She didn’t think it could get worse, but it does. The small amount of adrenaline left in her body shoots out in needles across her chest. “Oh, my God—” She grabs at the T-shirt on the seat next to her. “I—” She pulls it over her head. “I was changing.”
“Changing while you drive?” He shakes his head. “License. Now.”
She fumbles through tissues, brushes, and hair clips for her wallet and holds it out for him, embarrassed at her shaking hands.
“Out of the wallet, please.”
Her fingers are hot and clumsy as she picks and pulls and finally frees the license from its sticky vinyl pocket. She glances ahead. The yellow bus is out of sight.
“Zoe Beth Buckman, huh?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice trembles.
“You ain’t going to start crying now, are you? Because that don’t win any points with me neither.”
“No, sir.” Pull it together. And then a sliver of light hits her. The rumble of his voice. The crease of his cheeks. Thank you, miss. You have a good day, too. “Eggs over easy. Tabasco. Double order of bacon. Extra crisp. Right?”
He pauses, his head tilts slightly to the left and then back again. “You know how fast you were going, Zoe?”
What does she say? What is the right answer? He is obviously not impressed with her good memory. If she lies will she piss him off more? If she t
ells the truth will she fry her own butt? There has to be a best answer, a fast answer that will get her back on the road behind the bus, but she doesn’t know what it is. She wishes she had talked to Carly. After Carly’s two speeding tickets, she would at least know what not to say.
“Too fast?” she says. Good. Noncommittal. She can always backtrack.
“You got it. Eighty in a fifty-five zone.” He pushes his hat back on his head so light slashes across his face and the creases deepen. He leans down, into her window. “And I got more bad news for you. Don’t appear you’ve got a current registration, leastways by the validation sticker on your window. You’re two months out. You got some newer stuff tucked in your glove box for me?”
She doesn’t bother to look. She knows Mama. The precious sticker lies in a mountain of untouched mail on a kitchen counter in a house that is no longer a house. She leans her head back against the rest and closes her eyes. It’s over. “No,” she answers. “Nothing newer.”
He is silent, and Zoe opens her eyes. He shifts his weight and leans in further. “Well, looks like I’ve got me a problem then, Zoe. By law I need to haul you in for an overnight stay at the county hotel—that one with the vertical bars? Can’t just write you a speeding ticket and ignore the expired registration. Know what I mean? You’ve done double-duty.”
Her breath is gone. This makes Carly’s tickets look like a slap on the hands. Jail. How can this be happening to her?
“I’d hate to see you in jail, though. I got a daughter near-about your age. She’s a good girl, but she messes up now and then. That’s what I’d like to think about you, Zoe. That you’re a good girl, law-abiding, and just this once that pedal got away from you. And now that it’s been brought to your attention, you’d never let it happen again. That’s what I’d like to think. You suppose I’d be right in that line of thinking?”
“Yes, sir. Very right. Very, very right.”
“Good. That’s what I was hoping to hear. I think I could let you go with a warning then—on one condition. You get yourself down to the county tax office first thing Monday and take care of that registration.”
“I have school Monday.”
“They’re open till five. You go to school all day?”
“No, sir. Just till two-thirty.”
“Then that’ll give you plenty of time to drive real slow and still be there by five.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. But I’m sure that I have it at home anyway. I just need to put it on the window. I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“See that you do. And with a good memory like yours, you probably know just what day I’ll be coming around for my Philly and fries—and to check for your sticker.”
“Tuesday.”
“That’s right. Now, you be on your way, and if I were you I’d stay off the roads as much as possible until you get that sticker on. The next trooper may not take as kindly to you. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I will.” And now she has said “yes, sir” and “thank you” more times in five minutes than she has ever said at Murray’s all day.
But it’s okay, because she got out of the ticket, has only lost ten minutes, and if she hurries, she can still catch up with the bus.