My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“I woke up with my collarbone broken in three places and my steering column in my chest,” he said. “The police told me the other driver reported a hit-and-run by a commercial van.”
“They said it was a van?” I asked.
He finally pressed the release on the watch, and the lid clicked open with a tiny, sharp metallic snap. He stared down at the white face of the dial, though it was too dark to read the hands.
“The report was filed by a deputy named Miller,” he said.
I twisted the silver band on my left thumb, the metal cold against my skin. “My father knows Deputy Miller from the township board.”
Christopher closed the watch cover, the click sounding like a dry twig snapping underfoot. “Your mother was the one who told the deputy what color the van was.”
“She was confused,” I said, though the words felt thin and dry in my throat.
“She was sober enough to give them a partial license plate that matched a delivery truck from the next county,” Christopher said.
