"And one more thing—keep an eye on Morton. Don't let him drive. Unless you want to be crying over something you can't undo."
I hung up.
I was certain Morton didn't have a license.
We'd only bought the Mercedes three months ago, and Morton had immediately wanted to use it to practice. I refused on the spot, telling him he didn't even have a license. He'd gone and enrolled at a driving school after that, and just two days ago, I'd driven past the school and spotted him still practicing for his road test.
I'd said everything I needed to say. Whether Lambert listened was no longer my problem.
I arrived at the family hometown before they did.
The second I walked through the door, my in-laws descended on me, faces tight with displeasure, voices already raised.
"What is wrong with you, Astrid? It was just giving Bernice a ride. What's the big deal?"
"You took off by yourself—how do you think that makes Bernice feel?"
"When she gets here, you'd better fix that attitude and apologize. You're family. Don't go burning bridges."
I held my temper and tried to explain.
They didn't hear a word of it. Just kept hammering me about being petty and small-minded.
But before they got their apology, Bernice called.