Still mellow and tingly, I get in the car and crack the windows, hoping the crisp September air will clear my head. I should’ve finished that glass of water instead of the wine. As I drive, my thoughts drift from the gloom that made me take time out for myself to the guilt I feel for ditching my family duties. I accelerate onto the freeway and maneuver around traffic in search of a clear lane.
After several miles, I’m cruising with no obstructions, pleased that for the second time today I’ve made space for me—even if it’s just a flash in the cloud of burdens on my tail . . . uh no, that’s a cop. A siren whoops. I merge right to let it pass. Instead, it follows me, lights flashing until I stop on the shoulder. I hope I don’t smell like alcohol. Both hands on the wheel, I face forward and stare through my mirror at the stocky officer headed toward my passenger side.
He shines a light in the car. “I need your license and insur—. . . Ajha?”
I snap my head around. It’s Todd, an officer in my husband, Marcus’s, precinct and a friend to our family. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Hi, Todd.”
He looks disappointed and asks if I know why he pulled me over. I shake my head, afraid he’ll smell my breath if I speak.
“You were going eight miles over the limit and seemed to be having trouble staying in one lane. Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod.
He cocks his head and asks if I’ve had anything to drink. Please, Todd. I need you to be a friend right now, not a cop. I sweep my hair away from my sweating neck. My heart is pounding so hard my lapel is shaking. Can he see that?
“Ajha?” he says, his voice deepening.
“Hm? Um, just a couple glasses of wine an hour ago. That’s all.”
He hangs the flashlight on his belt, mumbles into his mic then taps the window. “Roll these up, turn off the car and exit from this side away from traffic. I’m taking you home. Lock your doors and meet me in the front seat of my squad.”
If I weren’t the commander’s wife, and Todd didn’t consider us friends this situation would play out very differently. Shaken and humiliated, I crawl over the center console and step onto the grassy shoulder. Through gusts of wind from cars whizzing by on I-494, I wobble toward Todd. He holds the door open as I climb in his squad.
“Buckle up,” he says, closing the door leaving me alone with my thoughts and the odor of fast food grease in his squad while he makes a phone call outside. When we finally merge onto the freeway, a tear trickles down my cheek.
“I’m not drunk,” I say. “It’s just hard to walk against the wind with my heels sinking in the dirt.”
Todd tells me not to worry, this way I look like a damsel in distress not a criminal. Then he fishes a napkin from the McDonald’s bag beside him and hands it to me to dry my tears.
Rushing wind, tires drumming the asphalt, and dispatch chatter break the silence between us the rest of the way. As his squad creeps into our cul-de-sac, Marcus looms in the great room window overlooking our front yard, then his silhouette disappears.
Like a lost-and-found child, I hold my breath and wonder if my return will be met with relief or anger.