The Crash

by Freida McFadden

Maybe it’s my imagination, but there’s a flicker of fear on Polly’s face, although it quickly vanishes.

I catch a whiff of wet snow and something else. Motor oil, I think.

It’s the sickening smell of decay. Like someone died down here.

My heart sinks further when I can’t locate my phone.

But as I search the depth of my handbag, I notice one other thing that’s missing. My pepper spray.

I’m certain that she’s going to confide in me, but then she shakes her head, almost to herself. Clearly, the time is not yet right.

The Incident—but

some big merger from a businessman I’ve never heard of.

Very soon, we will have a child of our own.

“And,” I add, “I’m going to tell them what you did.”