Excerpt: Thanks to Rollerskates

My mother didn't even see her coming. No one did. We were sitting, happily seat-belted into the van, awaiting our milkshakes one minute, then screaming and crying and wearing our drinks the next. I mean, it's not everyday your mother hits a roller skating waitress. Sunny Jo couldn't stop crying, and strawberry ice cream was dripping all down the front of her t-shirt. Little Grayson strained against his car seat, eyes wide, asking over and over, "What happened to the girl, Mommy?"

As for me, I couldn't say anything. Not at first. I let my heavy styrafoam cup roll to the floor. My mother stared straight ahead, her knuckles white around the steering wheel.

"Did anyone see?" she breathed, and her voice was barely audible over Sunny Jo's hysterics. There was whipped cream on the windshield and across the hood of the van, remnants of the order that was on the girl's tray just nanoseconds before we plowed into her. I swallowed hard and my tongue felt swollen and sticky.

"I don't know," I managed. A marachino cherry tumbled down then from the roof of the van with finality. I could still hear the sickening thunk her slight little waitress frame had made against the grill of our car.

"Is she moving?" My mother choked, her lips barely parting to speak.

"I don't know, Mom. Do you want me too--" I was already reaching to unbuckle my seat belt. Her hand shot out and grabbed my arm. She was shaking. Her fingers dug into my skin.

"No," she said, then calmly moved to put the van into reverse.