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Emma
Mrs. Patterson had a car! Emma had walked past the woman’s garage a thousand times, but she had never thought about what might be in there. If someone had asked her to guess, she wouldn’t have guessed a car.
But there was a car. It was ancient and as big as a boat. Emma got the feeling it had been nice in its day, maybe even expensive. Now it just looked clunky and dusty. Really dusty.
Mrs. Patterson struggled to bend over so she could grab the handle near the bottom of the garage door.
“Here!” Emma said, moving quickly. “Let me get that for you.” At first she thought the door wasn’t going to budge, but then it slid upward, making a wicked racket. She flinched, feeling as if Mrs. Patterson had just announced to the whole neighborhood that she was finally stepping out.
Emma hurried back to the boat-car and slid into the front seat, which was surprisingly cushy. With less enthusiasm, Mrs. Patterson slid behind the wheel and turned the key that was dangling from the ignition.
Nothing happened.
Mrs. Patterson said a semi-naughty word that made Emma snicker and feel grown-up. Adults never cussed around her. “I probably should have expected that.” She looked at Emma. “Sorry, kiddo. I tried.”
Emma’s heart raced. “We could take a cab?”
Mrs. Patterson snorted. “A cab? In Carver Harbor?”
“No! There is one! I’ve seen it. I mean, it doesn’t look like a TV cab. It’s a banged-up old minivan, but it says taxi on the side, and there’s a light on top!”
Mrs. Patterson looked out through the dusty windshield, her hands still on the wheel. “I’m not sure I’m up for a ride in a mysterious minivan taxi.”
Emma didn’t know what to say. Had they really come this far to fail? She didn’t mean to, but she started crying. It was all too much. Her father had lost his mind and embarrassed them all. Her mother was crazy. And now her family had caused superstar Jason DeGrave to get thrown into jail. She leaned her head back against the headrest and the tears slid down from the corners of her eyes.
“All right, all right. Don’t cry.”
Emma wiped at her eyes. “Sorry,” she said quickly. She didn’t want Mrs. Patterson to think she was trying to manipulate her. She hadn’t been.
But it seemed Mrs. Patterson hadn’t even heard her. She was climbing out of the car. “I guess you’d better hail us a cab.”
“Thank you!” she said more loudly. “I’ll call them right now.” She quickly searched for the cab company’s number, scared Mrs. Patterson would change her mind.
A tired voice answered on the third ring.
Emma was halfway through her second sentence before the embarrassment hit her. She was calling a creepy cab and asking for a ride to the jail?
But the tired voice didn’t take on a judgmental tone. She just continued to sound tired. She would be there in twenty minutes.
Fearing that if Mrs. Patterson went back into the house, Emma might not be able to get her back out again, she didn’t share the timeline. “They’ll be here soon. Let’s go wait.”
“I heard you ask for the jail, but we’ve got to go to the credit union first.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t think the jail will take a personal check.” Mrs. Patterson slung her ancient purse strap over her shoulder and headed toward the open garage door.
She paused at the threshold.
Emma held her breath.
Mrs. Patterson stepped over the threshold and kept on walking—all the way to the end of her driveway. Then she stopped and turned to watch for the cab.
It had happened. She’d left the house. And the event hadn’t been nearly as dramatic as Emma had anticipated.
Mrs. Patterson didn’t even look uncomfortable. She just looked impatient. “Are you sure you gave them the correct address?”
“Yes. I know my own address. I just added two to get yours.”
She smiled. “Fine, Miss Smarty Pants.” She coughed. “When we get in the cab, you do most of the talking.”
“Okay,” Emma said tentatively.
“And the same thing goes for the jail. I may have been around the block a few times, but I still have no idea how to bail someone out of jail.”
