"Out."
"In the truck."
"Evangeline."
"I have not been outside this porch in five days. I have not been in a vehicle since Tuesday morning. I am asking for a drive. I am not asking for a town. I am asking for half an hour with the window down."
I look at her.
"It's not a good idea."
"I know it's not a good idea."
"There is a detective in the city today who is going to interview me Tuesday."
"I know."
"You do not know that."
"You came home with a weird face and I know something is going on.”
I look at her.
"All right."
She smiles.
"Get some shoes."
She nods eagerly. She is beautiful and irresistible like this.
"And a coat."
She nods.
"And the hat in the closet."
She nods again.
She goes inside. She comes back in two minutes in a coat and the wool hat and a pair of my boots that are too big for her and that she has tied tight at the ankle. She has put her hair up under the hat. She has the hat down to her eyebrows. She looks like nobody. She looks like a small person next to my truck.
We get in the truck.
I drive west on the county road, away from the highway, away from any direction that goes toward a town. The road climbs. The pines thin. The sky opens. I have driven this road a hundred times and I have not driven it with anybody in the passenger seat ever.
She rolls the window down.
She leans her head against the door.
The cold air comes in. Her cheek pinks. She closes her eyes a count.
"Thank you," she says.
"Stop."
"No."
I drive.
