I was frozen.
“Where’s the coffee?”
A snarl escaped him. “I threw it out. Drive, Lena. For fuck’s sake!”
“Is she alive?” I whispered a second, an hour, alifetimelater.
“Yes,” he snapped. “Drive, Lena. Get us the hell out of here!”
“We should call the cops—”
“Some people are made for jail, Lena, and you’re not one of them.” He pointed to the end of the road where a woman was running, heading from the small park to the left of us. “She’s coming our way. She might already have seen what happened. You need to get out of here.”
I saw her and recognized that Godwasn’ton my side.
She sped up like she knew I was about to take off, like I wasn’t about to call 911, and I realized he was right.
I wasn’t made for jail.