He sat in the chair across from her. He held the shoebox on his lap.
He told her about the third week. Three in the morning. A little girl, nine years old, calling because her mother wouldn’t wake up. Fourteen minutes before the ambulance got there. Kim kept that child counting out loud the whole time. One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight. Over and over. Kept her counting so she wouldn’t stop talking.
“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.”
