“My children were late. Again. I was an hour late to work. I came to your house and asked you, politely, to stop.”
Denise muttered, “I said I’d try.”
“No.”
I looked directly at her.
“You said, ‘You’ll survive.’”
She remembered.
I could tell.
The officer could too.
For the first time, she looked embarrassed.
Only for a second.
Then anger covered it.
“Fine. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. You shouldn’t have parked there.”
“What difference does it make to you if I’m only there for a few minutes?”
“It makes the difference between my children getting to school and sitting in a driveway.”
“I have nowhere else to put it in the morning.”
I actually looked at her house.
Her empty driveway.
The two legal roadside spaces outside it.
Then back at her.
“You have a driveway.”
“My husband leaves early.”
“Then use it after he leaves.”
“It’s awkward.”
“Awkward?”
“The angle.”
I stared at her.
That was the reason.
Twenty-two mornings.
Three late marks.
A meeting with my manager.
And her driveway angle was inconvenient.
“You blocked my driveway because you don’t like reversing into yours?”
She flushed.
“It’s narrow.”
“So is mine.”
“Your hedge makes it harder for me.”
I almost laughed.
“Then don’t park at my hedge.”
She threw her hands up.
“It was temporary!”
“Twenty-two mornings is not temporary.”
The officer interrupted.
“Madam, you need to decide whether you’re dealing with the vehicle now.”
Denise turned back toward him.
In the end, the car did not get taken away.
