without hearing my own voice calling his name.
Last Tuesday, my GPS rerouted me because of a wreck. I did not understand where it was sending me until I saw the sign.
Route 9.
My hands went slick on the wheel.
I wanted to turn around. I didn’t.
A knock on the window made me jump.
Twenty miles in, my back tire blew.
I got onto the shoulder and just sat there, both hands locked on the wheel, crying so hard I could barely see. Not because of the tire.
