I was staring back at the sign, but I quickly face forward again. “Yeah. That was just kind of creepy.”
“It’s a shame he got hit, but he was putting himself at risk being out here at night. With the sharp curves and no shoulder, I wouldn’t even walk on this road in the daytime.”
“You think they’ll catch who did it?”
“I doubt it. There’s no cameras out here and I’m guessing they were the only people on the road that time of night, other than whoever drove by later and called it in. Or maybe the guywho hit him called it in. Maybe he felt guilty for leaving the scene and called for an ambulance. But the cops would’ve already traced the call back to the guy’s cellphone and no one’s been arrested so it must’ve just been a good Samaritan.”
My heart’s racing even more the longer he talks about this, and yet I feel compelled to ask him the question that’s bouncing around in my brain, desperate to get out.
“Would you do it?” I ask, noticing my shaky voice. I need to calm down. I can’t have my dad suspecting anything.
“Do what?” he asks, messing with the air vent on the dash.
“Would you leave the scene of an accident?”
“Of course not.” He reaches over and gives me a playful shove. “You know me better than that.”
“What if you panicked and left before you had time to think it through? Would you turn yourself into the police? Even if it meant you’d go to prison? Assuming the guy died.”
He glances at me. “Why are you asking me this? You’re usually not this morbid.”
“I’m just making conversation. And it’s not morbid. It’s just a question. It’s hypothetical. No one’s actually dead.”
He takes a moment to ponder it. “I suppose it would depend on what’s at stake.”
“Meaning what?”
“If the man’s already dead, and turning myself in means taking me away from my family, and taking away the income from my job that they rely on to live, then I might not do it.”
“What if you didn’t have a family?”
“I’d like to say I’d turn myself in but I think it would depend on the situation. It’s hard to answer because I can’t imagine leaving the scene. I couldn’t see someone suffering and just drive off. I’d never do that. And I know you wouldn’t either. It’s just not who we are.”
Guilt fills me, seeping into every crevice of my conscious. My dad’s right — I’d never do something like that. And yet I did.
“Remember when you saw that squirrel in the road with the injured leg?” My dad smiles at me. “Your mother went out there with a shovel and carefully scooped him up while I signaled the cars to stay back?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
I was only four, but I can still see the memory in my head. It’s one of the last ones I have of my mom. When I saw the squirrel, I ran into the house screaming for help. My parents thought I was hurt until I told them about the squirrel and how it’d die if we didn’t hurry up and help. We ended up taking it to the vet, who fixed its leg and let it stay there until it could go back out in the wild.
I saved a squirrel, but I left a human being lying in the road. What does that say about me? That I’m a horrible monster? I feel like I am after what my dad just said. If he found out what I did, he’d be so ashamed. He didn’t raise me to not help someone.
We get to the truck, and my dad hooks up the jumper cables. He was right. It was the battery. We get it jumped, and I wait in the truck while he packs everything up.
“You go ahead,” my dad says, standing by my window. “I’ll follow behind.”
“Could we go a different way back?”
He gives me a confused look. “There’s only one road to get back. You know that, honey. We’ve been coming out here your whole life.”
“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll see you at home.”
He reaches up to put his hand on my arm. “You okay? You seem off tonight.”
“I’m fine. I’m just tired from studying.”
“You okay to drive back?”
