My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
When I got back to the apartment, Christopher was standing by the window, watching the street. The fifty-dollar space heater in the corner hummed, its red coils casting a warm glow over his boots.
“Did you find it?” he asked.
“I found everything,” I said. “The deputy was paid forty-five thousand dollars the month after the accident. The money came from my father’s insurance policy, but it was routed through a private account to keep it off the public record.”
Christopher turned around. “And the car?”
“It was repaired in Clarion by a relative,” I said. “No police report was ever filed with the state registry. They kept it entirely local.”
I sat at the small kitchen table and pulled out a fresh piece of white paper. I began to write a formal letter to the state insurance board. I typed the words slowly, using my old manual typewriter because the letters hit the paper with a sharp, permanent stamp.
“We are going to put the actual records on the table where they belong,” I said.
Christopher walked over and stood behind my chair. “If you mail that, your mother could go to jail, Mia.”
