A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

I obsess over this. I try to replay the sound I heard as we laid
Shelby in the trunk of Bea’s car. Was it the contents of her trachea
leaving? Or was she still alive?
Did Shelby ricochet off the hood of the car and land in front of it?
Or, like a domino, did she fall over?
It doesn’t matter. Either way, she’s still dead.
The rain won’t let up for anything. I’m tormented by images of
Shelby cold and naked, lying in the rain, shivering, soaked to the
bone. I can’t stand it.
One morning, I stand at my closet looking for something to wear.
My mind screams at me to pick something. Just pick something. The
indecision paralyzes me. It’s like this every day. But it isn’t just the
clothes. It’s every one of the seemingly million inconsequential
decisions I make every day. The kids are at my feet, arguing. I don’t
have the energy to react. Their voices sound muffled, as if I’m
underwater and they’re up above, as I stare into the endless abyss
that is my closet. It’s all too much.
I settle on something. I get in the car. I take the kids where they
need to be, though Leo begs and cries as I leave him with Charlotte.
I can’t go on with this guilt. I can’t live like this, thinking of nothing but
what Bea and I did. All day and night I replay the moment of impact
in my mind. I feel it still, the car crashing into her, and then, seconds
later, the repulsive sensation of driving over her body, not once but
twice.
I’m snowed under by what-ifs. What if I’d gone home with Josh?
What if Bea and I hadn’t had that last drink? What if I’d insisted on
driving? What if Shelby had been on the sidewalk? What if her shoe
hadn’t come untied, if she hadn’t been bent down tying it, if that’s
even what happened.
The guilt is a heavy burden to bear. I feel battle-scarred.
I go to the store. I no longer enjoy driving. I’m overattentive. I drive
below the speed limit. I step on the brakes when I see even the
slightest movement in my peripheral vision. My heart races the entire
time. It’s not that I think I will be hurt. It’s that I think I will hurt
someone else. My hands on the steering wheel are slick. I can’t get
a good grip of the leather. Cars honk at me. I’ve become a danger,
because of my extreme caution.