The Lie Behind the Wheel

“I feel awful,” Sarah murmured, stretching her hand toward mine. Her skin was cool. “You do everything for me. I only take.”

“You’re dealing with a terrible illness,” I answered. I kept my thumb motionless against her fingers. “We’re in this together.”

Her mouth lifted in a small, delicate smile, brave enough to look almost real. “I love you.”

“Something occurred to me,” I said lightly. “About the accident today. That man in the silver truck.”

“What about him?” Her pulse gave no leap. Her hand stayed loose in mine.

“It made me think how fast life can turn. You used to drive to Oakmont every day, before you got ill.”

Her eyelids fluttered. Her next breath caught for the smallest instant.

“Oakmont?” Her voice sank slightly. “Why bring them up?”

“I was remembering how strained you were before you left. They put you under so much pressure. Do you ever miss working there?”

She slipped her hand away, as if she needed to straighten the heated blanket. “No. They didn’t care about me. When I became ill, they could barely send a card. I don’t want to think about that place.”

“I understand,” I said. “You won’t have to deal with them again.”

The doorbell sounded.

Sarah’s body went taut. “Who could that be? Nobody was supposed to come over.”

“I’ll answer it,” I said.

I crossed the foyer and opened the front door.

Chloe waited on the porch in a fitted beige coat, holding a paper bag from an upscale bakery. She was Sarah’s older sister, three years ahead of her.

She was more incisive than Sarah, and far less warm. Her supposed work as a freelance marketing consultant now seemed to me like a cover for laundering money for her criminal siblings.

“Mark,” Chloe said, her face arranging itself into sisterly alarm. “I heard Sarah had a close call in the car. I came right over. Is she all right?”

“She’s resting,” I told her, leaving myself in the doorway a beat longer than courtesy required. “The adrenaline has made her joints flare.”

“Poor thing.” Chloe sighed and swept past me. “I brought her favorite croissants. She could use a little comfort.”

I shut the door and followed her to the living room.

Sarah’s expression brightened at once, the grateful invalid back in place. “Chloe. You didn’t need to come.”

“Of course I did.” Chloe sat beside her and brushed a strand of hair from Sarah’s forehead. “You scared me half to death. A truck ran a red light? You might have been killed.”

“I know,” Sarah whispered.

Chloe looked over at me, studying me as if weighing what I might say. “Sarah told me the dashcam recorded it. Did you catch the license plate? We ought to report him.”

So that was why she’d come without warning: the footage mattered to her.

“No,” I said, resting against the archway with my arms crossed. “I couldn’t make out the plate.”

“How come?” Chloe’s question came out too sharply. She caught herself and gentled her voice. “Isn’t that what the camera’s for?”

“The SD card was corrupted,” I said, using the same explanation I’d given Sarah. “It hasn’t worked for weeks. I tried it in my laptop upstairs, but there was nothing on it.”

Chloe exhaled quietly and traded a fleeting look with Sarah. “That’s frustrating. Give me the card, Mark. I know someone in IT who does recovery work for my firm. He might be able to retrieve the video. We need that driver off the road.”

They took me for a fool: a loyal, overworked, easily duped husband who would hand them the weapon they’d aimed at me.

“That’s thoughtful of you, Chloe,” I replied, keeping my tone mild. “But I got rid of it already.”

She stopped moving. “You threw it away?”

“It was dead. I put it in the kitchen garbage, then carried the bags to the curb a few minutes ago. The collection’s tomorrow morning.” I gave her a smile. “I ordered a replacement online. It should arrive Friday.”

Sarah settled farther into the cushions. The tightness drained from her shoulders. “Well, at least I’m safe. That’s what matters.”

“Exactly,” I said.

Chloe still seemed doubtful. She got to her feet and brushed a crumb from her polished coat. “I’m getting a glass of water. Want anything, Mark?”

“No, thanks.”

I watched her head toward the kitchen. I knew she meant to inspect the trash beneath the sink. If the card wasn’t there, she might look through the bins outside on her way out.

I’d prepared for that possibility. Before coming downstairs, I had taken a useless SD card from an old digital camera in my desk and scored its gold contacts with a house key until it could no longer be read.

Then I’d tucked it into the damp coffee grounds in the kitchen garbage. Now Chloe searched through the trash for that decoy, while I kept the real recording hidden.