“I’m saying neither of us should make permanent decisions while fear is the loudest voice.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“Dr. Whitcomb has ruined you.”
“Probably.”
I looked at the paper.
“I’m not ready to drive.”
“All right.”
“I may not be ready for a long time.”
“All right.”
“I don’t want the old service model back.”
Relief softened his face.
He tried to hide it.
Failed.
“But maybe the replacement is not a van,” I continued.
“What?”
“A crew vehicle with fixed restraints and space for two technicians.”
He thought.
“Field calls only when planned. No storm emergencies unless police or the harbor authority requests assistance and the route is considered safe.”
“Yes.”
“No one alone.”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t drive until medical clearance, cognitive testing, and I actually want to.”
“Yes.”
“Not because the yard needs me.”
“Never.”
I squeezed his hand.
“That is my answer.”
Reid breathed out.
“Maybe one day. Not now.”
“Exactly.”
