My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
Christopher reached into his pocket and pulled out his father’s silver pocket watch, running his thumb over the engraved casing. He did not open it, but his fingers held it tightly.
“I was parked under the street lamp on the corner of Oakridge and Maple,” Christopher said. “My engine was off. I was checking a delivery address on a slip of paper.”
“Was there anyone else on the road?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “It was nearly eleven. The road was completely empty until the lights appeared in my rearview mirror.”
“Did you see who was driving?” I asked.
“Not until the door opened,” he said. “The woman who got out could barely stand. She dropped her purse on the wet pavement, and three orange prescription bottles rolled into the gutter.”
A dry branch snapped somewhere in the dark woods beyond the garden fence, the sound sharp in the cold night. Christopher turned his head toward the noise, his profile dark against the neighbor’s porch light.
“She didn’t ask if I was hurt,” Christopher continued. “She just kept saying her husband would fix it, over and over, while she tried to gather her things.”
