The footsteps come to a halt.
The metal handle clicks open. Dust is illuminated in the sunlight which swings through the open door, particles flying through the heavy air. The smell of her own sweat permeates the leather. Her mother’s lips open and close like a fish drowning in the sudden oxygen.
Jane doesn’t look up again until her mother has slung her arm over the back of her seat to reverse, and their eyes share an unspoken understanding. The car jerks backwards. Jane clambers back up into her seat, clips in her seatbelt, and glances out the window.
His wife has crossed her arms in front of her face, thin arms shivering in the cool breeze. He has a fag sticking out the corner of his mouth with the tip glowing imperceptibly, and a thunderous face tilted to the battered red Subaru that he leans on.
She thought the face in the dust-smeared window was her reflection at first. But it shifted slightly, so she could see the shine of the tear tracks on the cheeks, and that little girl inside the red Subaru had stared her right in the eye until her mother’s car pulled away.
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Eloise Sims