I couldn’t help it. The sound came out thin and high, but it was still a laugh—because the image was so utterly absurd. My painstakingly restored Mustang, the pride of my weekends, nose-down in one of the historic district’s famous fountains like some drunk tourist’s rental car? Impossible.
“There must be a mistake,” I said. “I—”
He cut me off, gently but firmly, the way people talk to confused relatives at hospitals.
“We have multiple witnesses who placed the car at the scene.” His gaze flicked past me into the dark of my living room, scanning. “And we have identification on the driver.”
My skin went hot and cold at the same time.
“Who?” I asked. “Who was driving my car?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Your daughter, ma’am. Meline Vance.”
The whole world tilted sideways.
For a moment, all the sounds in the world—tree frogs, the hum of the AC, the car engine idling—went muffled, like someone had pressed their hands over my ears. I must have looked as stunned as I felt, because the younger officer shifted, his posture softening, like he was preparing for a collapse.
“That’s not possible,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded distant. “She’s sixteen. She doesn’t even… she hates driving. She doesn’t have her license.”
“We were given her name by witnesses at the scene,” the older officer said carefully. “They stated they saw her flee on foot.”
“Who?” I demanded. “Who gave you her name?”
He glanced at his tablet again, then looked up at me with a faint wrinkle of confusion, as if expecting recognition.
“A Mr. Keith Vance and a Mrs. Susan Vance,” he said. “And a Ms. Lauren Vance. Your parents and your sister?”
The floor dropped out from under me.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the door until the wood bit into my palm. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t feel my body at all; there was only the words.
My parents.
My sister.
Naming my child.
“They told you,” I said slowly, “that they saw my daughter crash my car and run away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How—” I swallowed. “How did my car get to Lafayette Square?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.” His tone dropped into something more official. “We’re here because this is the registered address, and your daughter is a minor. We need to confirm her whereabouts and ask you some questions.”
The younger officer spoke up for the first time.
“Is Meline home right now, Ms. Vance?”
I turned my head toward the hallway, toward the closed door with the little hand-painted sign that said KEEP OUT (UNLESS YOU HAVE SNACKS).
It might as well have said DO NOT SACRIFICE TO SAVE YOUR SISTER’S BRAND.
“Yes,” I said, but the word came out more like a plea. “She’s asleep. She’s been home all night. She was drawing in her room when I went to bed.”
“Could we see her?” the younger officer asked. “Just to verify?”
I hesitated. Not because I doubted she was there, but because some feral part of me wanted to plant myself in the hallway like a barricade and snarl at anyone who tried to come near.
But refusing would only make things worse.
“Fine,” I said. My hand shook as I closed the door to slide off the chain. I opened it again and stepped aside.
The two men stepped into my foyer, their boots quiet on the hardwood. Their presence made my cozy little house feel suddenly cramped, as if the walls had moved in.
I led them down the hall.
The door to Meline’s room was closed, a strip of warm light visible at the bottom where her lamp spilled under it. She’d fallen asleep with it on again.
I knocked softly.
“Honey? It’s Mom. I need you to open the door for a second.”
There was a rustle, a muffled groan. The door opened a crack, and one green eye peered out, bleary and annoyed.
“Why are you waking me up? What time is—”
Then she saw the uniforms behind me.
Her whole face sharpened, sleep dropping away like a mask. She stepped back, pulling her oversized T-shirt straighter, clutching the hem in one hand. The shirt was one of my old landscape company tees, the logo faded from too many washes. Her long dark hair was twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, a pencil stuck through it like a pin.
“Mom?” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” I said, forcing my voice to be steady. “These officers just need to speak with us for a moment.”
The younger one looked at her with practiced neutrality, the way you look at someone you’ve already seen in your report.
“Are you Meline Vance?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. Her eyes flicked to me and back to him. “Did I… do something?”
“Where have you been tonight, Meline?” the older officer asked.
She blinked.
“In my room,” she said, confused. “I was drawing. I… I finished my history homework and then I was drawing. Why?”
“You haven’t left the house?” he pressed. “You didn’t take your mother’s car anywhere?”
Something like disgust flashed across her face.
“No,” she said emphatically, her voice rising. “I hate driving. I don’t even have my license. I failed my permit test twice.” She glanced at me. “On purpose,” she added quickly. “You know that.”
I did know. I’d been there both times, watching her literally choose the wrong answers because she didn’t want to be responsible for two tons of metal moving at sixty miles an hour. My daughter’s anxiety had a million teeth, and cars were one of the biggest.
The officers asked her a few more rote questions. Did anyone see you home? Did you talk to anyone on the phone? Did you post online? Meline answered, growing increasingly bewildered.
When they were done, they stepped back into the hall with me.
“We’ll need you both to come down to the station in the morning to give formal statements,” the older one said. His tone was reserved, but his eyes were softer than before. He’d seen enough teenagers in real trouble to recognize the difference.
“I’ll be contacting your parents as well,” he added. “We’ll sort through the inconsistencies.”
Inconsistencies. That was a nice neutral word for the fact that my parents had just pointed at my baby and said, Her. That one. Use her.
“I’ll be there,” I said faintly.
They left. The red and blue lights disappeared, leaving my front yard dark and ordinary again. It took a long moment for my eyes to adjust.
Inside, the house felt hollow, like someone had opened a window in the center of it and let all the warmth escape.
Meline hovered near the hallway, watching me.
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