Hit and Run

By Q. Kelly

Maxie Douglas’s husband, Zachary, was mowed down by a hit-and-run driver five years ago on Halloween. Far from grieving, Maxie is eternally thankful to the driver for saving her from the monster Zachary had become. She longs to meet her hero or heroine, but there is much she doesn’t know.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Q. Kelly
• Release date: Oct 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463805305

Q. Kelly

I live in Washington state, where I am a writer and an editor. I also have a master's degree in deaf education. In my free time, I hike and savor frappuccinos.Fact One: I like corny jokes. If you have any good ones, send them my way!Fact Two: My favorite color is purple, but my writing is gray. Life is not black and white. I often write about issues and characters where there is no "right" answer.Fact Three: I'm weird. I like being weird.Email me at [e-mail]. I'd love to hear from you.Check out my blogs at qkelly.wordpress.com and qkelly.blogspot.com.

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HIT AND RUN

Q. Kelly

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Table of Contents

Hit and Run

Credits

Check out Woman Behind the Mask

Blurb for Hit and Run

Maxie Douglas’s husband, Zachary, was mowed down by a hit-and-run driver five years ago on Halloween. Far from grieving, Maxie is eternally thankful to the driver for saving her from the monster Zachary had become. She longs to meet her hero or heroine, but there is much she doesn’t know.

HIT AND RUN

Maxie

I feel sorry for my hero. Or heroine. I wish he or she would reach out to me. Somehow. I’d say, Don’t beat yourself up. Zachary had it coming. As a matter of fact, I’m extremely grateful. How about dinner? My treat.

I prefer a heroine over a hero. Of course I do. More fitting that way—a woman taking down the mean, abusive son of a bitch who was my husband. On the other hand, women are more prone to guilt. Yeah, I deal in stereotypes. Sue me. A man, a certain kind of man, I can see moving on from mowing Zachary down. A woman could not, not deep down in her core. She’d fret and fret and never forgive herself. Guilt and anxiety would drive her to an early death. The fear of being caught would accompany her every action.

In any case, I don’t need to know much about my hero or heroine. I just want a quick meeting, a handshake, exchanged smiles. I would whisper comfort: It’s all right, it’s all right, don’t feel bad, he was horrible, just horrible, you did the world a favor. Lots of encouraging smiles from me, lots of encouraging words to soothe the hero or heroine’s guilt.

To look at me, to hear me talk, you’d never know I feel this way. My public face is appropriate—the grieving widow, Maxie J. Douglas, porcelain-doll blonde. I helped the police investigate. I appealed on TV for information leading to the apprehension of the driver.

Abuse is an ugly creature, and Zachary shamed me on several levels. Most importantly, how had I gotten into such a situation? How could I have let my husband do these things to me, no matter how gradually? How did my family and Zachary’s not see it?

After Zachary died, my bruises took a month to go away. Some of my fractures and breaks will never heal one hundred percent, but I retain hope for my emotional scars.

Meeting my hero or heroine will bring tremendous closure, but five years have passed. I hold out little hope of this person coming forward, although I fantasize about encountering him or her. In these daydreams, I know the person immediately. How can I not? We are bonded. Forever.

This wicked person took my husband’s life on Halloween night and slunk away like a coward. A terrible