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I died, I told him. For forty-two seconds. I told him the whole story.
And maybe thanks to Alex, David was too tired to fight me too much. He just sat there in the front seat and gazed out the windshield at the dark while I lay in back and recited my story to the ripped up car ceiling.
“Are you through?” he said quietly when I finally got to the part about waking up and seeing his face.
I wished I were through. I felt worn to the bone. I could have happily gone inside and collapsed onto my bed and slept until noon. But I knew I might never have this chance with David again. So I told him, “Almost.”
And then I gave him the story of David and Louisa. And Alex. And baby Annie. But I didn’t tell him the last part—the part about where she is right now. I know everyone has their limits,
