don’t hear her. I keep up a brisk pace, and the minute I round the corner I pull off the glasses and scarf. I get into my car in a hurry and drive down to the main street. I pass a sterile, concrete shopping mall marooned in a nearly empty parking lot sea. It’s an obviously new concession to the oil company employees and their families who have swollen thistown, because on either side are the older stores, a few with the high wooden false fronts I’ve seen in western movies.
Less than two minutes later a siren blasts behind me, and a cop car is close enough to hitch a ride on my rear bumper. I pull over to the curb, and the car parks behind mine. A policeman climbs out, so as fast as I can I shove the scarf under my right leg and tuck the glasses in my shirt pocket. They stick out of the top, but there’s nothing else I can do with them. If that woman tells the police about a girl with mirrored sun glasses—if this policeman notices—
He turns around. I take a deep breath, which comes out in a shudder. “Is there a problem?” I ask.
“Let’s see your driver’s license,” he answers.
I hand it to him and he copies some of the information from it onto his pad.
“Insurance identification?”
I give him the card. It’s already in my hand. He takes it as though he’s sorry I have it available. “Are you giving me a ticket?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps writing, so I say, “If I’m getting a ticket, I should know what for!”
“Sign here,” he says, handing the pad to me, and in a monotone recites, “For one thing, your left taillight is out—”
“But it isn’t!” I interrupt.
“If you don’t believe me you can look for yourself.”
I think about the scarf I’m sitting on. I can’t get up, or he’ll see it. “I’ll take your word for it,” I mumble.
But he stands back and waits. “Come on. I’ll show you. You can tell your daddy to get it fixed.”
“It’s okay. Really. You said the left one. I’ll tell him.”
He pauses while I hold my breath. I can’t let him see that scarf. Finally he turns back to his notebook. “And going forty-five in a thirty-five zone,” he continues.
“I wasn’t!”
“I clocked it, young lady.”
“That’s not true!” I guess I’m thinking slowly. I finally begin to get the message—back off, or there’ll be more harassment.
“Sign,” he says again.
I open my mouth to protest, but realize it won’t do any good. So far he hasn’t taken a good look at me. Maybe he’s been too embarrassed to do so. My best bet is to sign that ticket and clear out as steadily as I can manage.
As soon as he’s back in his car, I drive away carefully, thankful that it’s over. My hands tremble on the steering wheel. This whole episode scared me more than I thought it would. As soon as I’m sure the policeman isn’t following me I head down the nearest alley and stop long enough to stuff the glasses and scarf into someone’s dumpster.
I told Mom I’d be back soon, but I’ve got such an urgent need to see Jeremy that I head for the hospital. Maybe Dad will still be there. I’m sure that Jeremy knows when one of us is with him. I hope he does, because I’ve got more to talk to him about.
I remember to look at the left taillight. The policeman wasn’t kidding. It’s not only broken. It looks as though it was smashed. There are a couple of small dents around the rim of the light. If I had backed into something I certainly would have known it. Maybe it was Mom. We both use this car. I’ll ask her when I see her.
The hallways of the hospital rattle with dinner-tray carts, and a pungent, beefy odor from the tin-covered dishes overpowers even the pine-scented floors.
Dad is sitting in the chair by Jeremy’s bed when I push open the door to Jeremy’s room. A folder is open on his lap, and papers are strewn on the blanket. He takes off his reading glasses and stares at me for a moment before he recognizes me.
“Where are you?” I ask him.
Less than two minutes later a siren blasts behind me, and a cop car is close enough to hitch a ride on my rear bumper. I pull over to the curb, and the car parks behind mine. A policeman climbs out, so as fast as I can I shove the scarf under my right leg and tuck the glasses in my shirt pocket. They stick out of the top, but there’s nothing else I can do with them. If that woman tells the police about a girl with mirrored sun glasses—if this policeman notices—
He turns around. I take a deep breath, which comes out in a shudder. “Is there a problem?” I ask.
“Let’s see your driver’s license,” he answers.
I hand it to him and he copies some of the information from it onto his pad.
“Insurance identification?”
I give him the card. It’s already in my hand. He takes it as though he’s sorry I have it available. “Are you giving me a ticket?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps writing, so I say, “If I’m getting a ticket, I should know what for!”
“Sign here,” he says, handing the pad to me, and in a monotone recites, “For one thing, your left taillight is out—”
“But it isn’t!” I interrupt.
“If you don’t believe me you can look for yourself.”
I think about the scarf I’m sitting on. I can’t get up, or he’ll see it. “I’ll take your word for it,” I mumble.
But he stands back and waits. “Come on. I’ll show you. You can tell your daddy to get it fixed.”
“It’s okay. Really. You said the left one. I’ll tell him.”
He pauses while I hold my breath. I can’t let him see that scarf. Finally he turns back to his notebook. “And going forty-five in a thirty-five zone,” he continues.
“I wasn’t!”
“I clocked it, young lady.”
“That’s not true!” I guess I’m thinking slowly. I finally begin to get the message—back off, or there’ll be more harassment.
“Sign,” he says again.
I open my mouth to protest, but realize it won’t do any good. So far he hasn’t taken a good look at me. Maybe he’s been too embarrassed to do so. My best bet is to sign that ticket and clear out as steadily as I can manage.
As soon as he’s back in his car, I drive away carefully, thankful that it’s over. My hands tremble on the steering wheel. This whole episode scared me more than I thought it would. As soon as I’m sure the policeman isn’t following me I head down the nearest alley and stop long enough to stuff the glasses and scarf into someone’s dumpster.
I told Mom I’d be back soon, but I’ve got such an urgent need to see Jeremy that I head for the hospital. Maybe Dad will still be there. I’m sure that Jeremy knows when one of us is with him. I hope he does, because I’ve got more to talk to him about.
I remember to look at the left taillight. The policeman wasn’t kidding. It’s not only broken. It looks as though it was smashed. There are a couple of small dents around the rim of the light. If I had backed into something I certainly would have known it. Maybe it was Mom. We both use this car. I’ll ask her when I see her.
The hallways of the hospital rattle with dinner-tray carts, and a pungent, beefy odor from the tin-covered dishes overpowers even the pine-scented floors.
Dad is sitting in the chair by Jeremy’s bed when I push open the door to Jeremy’s room. A folder is open on his lap, and papers are strewn on the blanket. He takes off his reading glasses and stares at me for a moment before he recognizes me.
“Where are you?” I ask him.
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