“Friday. Five o’clock.”
The tow truck unloaded the Mercedes.
Marcus stood beside me, staring at the damage.
“Boss?”
“Yeah?”
“That wasn’t a deer.”
“I know.”
I worked on that Mercedes for six days.
I postponed customers.
Lost two jobs.
Ordered nearly four thousand dollars in parts on the shop credit card.
Marcus and I worked until midnight.
Then we started finding things.
First came silver paint embedded in the damaged bumper.
The Mercedes was black.
Deer aren’t silver.
Then I found part of an orange reflector behind the radiator.
Along with a bent piece of metal post.
Then I opened the rear door.
And found Noah’s booster seat.
Blue and gray.
Cartoon shark on the back.
I had bought it myself.
The plastic shell was cracked along one side.
I sat on the floor holding it.
Then I reached underneath.
My fingers touched something hard.
A little green plastic T. rex.
One arm chewed off.
Chompy.
Noah’s favorite dinosaur.
He had carried that thing everywhere since he was two.
He couldn’t sleep without it.
I sat on the shop floor holding my son’s broken car seat and his toy dinosaur.
Marcus found me.
“Boss? You okay?”
I held up Chompy.
Then said the words I had been afraid to say.
“The boys were in the car.”
The following morning, I borrowed diagnostic equipment from an old friend who worked in accident reconstruction.
The Mercedes had an event data recorder.
A black box.
It stored information from the seconds before a serious collision.
Speed.
Braking.
Seatbelts.
Occupancy.
I connected the equipment.
The crash happened Saturday, September 7.
1:42 in the morning.
The Mercedes had been traveling fifty-eight miles per hour.
The road’s speed limit was thirty-five.
The brakes were applied half a second before impact.
The driver’s seatbelt was buckled.
So was the front passenger’s.
And two rear seatbelts were buckled.
Both back seats occupied.
I stared at the screen.
That had been Laura’s weekend with the boys.
At 1:42 in the morning, my children had been sitting in the back of a Mercedes traveling fifty-eight in a thirty-five.
The car had hit something silver.
And something with an orange reflector.
No police report.
No insurance claim.
Nothing.
That was why the car had come to me.
On Wednesday night, I picked up the boys for dinner.
We went to our usual diner.
