We made our annual Passover pilgrimage to Connecticut yesterday. Last night Adam and I and my Mom were sitting around watching "The Amazing Race." Clair, my Mom's partner, had driven off into the dark and rainy night on her way to her office.
About ten minutes after she left, the phone rang. "Uh-huh...oh, dear...okay," said my Mom. Then she passed the phone over to me.
"Jenny," said Clair. "I think I hit your car."
Long story short: Clair backed into the beloved minivan on her way out of the garage...and then kept on driving. ("Isn't there a term for this?" Adam asked my Mom. "Hit and leave? Crash and dash? Something like that?")
Adam went out to look and discovered a scrape and a dent on the passenger's side door. Clair was beside herself with regret (but not so beside herself that she, you know, turned around. Or stopped. Or left a note under the windshield.)
Adam shook his head gravely a number of times. Suddenly, I was suffused with an overwhelming sense of deja vu.
"Hey, Mom," I said. "Didn't Clair once do this to Molly's car?"
My Mom suddenly got very engrossed in the TV.
"Like, seriously, the exact same thing?"
"Jenny, I could use some help with the Haggadahs."
"Hang on, I'm going to text her."
"Tablecloths!" Mom said frantically, throwing herself between me and my Blackberry. "We need to find the tablecloths! Leave your sister alone!"
Too late. I texted Molly. Two seconds later my telephone rang.
"CLAIR HIT YOUR CAR? DO YOU KNOW SHE HIT MY CAR, TOO?"
"Yeah, I thought I remembered something about that."
"BACKED RIGHT INTO IT!"
"That's what I thought!"
"THIS NIGHT IS NOT ANY DIFFERENT THAN OTHER NIGHTS!"
Just then the door swung open, and an ashen-faced Clair hurried into the living room. "You guys, I am so, so sorry about this, but, Jenny, I need to ask you a favor. Can we please not tell your sister about this?"
Oh, Clair. So sweet. So innocent. So not understanding the way things work around here.
