Free In the Event of My Death by Carlene Thompson

debilitating illness. Shortly after her death, Monica’s father met another woman who didn’t want her, so her father blithely dispatched Monica to Wheeling to live with a starchy great-aunt who never let her forget she was only taking in Monica out of a sense of duty. Monica had been a miserable nine-year-old, stiff and withdrawn, when Laurel went out of her way to befriend her. It hadn’t been easy at first. Monica was hurt and defensive, humiliated and devastated by the rejection by the father she’d adored, but Laurel persisted. She’d pulled Monica into her circle of friends. She wasn’t sure when Monica’s quiet gratitude to the group had turned into equally quiet domination. Perhaps it was some time after the formation of the Six of Hearts when they were twelve. Looking back, Laurel could see that during Monica’s teens, the seeds of her current almost total self-absorption had begun to sprout.
    “Monica, none of us is going to the police now.”
    “Do you promise?” Monica asked. “Do you promise not to tell Kurt?”
    “Yes, I promise not to tell him. We’re not sure of anything and too many people could be hurt. But if this gets more serious—”
    “Then we’ll decide what to do. In the meantime, I plan to go to Denise’s party. I know she doesn’t really want me, but Neil Kamrath might show up.”
    “I’ll be at the party, too. If he doesn’t come there, he might come to Angie’s funeral. As for Faith’s father, I don’t know how I’ll get to him.”
    “You can join that crazy church of his.”
    Laurel pulled a face. “There has to be an easier way. I’ll figure out something.” She stood. “I really should be getting home.”
    Monica touched her arm. For just a moment she looked like the girl Laurel had first seen, a vulnerable nine-year-old who’d stood self-consciously in front of thirty students, being introduced to the fourth-grade class by the teacher. “Laurel, you’re the only one I can really count on. You always reached out to me, always helped me. I appreciated it then and I appreciate it now.”
    Laurel wasn’t sure if Monica’s words were genuine or an attempt at manipulation. It didn’t matter. “This is very serious business, Monica. I’ll do anything I can to help all of us.”
    When she went back out to her car, the night had become considerably colder. Atop the hill on which the lodge sat, a brisk wind whipped her coat around her and blew her hair mercilessly. She started the car, turned on the radio, and pulled out of the parking lot listening to “Up on the Roof.” Tour buses and dozens of cars moved slowly along the narrow road, making their way around the light display route. If she weren’t so cold and distracted, she might have taken the tour herself, but now she only wanted the safety and comfort of her home.
    She had pulled onto Route 88 and started down the hill when she became aware of a pair of headlights bearing down on her. Dammit, she thought. Why did some people ride your bumper? The driver didn’t need to come this close even to pass, not that this was a good place to pass anyway. The road was narrow, two lanes, and a steady stream of traffic came in the opposite direction heading for the park. Laurel pressed the accelerator, raising her speed by five miles an hour. There, a little breathing room, she thought.
    She glanced in the rearview mirror to see the headlights bearing down on her again. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as her anger grew. She squinted into the rearview mirror trying to see the driver, but she was blinded by the lights that were on high beam. All she could tell was that the car was larger than her own mid-sized Chevrolet Cavalier.
    Tempted to go even faster, Laurel glanced at the speedometer. She was already over the speed limit. Besides, if she speeded up, so would the other driver. She would just have to grit her teeth and suffer through the next three miles until she reached home.
    She was passing the