you hit someone with your truck.” His jaw goes lax, and he takes a few beats to speak. “I . . . I don’t know what happened.” “I do. You got shit-faced drunk . . . again, got behind the wheel, and plowed into a woman out on an early-morning run.” My remarks come out louder and harsher than I intended. “Is she all right?” His voice cracks, signaling his fear. “No, Ryan . . . she’s dead.”
