Chapter 7
Well this sucks. Nobody is listening to me.
Out the car window it looks like a weird movie scene that would never involve me.
Money is on the gravel. A guy in leather is standing there with a stone-faced expression. A deputy crouched over the contraband with a paper bag and a pen. The photographer is standing with both hands clamped over her mouth and her camera hanging off her neck.
Anna’s eyes are enormous, looking at me through the window the way you look at a person who just died in front of you.
And the man who caused this hasn’t moved.
This can’t be happening.
Is somebody playing an evil trick on me?
I haven’t done anything wrong. Ever. Nothing illegal. I’ve built my life on doing everything right. To the letter.
My wrist cramps as I shift on the plastic seat and recount all the ways I’ve been good. I file taxes early. I keep receipts. In years of accounting work, I’ve never put a number where it doesn’t belong.
For Christ’s sake, I’ve never even taken an inappropriately long lunch.
I almost laugh. Point proven how responsible I am, I put on a dress for a photoshoot I didn’t want, because a woman I have never met blocked out her Sunday evening for me.
And now I’m in cuffs.
The cops climb in the front, rocking the car. A wall of plastic separates us. I’m literally in a cage with cuffs on in my vintage dress.
This is a huge mistake, but the guy driving puts the car in gear. In a panic, I cram my face up against the plexi-glass so I can look right at him.
“I didn’t do anything!” I shout.
He ignores me. Probably hears this all the time.
“I promise! I don’t know what this is!” I shout anyway.
The car starts moving.
Oh no!
Out of that back window, the enormous man standing in the setting sun gets smaller and smaller until we round a curve and I can’t glare at him any longer.