Richard stared at Vanessa, frozen in the middle of dialing a number, as she let go of a truly impressive tirade. Whatever had changed in her (and something had changed, you only had to look at her face to realize that) had completely switched her over from a useless, crying heap to a lady with a plan. He could respect that. It wasn't that he stopped being angry, exactly, but more that he stored it away, somehow, with all the rest of his rage. (Wait, he had rage?) Exploding wasn't doing this situation any good. By the time she was done talking, he had leaned back against the metal of the truck and was giving her an appraising look. Of all the people to have a hidden strong side.
So when she held out the card he pushed away the quiet, insistent feeling in his gut that this was wrong that he should for some reason feel bad about something, and took it. "I... you're right. We don't have to call anybody. Except the tow truck. And my job. I'm not going to ask you to drive me anywhere, and I honestly doubt I'll make it in tomorrow. Things like this," he waved his hand around a little, "give me a headache." He massaged his eyes, then shot her another look. There were two ways to play this. One would end up with an irate neighbor and (he looked over) a fairly shit car. The other... well.
"Keep the car," he said, shaking his head. "I was out of line. You're not the first person to run a red light, and my truck isn't worth half of your car. Got it to move here, remember?" He manufactured and offered up a small smile. "I'll take your insurance info, and you can have mine. What there is of it."