The sound of the shattered glass still echoed faintly in my ears, but it was nothing compared to the deafening roar in my mind. The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in as the heavy, suffocating scent of cinnamon and baked apples sickened my stomach. I stared at the dark fabric of Chloe’s favorite denim jacket resting in Ava’s lap. It was stiff, stained with old, dark discoloration near the hem, and clutched like a shroud. How was it possible that Ava had it? The police report had been explicit; everything inside the wreckage had been burned or lost in the violent impact of the crash that icy, devastating night.
“What are you talking about, Ava?” My voice came out as a hollow rasp, stripped of all authority, leaving only the raw, trembling terror of a mother standing on the precipice of a nightmare she never could have imagined. “Daniel was at the station when the authorities called. He spent weeks fighting the insurance companies, handling every document, dealing with the auto insurance agencies and the local car accident and injury lawyers to make sure the police investigation was thorough. He’s the one who kept us afloat.”
Ava shook her head violently, her long dark hair whipping across her tear-stained cheeks. She pulled her knees up to her chest, trembling as if the summer heat in our kitchen was a bitter winter frost.
