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I watch in my rearview as the police cruiser pulls up behind me and a male officer gets out. I channel my inner Jenna, rolling down my window and putting my hands on the wheel at ten and two. I just need to do what he wants to see and say what he wants to hear.

“Afternoon,” he says when he appears at my window. He’s older than me, but not by much. His nametag readsH. Sullivan.

“I’m so sorry. I know I swerved back there. I just got some bad news and was distracted.” I’m going for angelic, contrite, and just a tiny bit flirty.

“So, you haven’t been out drinking yet today?” He cracks a half smile: a joke.

I laugh indulgently, hoping he doesn’t spot the alcohol in my backpack. None of it’s open, but still. “Not yet, no. Usually I’m a very good driver. I swear.”

“Well, you look sober enough to me.”

“I am. Happy to prove it too if you want.”

Another smile. “I’ll settle for your license and registration.”

I lean over to open my glove compartment and riffle through a mess of papers to find my registration.

“All right,” he says after glancing at it briefly. “One down. One to go.”

I toss the registration back in the glove compartment then pull out my wallet, making a show of looking through it. “Oh my god,” I say, slapping a hand to my forehead. “I just remembered. I took my license out of my wallet last night because I was using a different purse, and I must’ve forgotten to put it back. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have your license on you?” He lets out a weary breath, and I can tell he’s starting to regret pulling me over. “You know it’s against the law to drive without one, don’t you?”

“It was a dumb mistake. The first thing I’ll do when I get home is put it back in my wallet.”Please let me go,I think furiously.

“Let me see your registration again.”

I hand it over. He tells me to sit tight, then walks back to his car, where I watch him anxiously in my rearview. I zip the top of my backpack, hiding the wine, then wait for what feels like far too long. Finally, he gets back out and walks over.

“Miss Monroe, could you please step out of your vehicle?” His voice is all business now.

“What? Why?”

“Because your driver’s license isn’t in another purse at home. It’s in some judge’s desk right now.”

Shit.“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll—”

He holds up a hand. “That’s not all. You also missed a court appointment a few weeks ago.”

At first, I have no idea what he’s talking about. Then a murky memory wheedles into my head. The appointment was one of the many legal logistics I had to deal with in the wake of my DWI. It was set for right around the time Jenna came into my life and flipped it upside down.

“I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it—”

“You don’t seem to understand,” he says. “It’s against the law in Indiana to drive with a suspended license. If it was just that, I could let you get away with a ticket, but with the missed court appointment, there’s a warrant out for you. So, I’ll ask you one more time. Please step out of your vehicle. You’re under arrest.”

Chapter Thirty

For the second time in six months, I am locked in a jail cell. Everything about the booking process gives me déjà vu. The ink that leaves black stains on my fingers, the emotionless gaze of the man behind the camera as he takes my mug shots, the droning voice of the officer as he informs me the magistrate doesn’t work on Sundays, so I’ll have to get bonded out tomorrow morning. It’s all mortifyingly, sickeningly reminiscent of the night I got my DWI last winter.

When I get the chance to use the phone, there’s only one person I can think to call.

“Hello?” Jenna answers. Her voice is standoffish, ready for me to be a pushy telemarketer.

I squeeze my eyes shut, working up the courage to speak. “Hi, Jenna.”

“Nic? What number are you calling from?”

Shame creeps over my skin like a rash. “I’m…at the police station. I drove to the lake to confront Brad and got pulled over on the way home.” I explain about the suspended license, the missed court appointment.