Six.
Mamá would laugh at something Papá said and then lean across the seat to kiss him on the cheek.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Papá would say “good morning, mi’ja”, even though it was ten o’clock at night.
Ten.
Beth didn’t even have to open her eyes to know something had happened. Something awful.
A wet gasping sound came from the front seat.
She opened her eyes and parted her hair, pushing it back out of her face.
First, she saw the empty spot where her father had sat behind the steering wheel.
Next, the hole in the windshield, big enough for a man to fall out of and disappear forever.
Finally, her mother’s long brown hair tangled around her once pretty and now bruised and bloodied face. Her body lay twisted on the station wagon’s ceiling, but her face looked up, her brown eyes unfocused.
“Maaaaaaaammmmmmááááááá!”
One of her mother’s eyes twitched, but nothing else moved. Her mouth gaped open as she wheezed in a desperate breath and exhaled a wet one.
Beth slapped at the seatbelt, trying to unlock it, straining against the nylon. “Mamá, help. I can’
t get to you.”
A single tear slid from her mother’s eye, the droplet tracing its way across the bruise reddening her cheekbone.
Papá had disappeared.
Mamá lay unmoving.
Beth couldn’t escape, couldn’t help, couldn’t do anything.
Terror blacked out everything. She kicked her legs until one of her Keds flew off. She beat the window with a fist and thrashed about. Exhausted after only minutes, Beth’s harsh breathing filled the car.
Only when her panting slowed did she realize it had been the only sound in the car.
As if on its own power, her gaze landed on her mother’s still figure. “Mamá.”
Her mother wouldn’t answer ever again. Guilt twisted around her heart and squeezed.
All because of her.
If she hadn’t whined, they wouldn’t have stopped for dinner. Her family would be home. She’d be asleep in her bed. They never would have seen the other car. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t been so selfish.
It was all her fault.
Chapter Two
Today.