A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

MEREDITH
11 YEARS BEFORE
May
My eyes are closed. I’m belting out the refrain to a song. I don’t know
the words. I make them up as I go. They sound perfect to my ears.
Bea and I laugh, giddy, euphoric. We drive so fast the car becomes
airborne. We fly.
We’ve left downtown. The lights are behind us now, the streets
dark.
Bea must see something because there’s an inappreciable gasp a
second before impact. I hear it later, only in retrospect.
The impact is pronounced, a dull, heavy thud, and then it’s quiet.
When it happens, I jerk upright in my seat. I’m stunned. My eyes
go wide. Bea tries slamming on the brakes. But because of the
speed of the car, we don’t immediately stop. We go forward another
few feet. The car jounces, running over whatever we’ve hit. Bea
brakes harder. This time we stop. My seat belt locks, pinning me in
place. She slips the car into Reverse, going backward. Again the car
jounces.
I fall silent. I gaze into the darkened world beyond the windshield,
seeing nothing, only stars.
Beside me, Bea keeps saying, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
All I can ask is, “What was it?”
Foxes scavenge the neighborhood at night. Coyotes, too. There
are many of them. The neighbors are always warning people with
outdoor cats and little dogs to watch out.
Bea doesn’t tell me. She just says, “Oh shit, oh shit.”
She slams her hands against the steering wheel.
The mood in the car has changed. It’s deathly quiet.
Bea gets out of the car. Her movements are stiff. They’re robotic.
She leaves her door open. She steps around the front end of the car.