Page 96 of Am I the Only One

I might have been able to live with that guilt.

But I’m not sure I can live with this guilt. What I did was far, far worse than not offering help, and there’s nothing I can do to rewind time.

It’s done.

My throat fills with curdled bile, and I cry even harder, scared to death and unsure of what to do. All I do know is I have to run. I have to get as far away from here as possible.

I stand too quickly and find dots dancing in my vision. Lightheaded, I sway and press against the wall until it passes. When I’m sure I won’t fall, I make my way up the stairs and to my bedroom, where I grab my purse and then rush back down the stairs, turning off all the lights as I do. When I flee out the front door, I come to a grinding halt when I see her car.

“Fuck!”

With no time to waste on thinking, I pull on the passenger-side handle to find it’s unlocked. And to my surprise, her keys are lying in the seat. I grab them and go around to slip into the driver’s seat. Her scent is all around me, and I don’t think my heart could possibly hammer itself against my ribs any harder than it already is. My hands are tremoring so hard that it takes me a few attempts to get the key into the ignition, but I eventually get the car started.

Speeding down the drive and turning onto the main road, I talk to myself, repeating over and again, “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

But what if I’m not?

Shaking my head, I tell myself to focus because I have to figure out what to do with this car. I scramble through my head, which does me no good since I can’t think straight. When a car passes going in the opposite direction, I freak.

Leakin Park is a place notorious for having bodies dumped in the woods, but if I abandon the car there, it would look suspicious. I have to get rid of it entirely. Then I remember a beautification project in Oliver that Tripp was involved in with The 6thBranch. They may have planted some trees, but it’s still sketchy and filled with criminals. It’s always the focus for outreach programs because it’sthatimpoverished. It’s nowhere I would ever want to find myself, but I don’t have any better ideas. The moment I dump it, it’ll either be stripped for parts or stolen to be used in someone else’s crime. If it isn’t and the police find it, they’ll just chalk it up as another crime and peg it on an unfortunate minority.

As I drive through Baltimore, I pay close attention to all the blue lights that mark the police surveillance cameras. Good thing about Oliver is that the cameras are all basically dead. I know that because I was on the committee that was denied the grant to have them all replaced. I just need to make sure I find a good spot to ditch the car, which doesn’t take me long.

I pull into a dilapidated shopping strip with no blue lights in sight and park the car, but I don’t get out. This isn’t a place where a woman like myself should be walking around, especially alone and at night.

I pick up my purse and dig out my cell. Opening my internet, I find a taxi company and call in for a car to meet me at the gas station I passed a block away.

“Your taxi will be there in ten minutes,” the operator tells me, and when I hang up, I wonder what I should do with Emma’s purse, which is still in the passenger’s seat.

I decide to leave it and the keys as an incentive for someone to steal the car. In the meantime, I pull out my winter gloves from my purse, slip them on, and begin wiping my prints off the gearshift, steering wheel, and everything else I’ve touched, making sure to rub down the outside passenger’s handle as well.

Once I’m somewhat satisfied, I tuck my purse under my coat and walk as fast as I can down to the gas station, avoiding eye contact with the few random people I pass. I stick out like a sore thumb, a woman begging to be robbed, so I walk even faster. Before I even make it to the parking lot, I can already see the taxi getting close.

Thank God!

When the taxi pulls up, I’ve settled down enough not to look too suspicious, I think.

“Where to, hun?”

“The Jefferson Hotel in DC.”

“So, what’s a lady like you doing walking the streets this late at night? It’s dangerous around here.”

“Long story. I just need to get to DC,” I say, brushing him off, and he takes the hint.

He punches the info into his GPS, and a minute later, we’re on our way.

There’s no way I can go back home and no way I’d be able to make the drive in my current condition, so I settle in for a really long taxi ride.

DC is where Tripp is, and right now, I need him, so that’s all that matters. He really is all I have in this world, and I’ll take comfort wherever I can find it. I used to have Margot, but how could I possibly trust her after what she did. I would be stupid to think she was trying to get the pictures from Emma to help me. She was clear that she needed distance from me, so why would she purposely put herself right in the middle? No, she’s clearly up to something, and if I had to take a wild guess, that something is probably her husband. Conrad is so incredibly ambitious about getting into the White House that I don’t doubt he would take down anyone who posed a threat if the opportunity presented itself, which in this case, it has.

I can’t be certain, but my gut is telling me that whatever Margot was trying to do was to further her husband’s campaign.

Dirt on me would be like a golden ticket in her hand.

I sulk deeper back into the seat and stare out the window, letting the passing lights lull me into a trance. My mind no longer torments me as we drive into the night. It’s as if it’s completely shut down on me. I’ve taken a total one-eighty—sheer panic to detached. My only hope is that Emma sinks quickly and that her car is completely dismantled by sunrise.

Despite my despondency, my stomach is still a knotted wreck. None of this seems real, but I know what I saw, and I know what I did. Nonetheless, I’m numb to it all right now. Maybe I’m in shock; I don’t know.

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