All the Rage(19)

He was so glad when I finally got my license because everything didn’t have to be such a production anymore. I could pick him up from the bar, or the houses of any of his friends who would still have him, and it didn’t matter who saw me. My father loved my mother’s work nights. He could fall down guilt-free because the only person he had to answer to was me and as far as my father was concerned, no parent was ever meant to answer to their kid.

I circle the outskirts of Grebe over and over, pretend I’m actually going somewhere but I never really manage to convince myself.

I don’t know how long it’s like that, just driving, before the lights flash behind me.

I don’t even understand what they mean until the short shrill burst of a siren follows.

Oh, Jesus.

I pull onto the shoulder while the unmarked Ford Explorer behind me does the same. I squeeze the steering wheel as I mentally catalogue all the things that are wrong, like my license isn’t on me. Oh, and this isn’t my car. Was I speeding? I think I was. Shit. Shit. I turn the car off and roll the window down, listening to the footsteps crunch across the ground until they reach my door.

“Romy Grey. Shouldn’t you be in school right now?”

The voice is familiar in the terrible way most recurring nightmares are.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

He’s good at that, telling me.

“Step out of the car, please.”

All the Turner boys look the same. I guess that means they all look like their father but when I see the father, I see the sons. Sheriff Turner exhales impatiently through his nose because it takes me too long to step out, but I couldn’t do it before my legs felt sure enough to stand.

“This your car?” he asks.

I hate you.

Such an easy thought, I’m lucky it doesn’t come out of my mouth.

“What?”

“I asked you if this”—he points to the New Yorker—“is your car.”

“It’s Todd’s.” He knows it’s Todd’s.

“He know you’re driving it?”

“Yes.”


Turner squints at the farmhouse in the distance. “So he reported it stolen for kicks?” I turn to ice. I can’t even swallow, I’m so frozen. Turner nods to the house. “We got a call from Mr. Conway. Told us a suspicious-looking car come tearing down this road almost a dozen times.” Conway. Christ. He’s probably watching this from his window, binoculars pressed against his eyes to better the view. “Been drinking?”

It’s as good as a slap in the face. “No, sir.”

“So if we did a roadside sobriety test, you’d pass, that what you’re telling me?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.”

“But you’ve already lied to me once. Today.” He runs his hand over his mouth, like he’s considering it, letting me go, because he’s trying to make a fool out of me, thinks he can put hope in me that I’ll walk away from this with no trouble at all. I’m not a fool. He lowers his hand and points to the space of road in front of him. “Okay, Romy. I need you to stand right there. Feet together, hands at your sides.”

“What?”

“Feet together, hands at your sides.”

My eyes drift to his holster, that’s how much I hate him. I’m boiling with it. I press my lips together and at first I want to fight this but I know I can’t win because that’s not what I was put on this earth to do. I drop my hands to my sides, feet together. He holds his hand up, raises his index finger, tells me to focus on the tip of it and then leads my eyes side to side, up and down and that is not even the end of it. He makes me walk a straight line, heel to toe, turn and walk it back. He makes me stand on one leg and count and when I pass all these tests with flying colors, he tells me he’s calling my mother. I can’t get any more dead while I listen to him say he’s recovered the car and oh, guess who was driving it. His voice is getting to me, turns this open space into a coffin. I start scratching at my arms again.

He hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket.

“There’s a lot of ways I could make this go,” he tells me. “You were speeding, driving erratically. That’s not your car and I’m guessing your license isn’t on you. So that little sobriety test would be the least of your worries. But know what? I’m going to give you a break and hope you learn something from it. Now get in Todd’s car. I’m following you in.”

I take the drive in to Grebe at a crawl, wasting his time and delaying the inevitable. When we finally get back to the house, Mom and Todd are waiting on the porch. She’s upset, that’s plain across her face and in the way she’s holding herself, arms wrapped tight around her middle. Todd looks too serious, doesn’t look right too serious. He grimaces when he sees the dirt on the car and I wish that I could take this whole thing back. The screen door whines as she pushes it open. They meet us halfway up the walkway.

“You all right?” she asks. I nod. She holds out her hands. “Good. Keys. Now.” I hand them over, my eyes everywhere but hers. “Are you kidding me with this? What were you thinking, Romy?”

Todd clears his throat. “AJ, I think we can figure this out inside.” Mom flushes when she finally realizes who she’s embarrassing me in front of. Todd reaches out, shakes hands with the sheriff. “Levi, we appreciate your help today.”