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“We’re outta here!” he cried.

I tried to smile. Were we? I looked ahead and relaxed a little. Maybe it would be wonderful. Maybe it would be great, I thought, and closed my eyes to wish hard.

Then I heard Keefer’s guttural cry and I opened my eyes to see a police patrol car ahead. At first I thought it was just there, waiting for speeders, but suddenly, it pulled out and planted itself right in our way, its bubble light going. Keefer hit the brakes and turned to back up, but there behind us, coming up fast, was another police patrol car. He started to turn and then stopped. A third patrol car was coming too fast down the other lane.

He turned to me.

“Bad luck,” he said, and shrugged. “They must have been just close enough to get the call and cut us off. And we were almost to the open highway. Damn.”

Blood drained from my face at the sight of two policemen, their guns drawn and pointing at us. They were crouched behind the doors of their vehicle. Another policeman screamed through a bullhorn behind us, ordering us to come out of the truck with our hands raised high.

“I’m sorry,” Keefer said.

I began to cry. With Mother darling’s boots still in my hands, I stepped out of the truck when Keefer did. His hands were up and so were mine.

It occurred to me as the police drew closer that Mother darling might still be sleeping.

We were separated almost immediately at the police station. I thought I would be placed in a prison cell, but I was brought to a room with a long table and two chairs. There was a mirror on one wall. I sat there for a long time, staring at myself and wondering what was going to happen to me next. Finally, a woman with very short dark hair, wearing a gray skirt suit, entered. She looked about thirty or thirty-five to me. She didn’t smile, but there was something warm about her soft brown eyes. She opened a briefcase and took out a long pad and a file.

“I’m Lou Ann Simmons from the district attorney’s office,” she began. “There is someone coming over from the public defender’s office. I guess it’s someone you know fairly well, Mr. Carson Meriweather. It’s not all that long since you and he were in court,” she added pointedly. Then she smiled again and continued. “You can wait for him to arrive, if you like, or you can tell me your side of this.”

“My side?”

“What was your role in the robbery exactly?”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by exactly. I shrugged.

“I put the money in the paper bag. Is that what you mean?”

“You were in on the planning, too, weren’t you?” she followed, obviously pleased I was responding.

“Yes.”

“You were supposed to give a signal or something, which you did?”

“Yes.”

The door opened and Mr. Meriweather entered quickly. He looked at Lou Ann Simmons.

“Have you been questioning my client?”

“She was asked if she wanted to wait for you,” Lou Ann Simmons replied. The warmth in her eyes was gone. I had the feeling it was something she could turn on and off at will.

“She doesn’t understand what’s happening here. She’s a minor.”

“She was involved in an armed robbery. That status might be denied.”

“All the more reason for you not to have gone ahead without me,” he fired back.

I felt like I was an observer in an argument that involved someone else besides me.

“She’s confessed to her active participation in the event. I can ask her the same questions with you present.”

“I want to speak to my client alone,” he said sharply.

“I think the best thing you can do and convince her to do is cooperate with me. Keefer Dawson will not be tried as a minor, and he is responsible for bringing her into the act. I hope you’re not going to make this complicated,” she added, put her notebook and the file back in her briefcase, and left.

“I would have thought you would know enough not to speak to anyone without your attorney present,” Mr. Meriweather chastised before sitting in the seat she had taken.