Bennett
“You’re late.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s three minutes after twelve. The 405 had a backup.”
Fanny wagged her crooked, arthritis-stricken finger at me. “Don’t be bringing him back late just because you couldn’t get here on time.”
I bit my tongue, holding back what I really wanted to say in favor of, “Yes, ma’am.”
She squinted at me, seeming unsure whether my response was patronizing or if I was really being respectful. The latter was impossible since you need to have respect for a person in order to show them some.
We stood on the porch of her little house, staring at each other. I looked around her into the window, but the blinds were drawn.
“Is he ready?”
She held out her hand, palm up. I should’ve realized that was the hold up. Digging into my jeans pocket, I pulled out
