THEY ARE NOT IN THE BACK SEAT BUT IN THE FRONT SEAT of the darkened Buick. They are in a darkened garage, under the darkening sky, and one knee and then another has banged the dashboard. The floor gearshift has been in the way, too, but it is too late to consider moving, to tumble into the back seat like children. It is too late for everything.
Matt holds her. He hears her breathing and hears his own, feels her warmth against him as another minute falls away. He doesn’t know what to do now and seems to be trying to think, to understand. Something like forever has been in his mind, and he is troubled with odd disillusionment, with a wish to go back and be what he had been before.
Lifting his head from her neck, he opens his eyes. He says to her, “I just opened my eyes, but I can’t see anything.”
She doesn’t move. Nor does she speak. A faint breath in her throat tells him that she heard what he said, that she knows what he means.