1
“She shouldn’t have called you.”
He could barely make out his wife’s face in the dark car. She didn’t reply, but he heard her sigh as she adjusted her hands on the steering wheel, emerging from one sharp turn to enter another that veered in the opposite direction. His body swayed slightly with the car. The world was gray in their headlights—asphalt and trees, subdued double lines that should be yellow. Or maybe it was him, the grayness. Sometimes he lost his colors. Not completely, but just enough to notice their absence.
“I was fine,” he continued, rubbing his sore hand, but she didn’t respond. “I am fine.”
Finally, she glanced in his direction, before her eyes returned to the mountain road. “No, you’re not.”
Her voice was sad. Why was her voice always sad lately? “What do you want
