“I heard her count to one hundred four times,” Kyle said. “I wrote down every number. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t stop.”
My mother nodded. “I know why.”
“I’ve been back on the road a week now,” he said. “Thursday I stopped a woman for a taillight. She was shaking so bad she dropped her registration on the floor of her car. A month ago, I’d have figured that meant she was hiding something.”
He looked down at the box in his lap.
“I know what she sounded like now. I know what all of them sound like. I asked her if she needed a minute.” He paused. “She did.”
He held the shoebox out to her.
My mother didn’t take it.
“Keep it in your squad,” she said. “In the glove box. You don’t have to wear it. Just know it’s in there.”
