Lost

It was raining and they were in the car when they heard the news.

After he hung up the phone, he stared tightlipped out the windshield. She couldn't tell if he were looking through the wipers, or at them.

"Davie," she said, quietly. She hadn't called him that in years. No reaction, except maybe he turned his head ever so slightly. She couldn't tell.

They drove on a little longer. Presently she reached across and wrapped her hand around his wrist. She could feel the tenseness in them. She tightened her grip, just a bit.

"No." His voice sounded emotionless, dead.

She started to ask, but he cut her off.

"Because you don't want it."

How do you know, she sulked to herself, but it was true: she didn't want it. She'd only be doing it for him, so he'd be relaxed--after, of course. For a few minutes, they drove on in silence and the growing darkness. They wouldn't get home until midnight. She couldn't wait until they could lie in bed together, she thought. She chanced a look back over at him.

His lips were trembling, she thought. No, it's just wishful thinking, it's just the raindrops on the glass, but she looked again, and she was right. And his chest was heaving, shallowly, unevenly. It was building in her again.

"Pull over," she told him. She was surprised at the terseness in her voice.

"What are you talking about?" The first bit of animation he'd shown since the phone rang.

"Pull over."

"I don't even know where we are."

"You don't even know where you're going."

They stopped on the soft shoulder, next to a small clump of redwoods.

It was so easy. They were back in familiar territory now, and they made do with what little they had in the car--bungee cords, the rags for the oil, his can of squash balls in the glove compartment--and she was taken aback at how the uncomfortable smell urged them along. She pushed and pulled him and before she was done she drew from him a long, keening wail, like a lone wolf.

For a long time after they stopped, they just lay entwined in the back seat, the sounds of their breathing mixing in with the pitter patter on the roof of the car. At length, she turned to him.

"You loved her."

He nodded, mutely.

"Are you going to be OK?"

"Yes. I--" His voice croaked.

"Davie--"

He broke down, in snuffles and sobs. "Oh god, I--she was so--she made my favorite things, I--and it was, so, I can't believe, I just saw..." The rest of his words were lost in the seat cushions.

In a few minutes, they went on. She was driving because he couldn't, and when they got into town, he couldn't tell if it was the rain on the windows or the tears in his eyes, but the air was cool and the lights were so beautiful.