As he crept the truck down into the valley, he felt a pressure against his arm. She’d slumped against him, asleep. Snoring. His trousers were wet with her drool. He dared not move to wake her.
He eased the truck over the railroad tracks and turned into the yard of the old house and killed the engine and the lights.
He’d not fully looked at the house since he’d left that day. He looked now, the place ghostlike in shadows cast in the dim moonlight. Shutters crooked. Missing. The shed roof collapsed. Of the three trees he and Rebecca had planted Sally’s first spring, only two remained as mature trees, the other fallen over. Dead. His tree.
She awoke. With his good hand he took a flashlight from the glove box.
“Home?” she said.
“Shhh,” he said.
“Home?” she said.
“Once,” he said.
He opened the truck door and stumbled out.
A truck clunked over the railroad tracks with a racket, drove past without slowing.
“Go up to the porrch,” Jonah said. “I need to parrk out of siight.”
“Don’ leave me.”
“I’m not gonna leeave you.”
She whimpered.
“Hop back iin then,” he said.
They got back in.
“Seat belt,” she said. She already had her seat belt on.
“We’re not going far,” he said.
“Safe,” she demanded. Stubborn as ever.
“Hellp me,” he said. She helped put the seat belt on and he parked the truck out of sight from the road.