Page 17 of Little Buried Secrets

“Why did you leave a note?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I felt bad.”

Not bad enough to remain at the scene.

No passing judgment, Georgiana.

Remember?

Easier said than done.

“What did you say in the note?” I asked.

“I wrote, ‘I’m sorry. I may have scratched your car.’”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“And you didn’t sign your name? Leave a number? Nothing?”

She shook her head, pursed her lips.

“And you left right after?” I asked.

“I did.”

“What did the other car look like?”

“It was red. A Civic, I think, or maybe a Corolla. It had a few other scratches and dings, so I thought, it’s not like it was in pristine condition … you know, before I nicked it.”

Way to justify what she’d done.

Judgmental much?

At least I wasn’t saying what I was thinking out loud.

“Thanks, that’s all I need to know about the accident,” I said.

“Are we done? It’s freezing out here.”

“I have one last question … What do you think about your mom’s boyfriend?”

“Grant? I don’t think anything about him except how nice it would be if he went home.”

“Earlier, it looked like you were irritated with him.”

“Ever since we met him, he’s tried to step in, play the father role. He’s never raised any kids, and he has no clue how to be a parent. If he wasn’t here, my mom would be fine with me having a glass of wine. I’m eighteen. In my opinion it’s close enough to twenty-one.”

“Have you talked to your mom about Grant?”

She shifted her focus, looking through the window at Grant and Rae, who were talking to each other in the kitchen.

“I’ve never said anything about him to her,” she said. “He makes her happy. And it’s not like I’ll be here much longer. I’ll be off to college soon.”

“What do you know about Grant?” I asked.

“Not much. I’ve never tried to—”

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