Chapter 1: The Word on the Road

The coast looked as if somebody had spent a great deal of money making it beautiful and then, for reasons nobody could explain, had decided to leave it alone. The road curved between low cliffs covered in wild grass and dark green shrubs, sometimes running so close to the sea that Dona could see the white foam gathering around the rocks below, and sometimes climbing inland through stands of wind-bent pines whose branches leaned over the asphalt like old men sharing a secret. Beyond the windshield, the afternoon sun lay across the water in long, glittering paths, and the distant horizon had that hazy blue quality that made the world seem larger, kinder, and less interested in the troubles of the people who lived on it.

Dona loved this stretch of road. She had driven it dozens of times, perhaps hundreds, but it never seemed to lose its charm, especially on a day like this, when the sky was clear, the air smelled of salt and warm vegetation, and the traffic was so light that she could almost imagine the entire coastline belonged to her. Her little red sports car responded eagerly to every turn of the steering wheel, its engine producing a cheerful growl whenever she pressed the accelerator, and she had the windows down despite the wind tangling her dark hair and blowing a few strands across her mouth. A song she knew by heart played through the speakers, and she sang along without caring whether she got the words right, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel and occasionally laughing at some private thought that would have been difficult to explain to anybody else.

She was twenty-nine, old enough to know that happiness could be an unreliable visitor and young enough to believe that, when it arrived, one ought to make the most of it. The previous week had been exhausting, full of petty arguments, overdue bills, and the sort of office politics that made Dona suspect some people went to work each morning simply because they enjoyed making other people miserable. But today she had finished everything she needed to do, turned off her phone, and driven toward the sea with no particular destination in mind. There was a small hotel where she might stop for coffee, perhaps a beach farther down the coast where she could spend an hour reading, and, if she felt especially extravagant, a restaurant overlooking the water where she could order lunch without checking the prices first.

It was a pleasant thought, and she pressed the accelerator a little harder.

The speedometer climbed past the posted limit. Dona glanced at it, smiled sheepishly at herself, and returned her attention to the road, though she did not lift her foot from the pedal. There was something intoxicating about the combination of the car’s quick response, the open road, and the sea flashing between the trees. She knew the bends, knew where the road narrowed and where the pavement dipped slightly near the drainage channels, and she had driven this route often enough to mistake familiarity for a kind of protection. The speed limit was there for people who did not know the road, she told herself, and immediately recognized the thought as the sort of foolish excuse that would sound particularly pathetic if she ever had to explain it to a police officer.

She laughed again.

Then the road curved sharply around a rocky outcrop, and an old woman stepped into her path.

For one absurd fraction of a second, Dona thought the woman was carrying a shopping bag. It was a ridiculous impression, born of the way the old woman’s thin arm swung outward as she stepped from behind the rocks. She wore a long, faded coat despite the warmth of the afternoon, and a dark scarf covered most of her gray hair. She looked directly at her.

Dona’s foot slammed down on the brake.

The tires screamed, and the little car lurched violently as its nose dipped toward the asphalt. Dona wrenched the steering wheel to the left, then instinctively back to the right, searching for an escape that did not exist. On one side stood the rock face, rising almost vertically from the narrow shoulder; on the other, the ground fell away toward the sea, where jagged stones waited far below. The old woman was so close that Dona could see the astonishment spreading across her wrinkled face, an astonishment strangely devoid of fear, as though the woman had not been surprised by the car’s arrival but by something about the person driving it.

There was a dull, sickening impact.

The windshield remained intact, the engine continued to run, and the music played for another three seconds before Dona realized she was screaming.

She stopped screaming when the car came to a halt.

For a moment she sat with both hands locked around the steering wheel, staring through the windshield at the empty strip of road ahead. The world had become unnaturally quiet, although the engine was still humming and the sea was still breaking against the rocks below. Her heart hammered so violently that she could feel each beat in her throat. She looked into the rearview mirror, then at the passenger seat, then down at her hands, as if the missing explanation might be found somewhere inside the car.