The Wreck Read Online Free Page B

full bloom on either side of the sidewalk in front of the
two-story white clapboard house. White wicker furniture with pretty floral pads
decorated a wide front porch where Brian had whiled away many an hour with
Carly. He closed the gate behind him and climbed the stairs. As he waited for
someone to answer the door, he tugged his tie loose and took off his suit coat.
    Mrs. Holbrook came to the door in the
same dress she had worn to Sam’s funeral. A headband contained her short auburn
curls, and as she opened the screen door for him, he noticed her brown eyes, so
much like Carly’s, were still rimmed with red. “Brian,” she said, welcoming him
with a warm embrace. “How are you, honey?”
    Mortified when his eyes filled again, he
wondered if it would ever stop. “I’m okay.”
    She cradled his face in her hands. “Your
eulogies for Sam and the others were just beautiful. I was so proud of you this
week. How you ever managed to do what you did—”
    Shrugging off her praise, he said,
“Somebody had to.” He glanced up the stairs. “How is she?”
    “About the same.” Mrs. Holbrook shook her
head with dismay. “She let me feed her some soup earlier, so I guess that’s
something.”
    “Do you mind if I—”
    “Go right ahead.” With the wave of her
hand, she invited him upstairs to Carly’s room, which he had never even seen
before this week. Everything was different now. Allowing their daughter’s
boyfriend into her bedroom was suddenly the least of her parents’ worries.
    Brian hung his suit coat on the newel
post and started up the stairs.
     
    Carly
pulled a blanket around her and nestled deeper into the window seat. She’d had
trouble staying warm over the last week, as if her blood had turned to ice or something.
Maybe it had. She had spent most of the day staring out the window that
overlooked Michelle’s house. The police had come by again to see if she was
able to talk with them about what she remembered from that night. She had heard
her mother tell them she wasn’t up to seeing them yet.
    An hour or so ago, Michelle’s mother had
shuffled out to the mailbox. Mrs. Townsend wore an old housecoat and slippers.
Her usually stylish hair had hung in ratty strings down her back. On her way
inside, she had glanced up to find Carly watching her. She had attempted a
smile for her daughter’s best friend, but it had come out more like a grimace.
    Carly wondered if Mrs. Townsend was mad
at her for not dying with Michelle. She wouldn’t blame her, because Carly felt
the same way herself. If she and Brian hadn’t been so anxious to have sex, they
would have been in the car with the others. And Carly could say, without a
shadow of a doubt, that she would rather be dead than have to live with the
images of the others dying.
    Over and over she remembered Michelle
tugging at her hand. “You can shag him anytime. You can shag him anytime.” Carly
put her hands over her ears as if that could stop the relentless refrain.
    Everyone was worried. She saw it on the
faces of her parents and in Brian’s eyes when he came by to see her. They
wanted to know why she hadn’t said anything since the accident. She had heard
her parents talking about post-traumatic stress and shock and other terms she
didn’t recognize. Carly wasn’t sure why she couldn’t talk. She wanted to,
mostly because she was desperate to help Brian through the loss of his brother.
But she was afraid if she tried there would only be screams. So she didn’t try.
    “Hey,” Brian said from the doorway,
diverting her attention away from the window. He crossed the room, knelt before
her, and wrapped his arms around her.
    Carly ran her fingers through his thick
dark hair. Wearing the shirt and tie they had chosen for homecoming what seemed
now like a lifetime ago, he looked as she imagined he would someday when he was
a successful attorney.
    “It was nice,” he said after a long
period of silence. “Sam would’ve loved all the