Funny, she didn’t use to feel that way. We wouldn’t be here if she didn’t have a love for the authorities and restraining orders.
Ducking her head, Charlotte rolls down her window.
Footsteps chomp over the rocks as Charlotte greets the officer, a flashlight in his hand. His crew cut’s peppered with gray, and a brass badge is attached to his lapel. But in the dimly lit cabin I can’t make out his name, especially when he shines the beam directly into the back seat, blinding me.
He doesn’t waste his breath on formalities. “Where are you headed tonight?”
“To take these girls home.”
“And where are you coming from?”
“We just got something to eat.”
“A bar?” he intones.
“No, the Thirty-Sixth Street Diner.” Charlotte keeps her hands in her lap but motions upward. “These girls are in high school, sir.”
“But you are not.”
“No, I am not. And no, I have not been drinking.”
Evidently satisfied with her answer, he moves on to his next question. “License, insurance, and registration, ma’am.”
“Do I have a taillight out?”
“No.” He points to the cargo area. “Mind if I show you something?”
“Is it fine for me to unbuckle my seat belt?”
“Yep, follow me to the back of the vehicle.”
“You guys okay?” she whispers to us as she opens her door. We nod as she steps out.
As she follows him, I hit my window button so I can hear better.
His flashlight illuminates her license plate as he aims it at the tiny sticker in the corner. “Your Cherokee registration expired in January . . .”
I hear her say, “I thought the registration was good for two years. We’ve always done the longer option.”
“It’s not. It clearly spells out the month and year.” A condescending chuckle follows, as if to say Typical woman.
He’s going to want her papers, so I nudge Courtney, who’s texting on her phone.
“Reach for the glove box, and get her papers.”
“What papers?”
“Really?” I groan. “You don’t know what you have to have in the car with you?”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, you’ve had more face to face with the cops than I have. But don’t worry—when Daddy buys me a car for my birthday this summer, I’ll be sure to ask for your help.” Rolling her eyes, she offers, “In fact, I’ll come straight to your trailer and show it to you.”
Before I can shove her shoulder, she reaches forward, fumbling with a bunch of disorganized papers.
My eyes trained on the rearview mirror, I continue to watch Charlotte and the cop until I hear an audible gasp from Courtney as she slams the glove box closed.
“What?” I sneer. “What is it?”
“I think I felt something hard; it felt like a gun.”
“A gun?” I shake the headrest of her seat. “Are you just going to leave it there?”
“What else would I do?”
I’m about to instruct her to open the glove box again when there’s a crush of gravel and the sound of impending voices. Charlotte reenters the vehicle, the officer holding her door. Looking uneasy, she shifts her eyes to where Courtney’s hands just were.
Keeping my voice neutral, I ask, “Everything okay?”
“Expired tags.”
The officer thrusts his hands on his holster. “Can I see your papers now, please?”
Squirming in her seat, she responds with, “Not a problem.”
Innocently enough, I reach around Courtney, who sits with her arms crossed, annoyingly chomping her gum. “Do you need me to open the glove box?”
Before I can turn the latch, Charlotte grips my wrist, hissing, “I got it.”
“Okay, okay.” I yank my hand back. “No problem.”
Her fingers grasp for the middle console, and with a smile plastered tightly to her face, she tries to appear casual.
“Here you go.” She hands him her license and registration, then fumbles in her tan leather wallet for her Kansas ID.
He thumbs through her papers before handing them back. “I’m not going to bother writing you a ticket. It’ll take longer than it’s worth, and you’ll have a late fee anyway. Go home and get your registration renewed.”
“Understood, Officer Armstrong.” Awarding him her best smile, she thanks him. “My husband would be pissed if I got a ticket for this.”
I watch as she clasps her hands together so we don’t notice they’re shaking.
“By tomorrow!” he barks.
Nodding her head, she keeps her smile intact.
To his back, she says, “Thank you again, Officer Armstrong,” since he’s already headed to his squad car.
After stuffing the papers in the console, she slides her ID back in her wallet and shifts her attention to us. “Phew, that was close.” She switches her hazard lights off. “Sorry to snap at you guys.” Charlotte gives the rearview mirror one final check, and the officer’s blinker flashes as he prepares to move onto the concrete.
“No biggie.” Courtney shrugs.
“I just don’t keep my papers in the glove box, like most people.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Just a habit, I guess.”
“You acted like something was going to pop out and get us.” I raise my eyebrows. “Are you hiding drugs in there?”
“Of course not.”
I hurriedly interrupt when Courtney motions to the glove box. The easiest way to get Courtney’s attention is to shower her with attention.
“So, Courtney, where did you get your heels?”
She starts talking about shoes and her favorite places to shop, while I tune her out. I observe the freeway beneath us, a constant chaos of traffic, mostly semis at this hour, as I nibble away at my polish, an old and very bad habit.
When Courtney’s finally forced to take a breath before she suffocates, I ask Charlotte to please turn up the radio. To appease us, she has it on Top 40 hits of today, and Courtney bops her blonde hair along as I silently mouth the words.
Charlotte seems a little less tense, her hands relaxed on the wheel, no longer acting as if they’re having a seizure.
The only lapse in silence is when Courtney disturbs the music to give Charlotte directions to her house.
And by house I mean minimansion. It looks like a replica of George Washington’s Mount Vernon, complete with a red-shingled roof, portico, and imposing columns. The circular driveway alone is half the size of my apartment complex’s parking lot, and an expansive lawn creates the illusion we’re on acres of land instead of in the middle of the city.
The only thing missing is a river for Courtney to drown in, but I’m sure she has a heated pool.
After Charlotte puts the Jeep in park, she turns to Courtney. “Would you mind if I come inside with you to speak to one of your parents? I want to tell them I was pulled over with you in the vehicle.”
Courtney glances up from her phone. “It’s not a big deal. My dad’s a lawyer, so it’s not like he’s going to care.”
“At least let me come to the door and apologize.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugs. “He’ll probably be busy in his office, working. He’s always working, which is why he told me he couldn’t give me a ride home.”