The girl blinked at him like she was trying to understand English through water.
She was young, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five, with glossy brown hair falling out of a fancy updo, a silver dress that probably cost more than Ryan’s monthly rent, and heels lying on the floor mat like dead birds. She smelled like champagne, perfume, and bad decisions.
Outside the car, downtown Charleston was still half-asleep. Bars had gone dark. Street cleaners hummed along the curb. A police cruiser rolled slowly past the corner, its lights off but its presence enough to make Ryan sit straighter.
He had one rule as a rideshare driver.
No drama.
Drama could cost him the car. The car could cost him the job. The job could cost him Lily.
And Lily was everything.
His daughter was back at their small apartment across town, asleep under a faded pink quilt, with Mrs. Alvarez from next door listening for emergencies. On the kitchen counter sat a school permission slip, a grocery receipt, and a letter from the bank stamped FINAL NOTICE in red.
Ryan had been ignoring the red letters as long as he could.
They did not ignore him back.
