“Is that necessary?” he asked.
“She has the car back.
Nobody got hurt.”
I stared at him.
He had not apologized.
He had not asked whether I could forgive him.
His only concern was whether the consequences could still be stopped.
“You drove here on a suspended license,” the responder said.
“You possessed a vehicle taken without the owner’s permission, and you presented a transfer document the owner says is fraudulent.
Yes,
it is necessary.”
Lucas lowered his voice.
“Elina, tell him you don’t want charges.”
It was the same command Dad had given me in different words.
Make room for Lucas.
Protect Lucas.
Absorb the damage quietly so Lucas never has to feel it.
Before I could answer, tires squealed at the entrance to the lot.
A dark sedan swung into a space near us.
Jessica climbed out, one hand braced against the door and the other holding her phone.
She was seven months pregnant and looked as though she had been crying.
Lucas rushed toward her.
“Why are you here? You should be home.”
Jessica ignored him.
Her eyes went to my SUV, then to the official vehicle, then to the document in the responder’s hand.
“Did they find the form?” she asked.
Lucas stopped.
“What form?”
Jessica looked at him with exhausted disbelief.
“The one your father told you to keep in the glove compartment.”
He reached for her elbow.
She pulled away.
“Don’t,” she said.
The single word carried more anger than shouting would have.
She faced me.
“I didn’t know they were taking your car until Lucas brought it home this afternoon.
He said you had given it to us because of the baby.”
“I never did.”
