Chapter 5 - The Drive Home
The neon sign of the Texaco station off Interstate 35 flickered lazily against the midnight sky as our old Honda Civic rolled past. Inside the car, the air smelled of warm leather, strawberry lip balm, and the faint, sweet scent of a bag of hot fries we’d picked up from the drive-thru twenty minutes earlier.
The radio was turned off. There was no need for music.
Noah sat in the passenger seat, his suit jacket folded neatly across his lap, his tie unclipped and dangling from his fingers like a tired snake. He was staring out the window at the endless stretch of Dallas highway lights blurring into ribbons of amber and red.
I kept my hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, my foot steady on the gas pedal as the miles rolled away from downtown, away from the glittering marble lobbies, away from the wreckage of a life that had tried to bury us.
“Mom?” Noah asked softly, breaking the quiet hum of the engine.
“Yeah, buddy?” I glanced over, catching the soft glow of the dashboard lights reflecting in his dark eyes.
“Do you think Dad is going to jail?”
I thought about the federal prosecutors Arthur Pendelton had undoubtedly been calling on his encrypted cell phone before we even made it to the elevator. I thought about the financial ledgers, the offshore shell companies, and the absolute collapse of a man who had traded his honor for a title and a younger smile.
“I think,” I said carefully, keeping my eyes fixed on the empty highway ahead, “that people reap what they sow, Noah. Your father spent a long time running away from the truth. Tonight, the truth just caught up.”
Noah nodded slowly. He didn't look sad. He didn't look triumphant either. He just looked like a ten-year-old boy who finally understood that his mother hadn't been lying when she told him everything was going to be alright.
May you like
He reached across the console, his small, warm hand slipping into mine, resting his fingers between my knuckles with a quiet, unbreakable grip.
We drove on through the Texas dark, the miles falling behind us like shed skin, heading home to a house that was small, rented, and entirely our own.
