Driver
Sometimes we don't end up where we think we're going. A short story.
Gerald Tomason’s face was a geography of devastation. Sleepless nights had carved lines through his stubble, and his eyes held the particular exhaustion of a man who had run out of places to hide. He stood before his bathroom mirror, practicing words he would never say: I’m innocent. I didn’t know. I was just following orders.
The lies tasted like ash.
His phone buzzed. A text from Patricia Jackson, the federal investigator: Last chance, Gerald. Tomorrow we move with or without you.
He deleted it without reading it twice.
The private taxi app showed a five-minute wait. Perfect. Enough time to grab his overnight bag and disappear into the anonymous sprawl of airports and rental cars and highway motels where men like him went to become no one at all.
The doorbell rang exactly five minutes later.
The driver, Evan, stood on the doorstep with keys dangling from one finger. “Gerald Tomason? You called for a ride to the airport.”
Gerald nodded, shouldering his bag. He didn’t notice that he’d never given a destination.
They drove in silence through suburban streets lined with perfect houses and perfect lawns, each one a testament to legitimate wealth and honest sleep. Gerald watched them pass like a man passing through a life that no longer belonged to him.
“Change of plans,” Evan said, turning away from the highway.
“What? No, I need to get to—” Gerald looked up and felt his stomach drop. They were pulling into a driveway he knew better than his own heartbeat. “This isn’t where I asked you to go.”
“Sometimes we don’t end up where we think we’re going,” Evan said, parking behind a blue Mercedes that had once been their second car, back when they were still they. “Maybe you should look around before you leave town. For your business trip.”
Gerald’s hand was on the door handle before he realized he was moving. The house looked different from how he remembered, more fragile.
He walked to the front door like a man approaching his own execution, the electric chair inside what used to be his home, back when money was coming fast and easy.
Giselle opened the door, and for a moment, he and his daughter simply stared at each other. She was fourteen but carried herself like someone much older, someone who had learned too young that the world breaks things you love.
“How could you leave us like this?” she asked.
“I’m sorry. You don’t understand.”
Her face crumpled, and she ran upstairs, her footsteps a drumbeat of accusation.
Gerald moved through the house like a ghost touring his former life. He stepped onto the patio and stared at the empty pool.
They’d drained it in August. Anna, his wife, said it was for maintenance, but he knew better. Some wounds were too deep to leave uncovered.
A car door slammed out front. Through the window, he watched Anna approach the Lincoln where Evan waited, patient as a confessor.
“What’s going on?” Anna asked. “Who are you?”
“You might want to talk to your husband,” Evan said. “It might be your last chance.”
She hurried inside, fear bright in her eyes. Gerald heard her calling his name, but he couldn’t turn away from the pool. Once it had been crystal blue, reflecting summer sky and the laughter of a four-year-old boy who believed the world was safe.
“What’s going on?” Anna stood in the doorway, trembling. “You’re not thinking of doing something crazy, are you?”
He wanted to tell her everything—about the federal investigation, about the company’s crimes, about the evidence hidden in his desk drawer that could send people to prison. He wanted to explain that he’d never meant for any of it to happen, that he’d just wanted to provide for them, to build something beautiful.
Instead, he stared at the empty pool and felt the weight of all his failures.
“You still can’t...” Anna didn’t finish. “You’re really going to just run away rather than face this.”
The accusation hit like a physical blow. He stormed past her and out of the house that had once held everything he loved, away from the empty pool that held everything he’d lost.
“I told you to take me to the airport!” he shouted, climbing back into the Lincoln.
Evan pulled away from the curb without comment, and Gerald watched the house shrink in the side mirror until it disappeared behind trees that had grown tall enough to hide his shame.
“How did you know where I used to live?” The question came out sharper than intended, edged with paranoia. Maybe Evan worked for the company. Maybe they knew what he knew. Maybe Evan was a Fed.
“Sometimes I just get a sense of people.”
Downtown, the car died at a red light. Evan popped the hood and shrugged apologetically while Gerald felt his last thread of control snap.
“This is perfect,” Gerald muttered, getting out. “This is just—”
A silver sedan swerved around them, brakes screaming. The driver’s door opened and federal investigator Patricia Jackson emerged, her face a mix of concern and recognition.
“Gerald? Are you all right?” She paused. “What are you doing here?”
Of all the intersections in all the city, she had to drive through this one. Gerald almost laughed at the cosmic joke of it.
“Ms. Jackson.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Just... car trouble.”
“Gerald, we need to talk. Tomorrow’s the deadline. If you don’t come forward with what you know, I can’t protect you anymore.”
“That’ll be the end of my career. My life.”
“Your career is over,” she said gently. “The question is whether you’re going to prison with the rest of them.”
