Chapter 16: The Diner

The Dunmore Diner sat alone on Route 20 between a feed store and a field of cut corn.

Finnegan parked across the road behind a grain truck, where he could see the front window and the back door.

"Forty minutes," he said. "If you aren't out, I come in."

"If I need you, I'll walk out the front door."

"That isn't the same rule."

"It's mine."

He nodded once and kept his hands on the wheel.

Neither of us had mentioned Thursday night.

Callie was in the last booth, in a grey sweatshirt with the hood up and no makeup.

Her gold bracelet was gone, and her wrist had no splint on it at all.

She half stood when she saw me, then sat again.

"You came," she said.

"I came."

A waitress put down two coffees without being asked, and I let mine go cold.

Callie turned her cup around by the handle.

"Mom doesn't know I'm here. Benton took my phone on Tuesday, so I borrowed my neighbour's. I walked the last mile."

"What do you want, Callie?"

"To tell you what happened on Route 6. All of it. Not the version you've been carrying."

"I was there."

"You were in the front seat." Her voice shook. "You didn't see the back seat."

I put my hands flat on the table.

"Go on."

"I didn't just hit him." She stared at the cup. "I got out, and I saw him in the road, and I knew. I was so drunk I could barely stand, and I knew."

"I called 911."

"You did. You were so calm. I remember thinking you'd fix it."

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