How (Not) to Fall in Love(2)

“God, Sal, chill out. This isn’t a NASCAR race.” I was going to hurl if she kept driving like a spaz.

She glared at me and then refocused her stare over the dashboard. “We have to get you home. Your parents need to call the tow truck company and get your car back before that * ruins it towing it around like a load of trash.”

My stomach clenched. Did mistakes like this really happen? Did banks screw up that badly?

Sal shifted gears angrily. The way she drove her car it’d be lucky to last another year.

“Sal.” I hesitated. “What if it’s true? What if we do owe a bunch of money on my car? And somehow didn’t pay the bills?”

She glanced away from the road to gape at me. “Are you nuts? Your family is freaking loaded, Darcy. This has to be a mistake.” She chewed her bottom lip. “You can probably sue, you know. For damages to your car, pain and suffering, all that jazz. I’ll ask my dad about it.”

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes her never-ending drama wore me out.

“Forget it,” I said. “I’m sure my dad will fix this.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, blowing through the stop sign at the end of my block. Her car lurched to a stop in our driveway.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, “but maybe I’ll sue you for whiplash.”

She didn’t laugh. “Just get inside and get this handled. I’ve got to get back to school for auditions.”

“Sorry.” I felt a twinge of guilt. She didn’t need to drive me home; I could’ve called my mom.

“Don’t apologize. That’s what best friends are for, right?” She grinned at me then peeled out of the driveway. I wondered how many speeding tickets her lawyer dad made go away.

I opened the wrought iron gate on the side of the house, looking for my dog, Toby, but he wasn’t waiting for me like usual. I hurried past the swimming pool, already covered in anticipation of winter, and through the French doors into the kitchen. I had to find my dad to get him to call and get my car back.

Something was off. I didn’t smell dinner cooking, which was weird since Mom, who could have her own Food Network show, always had exotic ingredients simmering on the stove.

Toby came running from the dining room, wriggling with happiness, and I dropped to my knees for a dog hug.

“Hey, boy. What’s going on?” I looked into his devoted Labrador eyes as I rubbed his chocolate brown fur. “We’ll run in a little bit. I need to find Dad first.” I opened the pantry to grab him a Scooby snack. He caught it easily when I tossed it in the air.

“Mom?” I called, as I left the kitchen. I was starting to get worried. “Dad?”

No answer.

I wandered into the dining room. We only used it for dinners with Dad’s premier clients and family holiday extravaganzas. The rest of the time it lurked empty yet imposing. The sleek, spiky silver chandelier made me think of knife blades poised above us while we ate, but Mom bought it during a European shopping spree, so we were stuck with it.

“Mom?” I yelled louder this time. Toby barked for emphasis.

I heard muffled voices from the library. It sounded like Mom and Dad talking, not Mom and one of her perky tennis buddies having their post-game Perriers. That was a relief. I couldn’t deal with perky after the drama in the parking lot.

I flung open the door. “You guys won’t believe this. Some jerk took my…” I trailed off when I saw it wasn’t Dad with Mom, but J.J., Dad’s business partner.

“Darcy.” J.J. turned toward me, flashing his movie star smile. It was almost as blinding as my dad’s trademark grin.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, backing toward the door. “I thought Dad was in here.” I glanced at Mom, who sat in a leather wing chair, her fingers twisting her gold serpentine necklace. Why did she look like she was fighting back tears? I glanced at J.J., whose smile had vanished.

Something inside my stomach twisted and I reached down to pet Toby, wanting to keep him close. “Everything okay?”

J.J. and Mom exchanged one of those condescending we-have-to-tell-her-something-but-let’s-not-tell-her-too-much looks.

“What is it?” My stomach knot twisted tighter. “Is Dad okay?” Visions of fiery plane crashes played on the TV screen of my mind.

“Sure, sure. He’s fine,” J.J. blustered, not looking at Mom. “But he’s, ah, had a change of plans. He won’t be home tonight.”

“But he’s got the game tonight. He can’t miss that.” Dad was the official team motivator for the Denver Broncos and never missed a game. I stared at Mom, who was staring at J.J. She still hadn’t looked at me. I heard echoes of the cackling tow truck driver’s laugh and a nibble of fear tickled the base of my neck.

“Mom? What’s going on?” Now they both stared at the ground. Toby leaned against my leg and let out a soft whine.

“I need to talk to Dad,” I said. “Because this crazy thing happened at school today with my car.”

J.J.’s head jerked up. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, surprising me.

“Were you in an accident?” Worry creased Mom’s face.

“No.” I rubbed Toby’s head. He leaned into my hand, making me feel safe like he always did. “Worse. This jerk tow truck driver took my car from the school parking lot, in front of everyone.” I cringed, reliving the humiliation.