10

The still flickers on the screen and then a darker video appears. Road surveillance footage. My lips part as I see a grainy image of a car flipped beside a cliff. An older blue Toyota. Dad’s car. My ears buzz when the video quickly rewinds, and I watch as a truck comes from the opposite direction, the bright headlights and the loud horn nearly splitting my skull open. Our car swerves and I drop to my knees on the cold, hard ground, slamming both palms to my ears to keep from hearing the crash. But the sound penetrates my hands and explodes in my ears so loudly, I scream. In a fraction of a second, I’m transported to fifteen years ago. “DADDY, look, I made my doll a dress,” I gloat, bouncing up and down in the back seat. “Hey, look, look…” “Your daddy is driving, Dahl.” Mom looks back and strokes my hair. “Don’t distract him, okay?” “But I wanna show my doll.” I pout, then shove my doll against the back of his seat. “Daddy, look.” “Stop it, Dahl,” Mom scolds harshly. My lips tremble and