all of it, and in doing so, somehow it will set her free.

“Then I’ll tell you what I can,” Burns says.

From a file cabinet beside his desk he pulls out a file more than an inch thick, and he goes through it page by page, covering everything from the first 911 call made by my mom all the way through to the call from the Forest Service that permanently suspended the search for Oz’s body five days later.

“Can we go back to before the press conference at the hospital?” Mo says when he finishes. “Tell me again what Bob said about Oz leaving?”

It’s the smallest flinch, a twitch of Burns’s right cheek muscle, but Mo sees it as well, a tiny tell that Burns also knows this portion of the story doesn’t quite add up.

Very deliberately, his words chosen carefully, he recites with exceptional recall what Bob told him. “He said Oz was upset because he was worried about the dog not having enough water, and when it was Karen’s turn to take a drink, he hit her and took the water from her to give to the dog.” He pauses and, when Mo says nothing, continues, “That’s when Bob asked Oz if he wanted to go outside, hoping to calm him down. When they got there, Oz said he needed to find his mom and took off. Bob said this all happened while he was still on top of the camper. He explained that he stayed on top because Oz was upset, and he was worried he might be dangerous. Sound right to you?”

Mo shakes her head. “The first part is kind of right. Oz wanted me to give Bingo water before I gave it to Karen, and then he kind of shoved her with his arm when he took it from her, but he wasn’t out of control, and after he got what he wanted, he was fine. I actually thought Bob was being clever when he took Oz outside, that he was distracting him so we could each have some water before they came back. Also, not to be mean, but Oz didn’t exactly love his mom all that much, and Oz really loved me, and he really, really loved his dad, so there’s no way he would have just left us and took off to look for his mom.”

“And did Bob stay on top of the camper like he said?”

“No, that part I’m sure of. Oz helped him back up. I heard Bob ask him for a lift. Also Bob left out the part about trading Oz for his gloves. If Oz was upset and just took off, Bob wouldn’t have gotten the gloves.”

“He took Oz’s gloves?”

“He traded for them. When Bob came back into the camper, he had Oz’s gloves. I couldn’t figure out how he got them, but the other day, Natalie told me her dad traded Oz two packages of crackers for them.”

Burns visibly flinches, and with his reaction, Mo’s composure comes undone. Her chin drops to her chest as her head shakes back and forth and tears leak from her eyes. “It’s so awful. Oz didn’t know what he was doing. I should have gone out with him, or I should have gone and looked for him when he didn’t come back with Bob. I knew something was wrong. As soon as I saw the gloves, I knew.”

She uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose, and Burns hands her a tissue, then slides the box toward her. “Maureen, listen to me,” he says, his voice low as a growl. “First, this is not your fault. If you had gone after Oz, there’s a good chance we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation. Look at me.”

She lifts her face and blinks at him through her tears.

“None of this is your fault.” His voice rumbles. “Now, I need you to tell me the whole story—every detail from the moment Mrs. Miller left to when you were rescued. Then I need you to tell me the exact conversation you had with Natalie.”

“I wrote it down,” Mo says, and she pulls a notebook from her shoulder bag and hands it to him.

Mo stares at her hands as Burns scans the pages. Several times she shudders, though the office is warm, a chill running through her as the story replays in her mind as Burns reads it.

Burns’s jaw twitches as he reads, his brow seamed over his eyes in a deep V. When he is done, he leans back in his chair, and his fingers form a steeple beneath his nose.

“Maureen,” he says, “do you know what negligent homicide is?”