Cole Whitaker’s version was uglier and simpler.
He had been paid cash.
He had been given the reception venue address.
He had been told Nathan would leave around 10:30.
He had been told to make it look like road rage.
He had been told not to get caught.
He had not been told Emily would be in the car, or so he said.
Emily did not care whether that part was true.
Nathan had been in the car.
That was enough.
The funeral happened under a gray sky that looked too much like the crash.
Emily attended in a wheelchair because standing for more than a minute made her ribs burn.
Her mother stayed behind her with both hands on the handles.
Paul Mercer looked twenty years older.
Diane was not there.
Her attorney had advised against it.
Or maybe the county had.
Emily did not ask.
At the service, Nathan’s best man talked about his terrible dancing.