Evan appeared at Gerald’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the car. I’m not going to be able to drive you to the airport today. Maybe you need to talk to your friend. This might be your last chance.”
“You’re leaving town?” Jackson’s voice sharpened.
“Apparently not,” Gerald said, resignation sinking into him, cold and quiet. He realized then that, having lost everything, there was nothing else to lose.
They made arrangements. Gerald would turn over the evidence tomorrow morning. Jackson would ensure his family’s safety. It should have felt like victory, but the hollow ache in his chest only deepened.
“Now I really have nothing left,” he told Evan as they watched Jackson drive away. “My career is over, and...” He couldn’t finish.
“You’ve got your family.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge. Gerald felt something break inside him, a dam that had held back an ocean of grief.
“No,” he whispered. “I don’t.”
Evan studied him with eyes that seemed to see straight through to the broken places. “Yes,” he said quietly. “You do.”
He continued. “Maybe you need to go back home and talk to them. It really could be your last chance. Walk away now, and there’ll be nothing left of you.”
Gerald stared at him. “How do you—?” He shook his head. “Your car’s broken down. How am I going to get home?”
Evan closed the hood and slid behind the wheel. The engine turned over on the first try.
“Oh, look,” Evan said. “It’s a miracle.”
Gerald sat in the Lincoln outside his former home, paralyzed. Through the window, he could see Anna and Giselle moving around the kitchen, their lives continuing in the space he’d abandoned.
Evan turned in his seat and stared at him. Just stared, patient and implacable, until Gerald felt the weight of that gaze like a physical force.
“Dammit,” Gerald muttered, and got out.
Anna and Giselle looked up when he entered, their faces carefully neutral, braced for another goodbye. The silence stretched between them like a chasm.
Then something in Gerald shattered completely. He crossed the room and pulled Giselle into his arms, and she broke against him like a wave against stone. Anna joined them, and suddenly they were all crying, all holding each other as if they could physically keep the world from tearing them apart again.
“I’m sorry,” Gerald sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have been watching.”
The words opened a door he’d kept locked for months, and everything came pouring out—the guilt, the terror, the moment when their perfect life had cracked beyond repair.
It was a Saturday in June. The pool sparkled like a jewel in their backyard paradise, surrounded by the fruits of Gerald’s success—the house, the cars, the life he’d built for his family. He sat on the deck with a beer, Anna beside him, reading, Giselle practicing violin inside.
He should have been happy. Instead, he felt the growing weight of what he’d learned at work, the questions he’d been afraid to ask, the documents that didn’t quite add up. But not today. Today was for family.
Chris burst through the sliding door, four years old and fearless, his Superman cape trailing behind him.
“Daddy, watch me swim!”
“In a minute, buddy.” Gerald took another sip, his attention drifting back to his troubles. The company was asking him to sign off on reports he didn’t fully understand. There was money flowing in directions that didn’t make sense. But the salary was good, the bonuses generous. Don’t look the gift horse in the mouth.
“Gerald,” Anna said, but she was reading, distracted.
Chris ran to the pool’s edge, cape streaming. He was supposed to wait for them, supposed to ask permission, but he was four and the water looked so inviting and his parents were right there...
The splash was small. Barely audible over the sound of Giselle’s violin.
Gerald looked up thirty seconds later. “Where’s Chris?”
The pool was still. Too still.
Anna screamed.
“It’s my fault,” Gerald wept. “It’s all my fault. I wasn’t watching. I was thinking about work, about money, about everything except what mattered.”
“No,” Anna said fiercely. “No, it’s not. Accidents happen. He was four. He was supposed to wait, but he was four.”
“We all blame ourselves,” Giselle whispered. “I blame myself for practicing violin instead of watching him. Mom blames herself for reading. But it’s not anyone’s fault. It just... happened.”
They held each other until the tears ran dry, until the terrible weight of unspoken guilt finally began to lift. The pain was still there—would always be there—but it was clean now, honest, shared.
“We need to sell the house,” Gerald said finally.
Anna nodded. “I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“We’ll find somewhere new. Start over. Together.”
Evan appeared in the doorway as if he’d been there all along, though Gerald was certain he’d come in alone.
“Facing up to the pain doesn’t always make the pain go away,” Evan said quietly. “It certainly can’t bring him back. But then, nothing can, and you know that. Start there. With them. That’s how you go on.”
Gerald wiped his eyes, slowly realizing the strangeness of this driver knowing… everything. “How did you know about Chris?”
But Evan was already walking away, his work here finished. Gerald followed him to the porch and watched the Lincoln pull away from the curb. As it turned the corner, he thought he saw—just for a moment—a small figure in the back seat, waving goodbye.
A four-year-old boy with a Superman cape, smiling as he faded into light.