Matt & Zoe - Charles Sheehan-Miles Page 0,6

lean into the car to open the glove box. Traffic is moving again, inching around us. Her van is partially obstructing traffic. I hear sirens in the distance. Amherst Police, probably. Christ. This is going to end up costing me if the ticket gets blamed on me. Meanwhile, some over-privileged college kid walks away from the accident with no repercussions at all.

I retrieve my insurance card and stand back up. “Here. And you’ve got yours?” I dig out my driver’s license and hand both to her.

She hands me back an expired driver’s license. Not recently expired either, but expired more than a year ago.

Who lets their license expire for more than a year?

I write down the insurance information and her license number. The address is in South Hadley, right around the corner from the school. That gives me pause, but not long enough to make me shut up.

The insurance card, of course, is in her parents’ names.

“Out for a spin in your mom’s van, huh? With an invalid license? That’s grown up, about what I’d expect from a college kid.” I’m working myself up into a near rage.

She looks at me with a vicious expression and says, “You’re an asshole.”

“Well, that’s mature, too,” I mutter. I’m frustrated and stressed. The meeting with the school board is happening right now and I’m supposed to be representing the union. And I can’t if I’m here dealing with some twenty-something-year-old who was probably texting and didn’t see me as I entered the traffic circle.

The police pull up. Not one, but two Amherst Police sports-utility-vehicles, blue lights flashing. One comes to a stop on the grass behind me and the other parks behind the college girl’s van. I go back to writing down her information.

Zoe Welch. College Street, South Hadley. She's 24 years old--older than I thought. 413-555-1200.

Where do I know that name from? Welch? I’ve only been in South Hadley for two years—it’s a small town, but not so small that everyone knows everyone. Whatever, it doesn’t matter where or if I know her from. What matters is that we get this over with, that I get the meeting rescheduled, and that I move on from this as quickly as possible. I am so frustrated.

Police officers descend upon us. I hear one of the cops say, “Zoe Welch? You’re back? I’m so sorry about your parents.”

The girl’s response is too quiet for me to hear. I’ve got a sick feeling in my stomach. I’m so sorry about your parents. What does that mean? Where is she back from? And what happened to her parents that the local police know both her and them?

I let those questions roll around my head while one of the cops walks me away from the scene and asks me my version of the accident. I follow, my brain still on the girl and the I’m so sorry about your parents.

I give my name and particulars to the police officer, who introduced himself as Officer Cavendish. He’s chewing gum, wearing mirrored sunglasses, and wouldn't look out of place on a football field.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Cavendish says. It must be a slow law enforcement day because I’ve got his full attention. His partner is wandering over too.

I want to stay silent. I start to say, I’m not sure what happened, it’s possible she was going too fast. I want to shift blame away from me, because my life experience hasn’t taught me to trust the police, but my mouth, as always, has a mind of its own. Instead of saying something sensible, or asking for my lawyer, or remaining silent, I gawk at myself as I say the words, “It was my fault.”

What? Seriously? Who says that?

“I was late for a meeting and got distracted when my phone rang, and I rolled too far into the intersection. I didn’t see her until it was too late because I wasn’t looking.”

Cavendish stops chewing his gum and looks at me under raised eyebrows. “Your fault?”

“My fault. I pulled out right in front of her.”

He grunts. “All right. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He started to walk away and I put a hand out. “Quick question… one of the officers said sorry about your parents to her… what was that about?”

Cavendish shook his head. “I think you need to mind your own business,” he grunts. He’s cranky. I wait as he walks off.

I call Tyler. He answers on the first ring. “You all right, Matt?”

It’s an indicator of