The Lies I Told(78)

“Who the hell are you?” I muttered.

Without thinking, I reached for my coat and purse and headed out the door. I double-checked the lock and then hurried down the stairs and out the front entrance to my car. Behind the wheel, I quickly locked the doors and started the engine. I didn’t know where David lived, but I’d bet he was at Brit’s tonight. Knowing my sister and her rigid schedule, she’d ask him to leave at some point. She didn’t like waking up with a man in her bed, a quirk Jack had complained about back in the day.

Finding him wasn’t a given, but I drove west and then took the off-ramp that led me along Cary Street and the side roads leading to Brit’s house. As I drove onto my sister’s block, I spotted the second car in her driveway.

After driving past, I circled the block and, cutting my lights, parked at the end of Brit’s street and nestled low in the car. With the heater off, the air chilled quickly, forcing me to huddle deeper into my coat.

As I tipped back against the headrest and closed my eyes, I drifted back to the night of the accident, navigating the shadows shrouding it.

I sank deeper into myself and imagined moving through the darkness, hoping I’d spot a memory that would light up a portion of my path. I reached for the steering wheel, gripped it as I pretended the car was moving down the street toward the utility pole. There would’ve been a hard strike when the car impacted. My body, untethered by a seat belt, would’ve jolted forward as the airbag deployed. I’d nearly hit the steering wheel with my head, but the airbag had violently shoved me back.

These were the facts I’d read in the report. None were supported by memories. There was nothing.

Jeff. Who are you?

Suddenly, I pictured a man standing at a bar with two sodas. He laughed at something the bartender said. It was a rich, infectious sound. And then he began to turn toward me.

My eyes popped open. Like kindling trying to catch fire in a strong wind, the flames went out. Damn.

I looked up to see David leaving Brit’s house. My sister stood by the front picture window, wearing a black silk robe cinched at her waist. She was waving. Smiling as she pushed back sex-tousled hair.

David got in his car, started the engine, and backed out of the driveway. Brit watched and then turned as his car passed mine. I dipped low in the seat, looking down, fearing just my stare would draw his attention.

When he passed me, I started my car but didn’t turn on the headlights as I shifted the gear to drive and moved forward slowly. There was only one way out of the neighborhood, so I didn’t have to guess his direction. My headlights still out, I followed as he rounded the corner. Red taillights blinked at a stop sign, and he turned onto Cary Street.

Turning on my lights, I followed, careful to keep enough distance. There were some people on the road this time of night, but not enough to give me real cover.

David continued onto the interstate and headed east. As I trailed behind him, I watched as he made his way around the city and then took the final exit toward the lighted buildings of the financial district. This was also the exit I took when coming back from Brit’s.

To my surprise, he took the southbound exit away from Church Hill, drove toward my apartment building, and pulled into my building’s parking lot. I kept driving, stopping at the next corner and parking. In my rearview mirror, I watched him drive by my empty space. He paused only briefly before pulling back out on the road and retracing his steps. I did a quick U-turn, trailed behind, watched him turn east down Main Street toward Church Hill. Why had he stopped at my building? Had Brit given him something to drop off for me?

As a light caught him at a cross street, I turned right, circled the block, and picked him up on the other side of the light. Minutes later, he parked in front of a historic townhome that wasn’t particularly remarkable. The front porch required repair, and the building needed the siding replaced. He climbed the front steps and vanished through the front door. Lights flipped on, their glow streaming through original windows made of handblown glass.

I studied the house, searching for any sense of familiarity. I imagined my hand trailing over the weather-beaten wood railing, wondering if splinters or gray paint had clung to my skin. Rubbing my smooth palm, all I felt was the small ridge of calluses trailing under my fingers.

David passed in front of a window and then pulled the shade down. As he reached the next window, he paused and stared out into the darkness as if he could feel my gaze. I sank into my seat but did not look away.

Had I caught him staring at me before? Memories from the darkness whispered, but the sound was so faint I could barely make out the impressions. I was certain now I’d been in the bar, sipping a cold Coke. It had tasted slightly bitter, but I’d been thirsty, so I had kept drinking. On the table in front of me was the print I’d sold.

One by one the lights went off in David’s house.

I noted the address, started my car, and as I drove back down the hill toward my crash site, I spotted the bar on my right. It was closed for the night, but I parked and walked to the window. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I peered inside to darkened tables. Nothing triggered my memory, and when a car passed by, slowed down, I hurried back to my vehicle.

Down the side street, I glanced toward the utility pole. If I’d been going forty, even thirty, miles an hour, it was no wonder I’d missed the turn and swerved into the pole.

I’d never been able to explain why I’d been headed in this direction. Now I realized I’d been in Church Hill selling my first print. But who had I sold it to?