I stepped onto the porch and saw Denise standing beside her silver SUV, which was covered in thick brown mud. An orange city notice was tucked beneath the windshield wiper. Denise pointed at it furiously. “Someone reported my car!” The warning explained that she had parked across the sidewalk and blocked pedestrians. She immediately blamed me, insisting I must have called the city after she refused to help Lily. I shook my head. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about your car.” Then she noticed a long scratch across the passenger door. She accused me again, but before I could answer, our neighbor Mr. Harris came outside with his trash bin. He explained that construction crews had been working overnight and probably scratched the vehicle while moving equipment. Denise suddenly had nothing to say.

Then she turned back to me. “That’s not the point. Sophie needs transportation.” I reminded her that I had driven Sophie for four years because our daughters were friends, never because I had agreed to become her permanent chauffeur. Yesterday, Denise had refused to help Lily because her wet shoes might damage the SUV’s seats, yet that same evening she asked when I could resume driving Sophie. I looked at her and said, “You said exactly what you meant. I’m just finally listening.” Denise stared at me, realizing my answer was not going to change. Click continue reading below