There’s still sand on Marion’s dash. Her seats are freezing, but my palms sweat as she pulls out of the lot. The seat belt presses into my neck, anticipating the need to hold me in this seat.
“Where do you want to go?” she asks.
I don’t have an answer for that. I didn’t think that far ahead. I didn’t think about any of this. I roll down the window.
“Just drive,” I say, letting my head roll back and closing my eyes.
The engine hums low, then climbs high. It feels like running. Only it’s sitting still in the motion of it. It’s stillness inside the uncertainty.
It’s running and motion and—
She puts her hand on top of mine.
And I want to tell her, this—why I can’t walk away. Why I can’t ignore her. This hope in my chest—
This is why not.