Whatever It Takes by Gwynne Forster

sometimes, there’s no telling,” Marshall said, his tone dry with seeming impatience.
    Lacette stared at him, appalled that he didn’t sit down in what, a few weeks earlier, had been his own home, until her mother invited him to do so. She didn’t need more evidence that, in his mind, he no longer belonged there.
    â€œShe said she’d be back before six,” Lacette told them, her jangled nerves causing her to repeat what she’d told them earlier. Unable to stand the tension, she wrapped her arms across her waist and walked to the hall window to look for signs of her car, or at least its headlights. She walked back into the living room, rubbing her arms, deep in thought, and sat down, but only for a second before going back to the window for another look.
    â€œIf she’s all right, she’d call, wouldn’t she?”
    Marshall threw up his hands. “Lacette, your sister is not concerned about whether anybody is worried, and you know it.”
    â€œWhy are you always down on her?” Cynthia asked her estranged husband.
    He leaned forward and pressed his thighs with the palm of his hands. “Because I want her to do what’s right. If she told Lacette she would return that car to the hotel garage before six o’clock, she should have had it back there before six and not a minute later. Her word’s not worth two cents unless she wants something, and you can thank yourself for that; you coddled her and indulged her from the day she was born. If you don’t want me to lay it out for you chapter and verse, don’t lean on me when I tell the truth about her.”
    Lacette looked from one to the other, seeing contrition in her mother and either anger or disgust—she couldn’t make out which—in her father’s visage—indeed, his whole demeanor. She waited for her mother’s denial of his accusation, but it was not forthcoming, and she wondered if they’d fought behind the closed doors of their bedroom while their children believed that only loving energy flowed between them. If it had been the perfect marriage that she and Kellie believed it to be, would their mother have reacted to the split as if she had just been released from a maximum security prison, a bird out of a cage?
    At midnight, Marshall called the police station, reported Kellie’s absence and gave descriptions of her and the car.
    â€œJust a minute, sir,” an officer said, “I think a highway patrolman phoned in something about that. Seems the lady didn’t know that a car runs on gas.”
    â€œOfficer, do you know where she and the car are?”
    â€œWell, sir, no, I don’t. The patrolman located her on Route 70 just this side of New Market. She’d been traveling at a fast clip, and when she slowed down all of a sudden, he thought she might have been sick, but she was out of gas.”
    Marshall thanked the officer, hung up and told them what he’d learned. “She probably called AAA. I’m going home. Let me know if you need me, Lacette.”
    She walked with him to the front door and kissed him on the cheek. As he reached for the knob, the door opened with some force and sandwiched him between it and the wall. “Oops,” Kellie said. “Sorry. I didn’t expect to bump into anybody; figured everybody would be in bed.”
    â€œDid you, now?” Marshall said, his anger almost palpable. “Apologize to your mother and your sister for worrying them half to death. Where is the car?”
    â€œUh . . . the car . . . I left it on Route 70. Lacette, why didn’t you put some gas in the car? If it hadn’t been for that nice highway patrolman, I’d still be sitting there. He waited until I caught a ride back to town. A real nice man, and white, too. Never know who you’ll run into.”
    Marshall stared down at her, blocking her way. “If you were not a female, I think I would smack you.”
    She