Betrayal Behind the Wheel novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Man in the Passenger Seat

The man on the clip is Gavin's brother, standing at the table giving a toast, and Gavin plays the husband until the brother's wife corners him in the garage.

The clip was nearly over, and I made myself watch to the end.

Marissa pulled back and wiped her lipstick off his mouth with her thumb.

The man reached for the door handle.

For one second the dome light came on and lit his whole face.

Sandy hair, a lazy grin, a small scar through his left eyebrow.

It was my brother.

Colby had broken that eyebrow on my bike when he was nine and I was thirteen.

I had carried him home bleeding and told our mother it was my fault.

I took the blame, and he let me.

The screen went dark.

I sat very still in the cold car.

A thousand small things lined up behind my eyes and refused to mean anything yet.

Colby had been at our house every Sunday for seven years.

He had taught Milly to ride her bike and held her when she scraped her knee.

He had stood at my side at my wedding.

I pulled the card from the console and pushed it into my inside pocket, against my ribs.

Then I got out of the car, straightened my tie, and walked back toward the music.

Inside, the singing had ended and the guests were drifting back to the bar.

Marissa found me at the door and slid her arm through mine.

"You were gone ten minutes," she said lightly.

"The dealership had a thing."

"Always the dealership."

She squeezed my arm, and I felt every one of her fingers.

I looked down at her hand and thought, that hand was in his hair.

"Come on," she said. "Colby wants to say something."

He stood on the bottom stair with a champagne glass, the way he always did.

He was wearing a steel watch.

It was new, and I had seen it on the clip.

"Everybody," Colby said, and the room turned to him like flowers.

"I'm not good at speeches, so I'll make it short."

Laughter.

"My big brother married the best woman I know."

He lifted his glass toward Marissa.

She looked at the carpet and smiled.

"Eight years," Colby said. "And he still has no idea how lucky he is."

Everyone cheered.

I smiled.

I do not know how I did it.

I heard my own voice say, "Thanks, little brother," and heard people laugh at it.

Colby came down the stairs and hugged me.

His cologne was warm and woody, and it was the one from the car.

He clapped my back twice.

"You okay, Gav? You're pale."

"Too much champagne."

"You don't drink champagne."

"Tonight I do."

He grinned and went to find his wife.

Across the room, my mother raised her glass to me again.

This time she held it a little longer.

I turned my back on her and went to the kitchen.

I needed water, and I needed my hands to stop.

The counters were crowded with trays of crab cakes.

Down the hall, Milly's bedroom door was open a crack, and her night light made a soft blue line on the floor.

I stood at the sink and drank a full glass without tasting it.

I thought about walking out there with the card in my hand and playing it on the living room television.

Every face in the room would turn.

Marissa would have nowhere to look.

Then I thought about Milly, asleep down the hall in dinosaur pajamas.

Whatever I did next, she would be standing in the middle of it.

So I did nothing.

I put my glass in the dishwasher and went back to my own party.

I danced with my wife.

She pressed her cheek against my chest, and I put my hand on her back and moved with her.

"I love you," Marissa said into my shirt.

"I love you," I said.

It was easy to say, and that scared me more than anything.

At eleven, the guests began to leave.

I walked them to their cars and shook hands and said thank you for coming.

I carried a box of leftover cake out to the garage fridge so I would have somewhere to go.

The garage was dim, and the overhead light was off.

Someone was standing between the two cars with her arms folded.

It was Myra, Colby's wife.

She was thirty-two, red hair in a loose ponytail, still in her ER scrubs under a gray cardigan.

She had come straight from a shift and had been late to the party.

Now she looked like she had been waiting a long time.

"Gavin," she said.

"Hey, Myra. Did you get cake?"

"I need to ask you something, and I need you to not lie to me."

"Okay."

She took her phone out and turned the screen toward me.

It showed a map, a blue dot and a time stamp from four nights ago.

"That's the Harlan Motor Inn off Route 4," Myra said quietly.

"My husband's phone sat in that parking lot for two hours."

She swiped, and a second screen showed the same spot.

The label under it was one I knew.

"Your car app," she said. "I'm on the family plan. You never took me off it."

She looked at me with steady green eyes.

"Your Tahoe was in that same lot at the same time."

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