Meredith

MEREDITH

11 YEARS BEFORE

May

I can’t keep going on like this. Josh can tell that something is wrong. He asks me about it. He saunters up behind me when I’m at the stove or the sink. He massages my shoulders. As he does, I tense up. It isn’t that I don’t want Josh touching me. It has nothing to do with Josh. It’s that Shelby is on my mind all the time. I see her when I’m awake. I see her when I’m lucky enough to sleep. The memory of her lying naked on that bed of leaves makes my flesh crawl. It will only be a matter of time before the animals find her, if they haven’t already.

Josh says things to me like, “Hey, babe, everything okay?” and that trite old saying, “Penny for your thoughts,” because he can tell I’m being pensive.

I shrug him off when he does, tell him I’m fine. He says that he’s beginning to hate that word. Fine. The tension between us grows exponentially.

Bea comes by almost every day. She skulks over when I’m home alone. She must monitor my comings and goings, or keep an eagle eye on my car in the driveway.

When she comes, I ask her things like, “What did you do with my clothes?” and, “What did you do with Shelby’s clothes?” I feel breathless all the time, in a constant state of panic. What makes it worse is having to hide my feelings from Josh and the rest of the world. Only when Bea is here can I speak freely.

Bea, on the contrary, is always composed. She tells me not to worry about it. “I took care of it,” she says, about the clothes, which doesn’t answer my question. Took care of it how?

“You didn’t go to work today,” Bea says accusatorially. “You had a class to teach at nine. I saw it on the website. You should have been there.”

“I’m not feeling well.” It’s not a lie. Guilt isn’t only emotional. It manifests itself in very physical ways. My head aches. My back aches. My stomach is in knots, and I’m constipated. I could never stay focused through class, much less make it through without that overwhelming urge to vomit or cry. I spend so much time ruminating about what Bea and I did that night, second-guessing the choices we made, the choices I made. I can’t get away from it. I’m obsessed. My mind is in a constant state of flux. I can think of nothing else but what happened that night. I don’t sleep. I barely eat.

“You need to act normal, Meredith. Normal.”

I’m not particularly religious. Josh, the kids and I go to church on Easter and Christmas, but that’s all. Still, there’s a Bible verse that’s been running never-ending through my mind since sometime last night. The truth will set you free.

It sounds so simple. I make the mistake of telling Bea.

“We’ll make the police see it was an accident, that you didn’t mean to hit Shelby,” I say. “It was unpreventable. They’ll understand.”

Bea stares at me, incredulous. “Have you lost your damn mind?” she snaps. “They’ll just fucking understand? I didn’t step on a bug. I killed a person. We, Meredith,” she says, “we killed a person.”

I plead with her. “Please, Bea. I can’t go on living like this.”

“You have to,” she says. “You have to figure it out.” She takes a step closer. “I was drunk, Meredith. And you knowingly permitted me to drive the car home. It’s your fault as much as it is mine. You’ll go to jail, too, you know, if we’re ever found out. How do you think Josh and the kids would fare while you’re rotting away in jail for years?”

I’ve thought about this. I have an answer ready. “It’s not like they can do a breathalyzer now. It’s too late to prove anything and, if you weren’t drinking, it’s a much lesser offense, like a misdemeanor.”

For a second she just stares. And then, “Are you really that dumb? Since when did you turn into a lawyer, anyway?” I see now that Bea isn’t hamstrung by the same guilt as me.

The Bea I know isn’t cruel. She’s compassionate. She’s outspoken but kind. This Bea is scared. “We’re not just talking manslaughter anymore, or a misdemeanor,” she says. “Because we also carried her out to the woods and hid her. That’s concealment of a homicide.” She pauses for effect. “It’s time you set your fucking conscience aside and think about your kids.”

After she leaves, I collapse into an armchair. I don’t move until six hours later when I hear Josh and the kids come home. I hear them outside first. I try and make myself look busy before they come in.