My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“Who was the officer who came?” I asked.
“A deputy named Miller,” Christopher said. “He didn’t write anything down at first. He just spent ten minutes talking to her in the back of his cruiser while I sat on the curb with my collarbone broken.”
I rubbed my left thumb against my silver ring, twisting the metal until it pinched the skin.
“My mother had a silver sedan that year,” I said. “The front bumper was replaced in November.”
“Go ask her about the fender,” Christopher said. “Ask her why the paint on the passenger side didn’t match the rest of the car when she traded it in.”
I left him in the garden and walked back through the utility room into the central hallway. My mother was standing by the antique mirror near the stairs, adjusting the heavy pearls at her throat.
“Christopher is still outside,” I said, stopping three feet from her.
“He should be on his way to the bus station,” she said, her voice clipped and precise. “Your father is being far too patient with this charade.”
