My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
My father took his reading glasses from his breast pocket and slipped them on. He looked at the signature on the release form.
“This is my name,” my father said softly.
“You signed it, Dad,” I said. “You signed the release that said Christopher was at fault so the insurance company would pay the deputy’s brother-in-law.”
“The deputy’s brother-in-law wasn’t even there,” Christopher said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
“He was the sole witness listed on the report,” I said. “He testified that he saw Christopher run the light.”
My mother sat back down, her movements stiff. “This is ancient history. The insurance company settled it. It is over.”
“It isn’t over for Christopher,” I said. “He lost his tools. He lost his shop because his premium went up four hundred percent and no bank would lend to a convicted reckless driver.”
My father looked at Christopher. He looked at Christopher’s hands, which were thick and calloused from years of working with oak and pine.
“I didn’t know about the shop,” my father said.
“You knew about the forty-five thousand dollars,” I said.
