Our car lies half-overturned in the ditch. The smell of oil lingers in the night air. Will is crying, his small voice wracked by sobs. The sound pierces me. Do something, Penny. Get up. Move.
Another car door slams nearby. A man’s voice bellows, “Will? You all right, son?”
It’s Jasper. Will’s crying ceases as he tries to muffle the sound, afraid of drawing Jasper closer.
“Don’t worry, baby,” I whisper, and I rise from the damaged driver’s seat, placing myself directly between Jasper and the automobile.
Jasper sees me and stops, standing there in his cheap grey suit. “Penny?” he says, confused, but then he shakes himself, regaining his old anger. “You didn’t think I’d let you take away my son, did you?”
“Our son,” I correct him. “And you nearly killed him when you ran us off the road.”
He glares. “You’re the screwy one— ”
“No.” My voice is steady. “We’ve had nine years of your temper and excuses. It’s enough.”
“I’m taking Will home.”
I shake my head. “Will’s going to live with his aunt Mary.”
Jasper snorts.
“What?” I step closer. “You think you’re going to stop me?”
He frowns, perplexed by my words, my tone. Then he looks over my shoulder and freezes. A body is slumped over the steering wheel of the wrecked vehicle in the ditch.
My body.
Jasper flinches backwards, a cry in his throat. He turns and runs.
The nighttime passes, and I sing softly to Will in the darkness.
Someone will come. I’ll wait here with him until they do.
Georgia Atkin 