Iris Held On to Her Paid-Off Title When Her Father Threatened to Call the Police
“You need to run down to the grocery store on Highway 43,” Chelsea said, tossing her car key fob into the air and catching it.
“Dad drank two bottles of the reserve pinot last night, and Mom says we need three more before dinner.”
“My keys are downstairs in Dad’s coat pocket,” I said, sliding the title back into the navy sleeve.
“So go get them,” she said, leaning toward the small mirror on the wall to check her hair.
“Take your little Toyota.
I’m not driving my new car out in this freezing slush.”
“Did Dad ask you to get the wine?”
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