Free River Road by Carol Goodman

condoms in it anymore. (The Blackwells’ old boathouse on the river had replaced it as a favorite make-out and pot den since then.) And under a coat of snow, with the sun setting over the mountains across the river and candles glowing, it looked like it belonged at a fancy private school, not a state school.
    There must have been a hundred people gathered already. As the Dawsons came into the garden Dottie gave them each a candle protected by a white paper shell. She was wearing a heavy purple cape that made her look like a Druid priestess, the candlelight turning her face pink. As if by prearranged signal, the group parted in half for the Dawsons and then formed a loose circle around them. A lectern had been set up at the center of a colonnaded apse that stood at the end of the garden overlooking the river. Abigail Martin, the college president, came forward to shake the Dawsons’ hands and give them each a chilly embrace. Abigail was an able administrator, but not the warmest woman. I’d noticed over the last year that she often called on Ross for support at public events. Ross was so much better at making people feel important. I could understand why she’d sent him to collect the Dawsons but I hoped that they didn’t see it as a slight. She said a few words now—bland words of condolence—and then turned the lectern over to those who knew Leia better.
    Ross took the lectern first and spoke movingly of his impressions of Leia. He told a story about how Leia had taken over reading aloud a memoir piece for a girl who was crying too hard to read it herself. “Leia was always willing to speak up for others, to give voice to the silenced. I cannot believe that Leia’s voice has been silenced with death. I must believe her voice will live on in all of those she would have spoken for.”
    One by one, Leia’s classmates and teachers came forward and read poems and told stories about Leia. Joan Denning told a long rambling story about how Leia said she believed in ghosts because she’d seen one when she was twelve and so Joan knew Leia’s spirit would always haunt Acheron. John Abbot read Leia’s favorite passage from Wuthering Heights . Cressida talked about how Leia had been so dedicated to her students at the prison that she’d gone to some of their parole hearings. Listening to the moving tributes, it was easy to forget that the police had questioned me, but when Ross motioned me to the dais, I hesitated. How could I stand up there and talk about Leia while a forensics team labored in a police lab scraping Leia’s blood off my tire? But everyone was looking at me, waiting. It would look worse, I realized, if I refused to speak.
    I got up and faced the circle of candlelit faces. I saw my colleagues, students, friends—and at the back of the crowd, his police hat in his hands, Sergeant McAffrey, staring at me.
    â€œEvery once in a while a student comes along who reminds you why you teach,” I said, returning McAffrey’s gaze. “Leia did more than that. She reminded me why I live.”
    A murmur rose up as I left the lectern and I knew that people were telling each other that I was that teacher whose daughter had died. Dottie hugged me. Cressida squeezed my arm. Joan Denning patted me on the shoulder. I looked around for Sergeant McAffrey, but instead I ran into Sue Bennet, a tiny wire-haired woman who ran the local chapter of Mothers Against Drunk Driving. “Well, here we are again,” she said by way of greeting. Sue’s eighteen-year-old daughter had been killed driving home from her high school prom by a man with a previous DUI driving in the wrong lane on Route 9.
    â€œYes, it brings up terrible memories,” I said, guiltily remembering that I’d dodged Sue’s last few calls. “You must be thinking about Allison.”
    â€œI’m thinking about the monster who did this,” Sue replied in a loud