“My car.”
“Then I almost threw myself out.”
I laughed.
And finally, she laughed too.
A real laugh this time.
It was soft and brief, but it changed her entire face.
I realized I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.
The thought came so suddenly that I felt guilty for having it.
Karen was Daniel’s mother.
I’d known her for a decade.
She’d seen me at seventeen with braces and a concussion.
There were certain categories your brain was supposed to put people into and leave them there.
Apparently, my brain had misplaced its filing system.
I looked away.
Karen noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Once again, terrible liar.”
“Learned from you.”
She smiled.
Then she looked toward the city.
“Take me somewhere quiet.”
The way she said it tightened something in my chest.
Not seductive.
Not exactly.
But intimate.
Dangerously intimate.
“Karen, this is pretty quiet.”
“I mean somewhere I don’t know.”
