T Is for Trespass

probably doesn’t have long-term medical coverage and no disability insurance. What a great way to support themselves in their retirement years, suing the shit out of me.”
    “You know that for a fact?”
    “What, her having no disability insurance? No, I don’t know it for a fact , but I’d be willing to bet.”
    “I can’t picture it. How could Millard be sure she’d survive the crash?”
    “Yeah, well, he wasn’t going that fast. Relatively speaking. I mean, he wasn’t driving sixty miles an hour. He must have known neither one of us would die .”
    “Risky nonetheless.”
    “Maybe that depends on the stakes.”
    “True, but auto insurance fraud is usually highly organized and involves more than one person. The ‘mark’ might be maneuvered into rear-ending another vehicle, but it’s all a setup. The ‘victim,’ the lawyer, and the doctor are in cahoots on the claim. I can’t believe Gladys or Millard are part of anything like that.”
    “They don’t have to be. He might have read about it in a book. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure how to set it up. He saw a chance for big bucks and acted on the spur of the moment.”
    “How are we going to prove that?”
    “Find the old guy and he’ll tell you.”
    “What makes you so sure he saw the accident?”
    “He must have because I remember catching sight of him as I approached the exit to the parking lot. I didn’t pay much attention because I was focused on the street ahead.”
    “You saw him where?”
    “On the far side of Palisade.”
    “Doing what?”
    “I don’t know. I guess he was waiting to cross the street, so he must have seen the van about the same time I did.”
    “What age would you say?”
    “What do I know about old guys? He had white hair and his jacket was brown leather, sort of dry-looking and cracked.”
    “Can you recall anything else? Did the old guy wear glasses?”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “What about the shape of his face?”
    “Kind of long.”
    “Clean shaven?”
    “I think so. For sure, he didn’t have a beard, but he might’ve had a mustache.”
    “No moles or scars?”
    “Can’t help you there. I was upset so I didn’t pay much attention.”
    “What about height and weight?”
    “He seemed taller than me and I’m five-six, but he wasn’t heavy or rail thin or anything like that. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific.”
    “What about his hands?”
    “Nope, but I remember his shoes. They were those old-time black leather lace-up shoes like the kind my granddad wore to work. You know the ones with holes punched around the instep?”
    “Wing tips?”
    “Yeah, them. They needed polishing and the sole on his right shoe was coming loose.”
    “Did he have an accent?”
    “Not one that I noticed.”
    “What about his teeth?”
    “A mess. Kind of yellow like he smoked. I’d forgotten about that.”
    “Anything else?”
    She shook her head.
    “What about your injuries, aside from whiplash?”
    “I had headaches at first, but those have gone away. My neck’s still sore and I guess that’s what’s throwing my back out of alignment. I lost two days at work, but nothing beyond that. If I sit for any length of time, I have to get up and walk around for a while. I guess I’m lucky things weren’t worse.”
    “You got that right,” I said.

    During that next week, I didn’t have occasion to talk to Melanie, but Henry kept me informed about her hassles with Gus, whose prickly disposition had resurfaced. Twice, in the early morning, I saw her arrive from the motel. I knew she stayed late, looking after him. I suppose I could have invited her to my place for a glass of wine or reminded her of her offer to buy dinner. Better yet, I could have put together a nourishing casserole, thus providing a meal for the two of them in the manner of a kindly neighbor. But does that sound like me? I didn’t extend myself for the following reasons:
    (1) I can’t cook.
    (2) I’d never been close to Gus, and I didn’t want to get caught up in the turbulence surrounding him.
    In my experience, the urge to rescue generates aggravation for the poor would-be heroine without any discernible effect on the person in need of help. You can’t save others from themselves because those who make a perpetual muddle of their lives don’t appreciate your interfering with the drama they’ve created. They want your poor-sweet-baby sympathy, but they don’t want to change. This is a truth I never seem to