I almost smiled.
Denise looked at him.
“Are you going to let her speak to me like this?”
Mark stared at her.
“You’re standing at our front door complaining that my wife finally dealt with a problem you refused to stop causing.”
She went quiet.
Then she said, “I just think involving authorities was excessive.”
I answered, “I think 22 mornings was excessive.”
That ended the conversation.
Or I thought it did.
The next morning, Denise’s car was gone from our driveway.
So was the next.
And the next.
For one glorious week, nothing happened.
Then Monday came.
At 7:20, I opened the front door.
Silver Corsa.
Across our driveway.
Again.
I actually laughed.
Not angry laughter.
Disbelief.
Mark came up behind me.
“No way.”
“Way.”
He looked at the car.
Then at me.
“Is she insane?”
“I think she thinks we won’t do it twice.”
This time I didn’t knock.
I didn’t photograph it for 22 minutes.
