My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
My father closed his eyes. “I kept thinking about the man in the truck. They told me he was fine.”
“I was not fine,” Christopher said.
He reached for the collar of his charcoal sweater and pulled it down, exposing his left shoulder. A thick, white surgical scar ran from his collarbone down to his shoulder blade.
“Two pins and a steel plate,” Christopher said. “I couldn’t lift a circular saw for a year.”
My mother looked at the scar, then quickly looked away. “You have no proof that injury came from the accident.”
“The hospital records are in the folder,” I said. “The admission time was ten-forty PM on October sixteenth. Exactly eighty minutes after your car hit his.”
My mother stood up again, her hands resting flat on the mahogany table. “This is blackmail. You are trying to ruin us.”
“I don’t want your money, Olivia,” Christopher said. “I want my name cleared. I want the state registry to show I didn’t cause that wreck.”
“It will destroy our standing in this town,” my mother said. “Frank already talks too much. If this gets out, we won’t be able to walk down Maple Street.”
