My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“The car is over here,” I said, pointing toward the shadow of my sedan near the hedge.
We loaded our bags into the back seat in the dark, the vinyl cold and stiff under our hands. I slipped the canvas bag with the blue folder behind my seat, wedging it tight against the floorboard so it wouldn’t slide when we started moving.
“I will drive,” I said.
“That is probably best,” Christopher said, opening the passenger door.
I got behind the wheel and turned the key, the engine catching on the second turn with a loud, metallic cough that sounded too loud in the quiet neighborhood. The dashboard lights flickered on, casting a dull green glow over the registration card still tucked behind the sun visor.
Christopher sat beside me, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the dark windshield.
“Why did you agree to this, Christopher?” I asked, my hand staying on the gearshift. “When I asked you at the park bench. You didn’t even ask for money.”
