People asked me later why I didn’t just call the sheriff and be done with it.
I did.
I called him Monday afternoon.
I’ve known Sheriff Halvorson since he was a skinny little boy in my lunch line. He took my call himself.
“Marge,” he said. “I heard.”
“Is it your policy to tow a child’s car over a taillight?”
There was a long breath on the other end of the line.
“No, ma’am. It is not. Equipment violations get a ticket and a fix-it notice. A deputy can tow if he judges a car unsafe to drive. That’s a judgment call. And I’ll be honest with you, Marge. That was a hard call to justify.”
“So what happens now?”
“I’ll talk to him. That’s what happens. I’ll talk to him, and it’ll go in his file that we talked.”
He paused.
“I can’t give you the money back, Marge. I wish I could.”
“I didn’t call about the money.”
“I know you didn’t.”
That was as far as it could go. I knew that before I ever picked up the phone.
I wasn’t going to try to cost my daughter’s husband his job. I wasn’t going to stand up at a county board meeting and turn my family into the gossip at the Cenex for a whole year. Lisa had to go home to that man every morning after her night shift.
But I couldn’t let it just sit there either.
I couldn’t let my grandson believe this was how the grown-ups in his life fixed things.
It was Tyler’s idea, really. I want to give him the credit. It belongs to him.
Tuesday night, the salvage yard part came in. After supper, he and I went out to the garage to put it in.
A Grand Prix taillight comes out with a few nuts from inside the trunk. It took him about fifteen minutes with a socket wrench while I held the flashlight.
When he plugged it in and I stepped on the brake, the new light came on. Bright and red.
He stood behind the car looking at it for a long time.
“Half the cars in this town have a light out,” he finally said. “Did you know that? I counted on the way home from school today. Eleven cars. Just between the school and here.”
“Eleven?”
“Mr. Peterson’s truck has had a brake light out since August. Is Craig going to tow Mr. Peterson?”
I didn’t say anything. I handed him the rag to wipe his hands.
“Most people don’t even know,” he said. “You can’t see your own taillights. You’d have to have somebody stand behind you.”
And there it was.
I felt it in my chest. The way you feel a good idea before you have the words for it.
“Then let’s stand behind them,” I said.
He looked at me.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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