Of Worth, “ … Calling My Husband,” and “ … I’m Sorry,” …
The woman who had slammed into the back of my Toyota 4-Runner was not happy. “What were you doing stopped up there in the middle of the street?” she demanded.
“I was making a turn,” I said.
Sunlight bounced off her strawberry blond hair as she looked past me to the street where the impact had occurred. The debris of glass and the right half of my back bumper lay on the pavement no more than 500 yards from where we stood.
She sighed in consternation then whipping around, walked to her SUV, its front
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