My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“Why did you have the silver sedan repainted at a shop in West Chester instead of the local garage?” I asked.
Her hand froze on her necklace, her fingers clamping down on the center pearl. She did not turn to face me, keeping her eyes on my reflection in the dark glass.
“We use the mechanics we trust, Mia,” she said. “The local boy is careless.”
“West Chester is thirty miles away,” I said. “And the damage was on the passenger side, wasn’t it?”
“The other driver came directly into my lane,” she said, her reflection staring back at me with a hard, flat glare. “He was driving a commercial vehicle without proper maintenance.”
“His station wagon was parked,” I said.
My mother turned around slowly, her heels perfectly straight on the oriental rug. She took a step toward me, her breath smelling faint of peppermint and white wine.
“You have always had a wild imagination,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried down the hall. “But if you continue this in front of your father, you will find yourself very cold this winter.”
