GUTS

FICTION

Dee Raymond

Even in a mood as foul as the one possessing her now, Annette could not ignore the red light nor the wail of the siren behind her. Tears of rage sparked her eyes as she pulled over onto the shoulder.

"Lady, you must've been clocking eighty!" the speed cop's voice was reproachful as he tapped his book on the rolled down glass of the window. Annette looked up at him, trying to smother the frustration within her, but hoping, nevertheless, that the new non-run mascara of Jean's that she was trying out, would indeed hold up.

Sympathy came into the policeman's eyes as she flicked the tears with her gloved hand. "Can I see your driving license, please?" he said. Annette nodded dumbly and opened her purse. Luckily, the small blue wallet was there. She opened it and handed it to him.

"Annette Marshall?" he asked, comparing the blonde, pony- tailed girl in the photo with her waved hair now, cut level with the line of her chin. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" his voice was kindly.

"Devon," it was another 300 miles up the highway. "My mother," she began huskily, but the rage threatened to engulf her. How could you tell a highway policeman that you had just had a blistering row with your wife, ending with your walking out on her.

Seeing the woman in front of him bite her lip to keep the words back, as well as her brimming eyes, Officer Hale Mooney did what any other gentleman would have done in the same situation. He closed her license and handed it back to her, restoring his own book to his top

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