She left the party angry because it was his fault she’d gotten pregnant by his chauffeur. It was his fault that she threatened to blame him for her pregnancy. It was his fault she’d gone up to Wisconsin to have the baby and get rid of it rather than accept the chauffeur’s offer of marriage.
She drove too fast down Sheridan Road, but she had every right to because when she showed up at the party in that stupid pleated evening dress she’d had to give... a favor...to that chubby salesclerk in Neiman Marcus to get, he allowed her to drink too much rather than just go off and talk with her right then and there, because she had every right to talk to him! Did he think he could just buy her off with this car! So of course she drank! And of course she drove fast! The car was built to go fast!
And it was his fault she lost her temper when he tried to talk down to her. To her! She’d nanny’d his kids for weeks back before she seduced him! He kissed her, didn’t he? Just because he wouldn’t take her and she was forced to go and seduce that loser Jimmy in the back of that Cadillac – that wasn’t her fault! It would’ve been better for the baby to have actually been his!
And it was whatever nimrod had put that stupid house on that corner’s fault when she careened off the road, singing and screaming at the top of her lungs, taking that 1941 Chevy coupe up to a rattling fifty-some miles an hour on Sheridan Road right there near the Grosse Pointe Lighthouse. What sort of idiot puts a house on a corner? she thought like a scream, raging, even as she smashed through the living room window and plowed into those morons staring at her with their mouths open, deserving what followed because they were too stupid to get out of the way!