Read Online Clipped Wings by Helena Hunting - Free Book Online Page B

the distance. The temperature had dropped, and the chill in the air made me shiver. The officer was younger, probably in his early thirties.
    “I’m sorry—”
    He cut me off, sounding bored. “License and registration, please.”
    I bit down on the inside of my cheek and rifled around in the glove compartment for the registration, then retrieved my license from my wallet. I handed them over, then stared at the odometer, willing myself not to cry again. It wasn’t working, and the officer didn’t seem like he was all that interested in doing anything but writing a ticket.
    He frowned as he inspected my license. “Says here you’re from Arden Hills, Minnesota. Seems like you’re quite a ways from home, Miss Page.”
    “I moved here for school.”
    “You want to tell me why you ran that light back there?” He inclined his head in the direction of the intersection I failed to stop at.
    “I-I was distracted. There was an accident on the freeway and I had to get off. I made a wrong turn and I don’t know this area.”
    He was cold, remote. Like he heard versions of the same story a thousand times and it no longer affected him. I wondered how long it took for that to happen, for empathy to dissolve into disdain over human error. Not very long, I imagined. A flicker of something like recognition flashed across his face as he looked from me to my license and back again.
    “Wait here, please.”
    He left with my personal information in hand. The sun disappeared behind the houses as I waited. Under different circumstances the flashing light of the police car would have been embarrassing, but for now I was grateful. Being stranded in a place like this, where the windows of the house to my right were taped with plastic and the screen door was hanging by one hinge, made me nervous.
    It was a long time before he returned. When he did, his demeanor had changed. Gone was the detached coldness. Instead he spoke with an air of familiar apology. “You’ve had a difficult year, Miss Page.”
    “Wh-what—” I stopped. I was well acquainted with pity.
    “I recognized the name. When tragedy strikes a small community close by, people in my line of work tend to hear about it.” He handed me my license and registration. “You’ll need to get that changed to your new address. You know where to do that?”
    I nodded and slipped them into my purse. “Thank you, Officer. I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.” I waited for a ticket for running the light, but it never came.
    He propped an arm on the doorframe and leaned in. “You really shouldn’t be driving out here alone. This is a rough part of town. You know how to get home from here?”
    I’d only learned the routes from my apartment to Northwestern and to the closest grocery store. Embarrassed, I told him as much. He offered to escort me to familiar surroundings. After I gave him the address to Serendipity, he got back in his car and led the way home.
    The motion sensor kicked on as I pulled into the driveway behind the store, bathing the area in soft light. As I turned off the engine and got out of the car, so did my escort. He had that typical cop look: clean-cut, short hair, broad shoulders, and thick arms. He was sporting a five o’clock shadow, and his face was all harsh angles. Nine months ago his presence might have soothed. Now it was hard to see anything in that uniform but a reminder of the accident. There had been so many questions after the crash. I’d never had any answers worth giving, only horrifying memories.
    “Are you okay from here?” He rested his palm on the butt of his gun while he took stock of his surroundings.
    “I’m fine. Thank you for being—” My voice cracked. “Thank you.”
    “You take care of yourself, Miss Page.” He handed me a business card.
    It had the Chicago police force emblem on it. Below were his name, badge number, and direct line at the precinct. “Thank you, Officer Cross. I promise I’ll be more