Four nights in a row I take Dad's truck and quietly ease it down the driveway, careful not to wake him. And to my delighted surprise, he's a sound sleeper.

Funny how different the world is when, as Grandma Carolyn says, 'most respectable people are in bed'. She also likes the saying how there's nothing you can do after midnight that you can't do before, except get into trouble.

One day, when I'm older I'm going to write down all those stupid sayings and prove each one of them wrong. Of course, I probably won't show it to her, 'cause it would likely break her heart. But I'll know. I'll know and that's what matters.

Each test run gets a little longer. By night four I'm riding way down route 17 just enjoying the ride.

Deer are always wandering along the side of the road. It's a nerve racking thing to suddenly see their reflector like eyes in your high beams.

"Shit," I mutter as one takes a step closer to the edge of the road. I swerve, careful not to over do it, then allow myself a sigh of relief as I pass safely by.

Unfortunately, I don't see the small doe who's about to cross from the darkened opposite side. I swerve again and almost make it past when I hear and feel the dull thud as it connects with the back of the truck.

"Oh no," I whisper, my guts knot up and start sending out SOS calls.

I pull to the side of the road, all the while sending up distress prayers. Under normal circumstances, I would pray for the deer, make sure it's unhurt, or a quick end if it is hurt. Right now, the only one I'm praying for is me.

I draw in a deep breath and exit the cab. I scan the side of the truck, and not seeing any visible damage I joyfully run my hand where I assume the deer hit. My palm dips down into a dent.

"NO!" I yell. I get little satisfaction as I hear the deer breaking and scrambling for the woods. All I can think about is how mad Dad is going to be when he sees this. Now I have to drive the twelve miles home. The intensity in the way I am looking at the road allows me to see ants crawling along side it. My only thoughts are of how to get the truck back in the driveway and figure out a way not to get caught.

I douse the cab light and roll her back to where she was parked. Again, I check the side and the dent hasn't vanished nor has it gotten any smaller.

Dad will be up in a couple of hours and I start brain storming. Cosmetics will help. I grab handful of dirt and rub it across the dented spot, smart enough to make sure dirt goes all around the truck. The woods will provide the other accessory I need. I drag a hefty branch from the bushes and lean it against the truck.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Okay, Grandma Carolyn, I will give you that one.




My dad is at the front door when I wake up the next morning.

"Come look at my truck," he says, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

I put on my most inquisitive face and follow him outside. The limb from the tree is laying a few feet away. Dad frowns and folds his arms across his chest.

"Weirdest thing. I didn't hear any wind last night. Did you hear any wind?"

Not trusting myself to look him in the eye, I step closer to investigate the dent. "No, I don't think so. I was so tired last night. I fell asleep pretty soon after I went to bed."

"I don't even see the tree this limb came from. I mean, what are the odds of one limb hitting the truck?"

"Don't know. Hey, I'm gonna head back inside. It's freezing out here."

I get to the stairs but he starts talking again. "Hey, Rory, you don't know anything about this, do you?"

"No sir."

"You sure about that?"

"I'm pretty sure." I pause with my hand on the door knob and the next thing I say is crappy. But even knowing it's reprehensible doesn't stop me from saying it. I defect the blame. "Maybe you did it when you were drinking the last week."

He's staring a hole through me. I can feel it. So I'm not surprised when I turn and see the fire in his eyes.

"Rory, look me in the eye and tell me you didn't have anything to do with this."

Only a fool would confess when given this ultimatum. I summon up the bad boy inside of me and shake my head, eyes fixed on his scar. "No sir, I didn't."

I had just lied to him. Yet, instead of pressing further, he let it go. Maybe I should be proud of my convincing performance. I'm not a piss poor liar.

Maybe I should see this as a good thing. But somewhere in the back of my mind, there is an alarm going off.

I had just crossed a line.