“I mean maybe we should think about how this looks.”
Even as I say it, I know I'm making excuses. Finding reasons to push him away before he has a chance to leave on his own.
“To who? The people who think you’re a liar? The people who think I’m corrupt?”
His voice has an edge I haven’t heard before.
“To the investigators.”
“The investigators who’ve already made up their minds?”
I don’t have an answer for that. We stand there in the bank parking lot, the late afternoon sun beating down on us, the space between us feeling bigger than it should.
“Alice, if we start hiding, we’re basically admitting we did something wrong.”
“Maybe we did.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Sawyer stares at me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He takes a step back like he’s offended.
“Maybe we moved too fast. Maybe the timing was wrong. Maybe if you hadn’t gotten involved with me, none of this would be happening. You would just be stressing about your exam instead of all this.” I motion with my hands.
My throat is tight. I can't look at him.
“So this is my fault?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
And maybe he's right. Maybe I am blaming him. It's easier than facing the real truth. I'm terrified he'll leave, so I'm leaving first.
I want to take it back, but the words are already out there. And maybe part of me means them. Maybe everyone would be better off if I’d just stayed away from him from the beginning.
“I should go,” I say. “My mom will be there soon.”
Sawyer nods, but he doesn’t move away from my car. “Ali, whatever your mother says tonight, remember one thing.”
“What?”
“None of this is your fault.”
He waits, like he's hoping I'll say something. Stop him from leaving.
I don't.
He walks back to his car, and I watch him drive away. My hands are shaking so badly I have to grip the steering wheel to steady them.
For a second, I almost call him back. Almost tell him I didn't mean it.
But I don’t.
My phone buzzes with a text from him five minutes later.
Sawyer: No matter what happens tonight, call me if you need me.
I sit in my car for a long time, staring at the message. The steering wheel is hot under my hands. Then I delete it and drive home to face my mother.
