Worst Wingman Ever

by Abby Jimenez

“I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you.” “Okay. Say whatever you need to say. It stays with me.” “I don’t care who you tell,” she said. “Anyone who cared is long dead. I’ll be gone before they can arrest me, and Lucy will never confess.” I wrinkled my forehead. “Confess—” “I killed him.” I jerked to stare at her. “What?” “I did,” she said matter-of-factly. “Chip was a mean drunk. He liked to hit me. One day he came at me, and I just knew that was it. I wasn’t getting out alive. I clocked him on the side of the head with a cast-iron frying pan.” I blinked at her. “Lucy and I put him in the back of my station wagon. Drove to the river, rolled him into the water. I called the sheriff the next day and told him my husband went drinking and never came home. They found him a few weeks later. Called it an accident. They thought he probably fell off a bridge or something.” I was in shock. “Grandma . . . ,” I breathed. “Feels good to tell someone,” she said, closing her eyes.