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“I insist.”
The frail way she watches me, her hands curled around her sides, her fear and vulnerability so palpable, sets off a trail of crackling heat along my skin.
My eyes tear from hers only at the sound of a police siren approaching and I ease her to the side of the shoulder as a police car pulls up behind us and a large middle-aged cop with a copper mustache gets out.
Sometime later, he’s staring at the screen of the dashcam.
“Yeah, that’s Hank. The town drunk and a constant pain in my ass.”
“You’re sure?” Indie asks, her body tensing as if in search of relief.
“Yep. That’s the one.”
“Can you arrest him?” I ask.
“We’ll do our best. He’ll be hiding at one of his family member’s places in the hopes of sobering up.”
“He was drunk?” Indie asks.
“Yeah. Not the first time.”
“How isn’t his license suspended?” she presses, exasperation hollowing out her voice. “Are they waiting till he kills somebody?!”
“I don’t know,” the cop sighs. “If it were up to me, he’d be spending ten years behind bars by now. That man’s a danger to the public, and I’ll say it till I’m blue in the face.”
Fifteen or so minutes later after we’ve given our statements and the officer has left with instructions to send him a copy of the video, Indie’s dewy eyes, bright mossy green in the waning sun, lift to mine for a moment. “What do I do with the car, then?”
“The mechanic I know said we can bring them both round now,” replies Gideon. “His shop isn’t far from your house. We can all walk back. He needs to take a look, but from what I described, he thinks he’ll have the car sorted out within seventy-two hours. You’re staying till the end of the week, right?”
“Another four days,” replies Fran.
“He says he’ll call us if he can get them repaired faster.”
“I want to pay for the damage,” Indie says resolutely.
“I’ll drive you there,” I reply.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I’ve already explained that you won’t be paying for an accident that wasn’t your fault,” I reply, my body beginning to bristle again at the constant way she defies me. In public, no less.
Not something I’m used to.
“Well, why shouldyoupay?”
I gesture towards her car. “Get in. I’ll drive you back.”
“We don’t need you to drive us,” snaps Rami.
“I know you don’t. But you’re shaken up and I’ll feel more comfortable if I drive you.”
“Well, tough shit,” she replies. “You’re gonna have to go live out your hero fantasy on one of the airheads around here. We ain’t no fucking damsels in distress.”
“Can you drive mine to the garage?” I ask Gideon, ignoring the comment.
“Sure.”
I walk over to their car and get into the driver’s seat. I am aware that what I’m doing is obnoxious, overbearing and demeaning, but I don’t care right now. All I give a shit about right now is getting her and her friends home in one piece.
