“I won’t.” I held my head in my hands, wishing I could have lied. “Sorry.”
“Okay. I’m driving to Lawrence tomorrow. I have some time. We can have lunch. I’ll pick you up at eleven. And don’t worry. You’re on my insurance. I’m not an idiot.”
“Okay,” I said. I would have to pay dearly for this assistance—there would be more lectures, and probably jokes about my driving for years to come—still, I felt comforted, and cared for. He was a yeller, but at least he cared.
I had almost hung up when he said my name. I brought the phone back up to my ear. “Yes?”
“So…” He suddenly sounded awkward. “I’m just wondering,” he said. “Where was your mother in all this?” He cleared his throat. “I assume you tried to call her.”
I moved my finger up to my lips. I could feel the raised line of clotted blood.
“Veronica? Did you call your mother?”
I looked down at my boots, still damp with melted sleet. “I tried,” I said. “She wasn’t home.”
My sister called just as I returned from the shower. “So you’re not dead?” she asked. “Not even injured?”
“I’m fine,” I said. I was wearing just a towel, and in my closet mirror, I could see the bruise the seat belt had left. I traced my finger down it, just hard enough to hurt.
“No one calls to let me know the crisis is over. Last I heard, you were lost on the windy plains with nothing to eat but fast food. Dad called me from his car. He was loud. Even for him.”
I almost smiled. “Why would he call you? What were you going to do in California?”
“He wanted me to call Mom.”
My heart sank a little. Maybe my father just didn’t have my mother’s phone number. But I imagined that if he had, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make himself call it, even when he was allegedly so worried. He loved me, I knew. But the divorce, even in a crisis, reigned supreme.
“So did you?” I eased into my robe and wrapped the towel around my wet hair.
“Did I what?”
“Did you call Mom?”
“Hold on,” she said. “ONE MOCHA GRANDE PLEASE. THREE SHOTS PLEASE.” I heard static, movement. “Sorry. I’m at a drive-thru. I came in at six this morning. Six! I have no life. Anyway, yeah, I tried to call Mom. She didn’t pick up.”
“Hmm,” I said.
“So what happened? How did you end up in Topeka?”
I tried to tell her the story as quickly as possible. But she liked to cross-examine, too.
“You skipped class to take these people to the airport?”
“No.”
“How did you wreck the car?”
“There was an ice storm, Elise. Lots of people wrecked their cars this morning.”
“Okay. Don’t get defensive. I didn’t know about the ice. It’s beautiful here. It’s always beautiful.” She clicked her tongue. “I wish I weren’t wearing a suit. I have to wear hose. It’s ridiculous.”
I sat on my bed and pulled on a pair of wool socks. I could picture Elise in her Volkswagen, her hair pulled back in a twist, moving down a freeway with her mocha. Elise could drive in heavy traffic while talking on the phone, while drinking a hot beverage, no problem. If she didn’t have a stick shift, she could probably type out a legal brief right there at the wheel. She didn’t wreck cars. She never screwed up. Still, when I told her what had happened that morning, I gave her the full story.
“Oh my God,” she said, real sympathy in her voice. “Honey. Did you tell the police?”
“Yeah. Too late, I think. But yeah.”
“You must have been scared.”
I closed my eyes, grateful for the understanding. I doubted the people who worked with Elise knew about her soft side. But it was there.
“I’m okay,” I said, not too convincingly. I wasn’t ready for the pity to stop. “That’s not the worst thing, either. I called Mom from the Hardee’s. She hung up on me.”
Elise was quiet for a moment. “What do you mean she hung up?”
“She told me she couldn’t give me a ride, and she hung up.”
“What? On purpose?” I heard a seagull cry in the background. “Are you sure it was on purpose?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. She said she wasn’t my chauffeur anymore, and she hung up.” It felt good, this tattling. I had covered for her to my father, but I needed comfort, and my loyalty had limitations. I was gratified to hear my sister inhale, momentarily