Amber heart drops as she nears the house of her daughter’s friend. Two police cars, lights still flashing, are parked diagonally across the street. Jenna, downtrodden, talks to a police officer, head hanging.
The two park and walk up to a police officer, who leads them to Caroline, who is in the custody of another police officer, beside the house.
“Mom, I…”
Amber simply holds her hand forward. She turns to the police officer, “Sir?”
“It seems we had a little problem with underage drinking here. Woman across the street phoned in after witnessing it from across the street.”
Caroline huffs. “I didn’t…”
Again, Amber holds her hand up, “Caroline, I’m not accusing you of anything, yet. I’ll hear your story in a minute. Officer?”
“We think she brought the drinks, ma’am.” Caroline is already shaking her head when Amber and Matt turn.
Matt jumps in, “What kind of alcohol?” He is shown a Bud Lite beer can. “It’s common brand. I do have some at home. But what’s to stop Jenna’s mom from having any?”
“Sir, no alcohol was found in the premises except for the cans in the room.”
Amber jumps in, “Well, maybe they brought it all into the room. You haven’t shown me any proof to make be believe that the beer is from my house. If it is…”
“We’ll find that out, ma’am,” the officer states, “for now, we want to charge your daughter with possession. She was in the room with the alcohol.”
“Can I talk now?” asks the much-annoyed Caroline. “I was not in the room with the alcohol. I was in the hall trying to call my house so someone could get me out of here. Also, someone who could tell me what to do. The only reason I was in the room is because the police told me to when I let them in.” She finishes deliberately, enforcing her last point.
“We think she might have consumed some alcohol.”
“Think?” Amber prompts, “Well, then, get a breathalyzer out of your car and test my daughter. If my daughter’s guilty, take her, charge her, whatever, but do something besides making assumptions.”
Matt holds his wife and mumbles an apology. The police officer, however, pull a pen-like device from his pocket and instructs Caroline to breath on it. He does this twice more, “It’s not registering.”
Amber rolls her eyes, “Check fingerprints on the cans. Find out if she even has touched a can.”
“That’s not our job, ma’am,” the officer tells her, “that’s…”
“…my job…” a voice interrupts. A man, about thirty, holding a hard plastic case, extends his hand, “John Gillum, Forensics. Miss,” he says to Caroline, after shooting a dirty look to the police officer, who steps back, “roll up your sleeve for me.”
Caroline obeys, and the man holds a thick, metal device to her arm. “It’s only a little prick.” There is a small click and Caroline lets out a small yelp. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, “did it hurt?”
“Not that bad at all. What does that do?”
“Well, in about three minutes, it’ll tell me exactly how much alcohol and other naughty chemicals are in your body. If any,” he finishes, with a quick glance towards the officer. “Let me see your hands,” he prompts, pulling out a small jar. He pulls the cap off and pulls out a brush with transparent yellow liquid, which he lightly smears on her hand. “Press your hands down on this, please,” he instructs, holding a wide, flat, spongy tray, about a foot across. When Caroline pulls back, black fingerprints appear on the white sponge, which is very thin. He hands this to another person in a “Forensics” vest, “Here, check these prints against all the prints on the cans you find. Thanks.”
“Well, miss, this is how it works. In about an hour, we’ll look at the evidence and you’ll be able to leave. Hopefully in your parents’ car, but, if we find something…”
“The police car,” Caroline predicts. The man smiles and nods. The officer, who is scowling in the background, clears his throat.
“Unless,” the scientist adds, “you,” he directs toward the officer, “would like to think up other charges.”
The officer’s frown deepens, “No. You will be free to go, if they don’t find anything. And not by his authority, by mine.”
“I know,” the scientist says and walks off, smirking.
: : :
Caroline hops into the car, quiet, but thanks the scientist through the open window.
“It’s my pleasure,” the man tells her.
Matt drives on the way home. Only the engine can be heard. Amber finally exhales loud enough to be heard.
“I’m sorry,” Caroline spits out. “I tried—”
“Caroline, you understand that alcohol is bad. I don’t have to lecture you on that. But remember consequences?”
“Yeah, Mom, I remember.”
Amber continues, in a stern voice, “For what you did, we are going to the ice cream parlor, and, young lady,” she barks, turning around, frowning, “you will order whatever you want.”
Completely perturbed, Caroline replies, “What?! But I… Huh?”
Amber smiles, “Caroline, you found yourself in a bad situation. You didn’t indulge. You left the room. You tried to call me, but the line was busy; I was on the phone. Sorry. You cooperated with the police officers. You kept your head better than I did. And you proved yourself right. Caroline, babe, there’s nothing I can punish you for.”
“Thanks, Mom. Would you proofread something for me?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, it’s my essay for the literary magazine. I wanted to see if you think it sounded okay.”
Caroline pulls the paper from her backpack and hands it to her mom in the passenger seat.
Amber smiles and reads the title aloud, “‘Why I’m Lucky To Have a Mom I Can’t Stand’ by Caroline Jacobs.” She slowly scans the page, reading each word carefully.
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