60
I turn off I-94 at the Merriman Road exit, but turn Nancy’s little sedan away from Detroit Metro Airport. The clock’s grinding towards four in the morning, and my energy from that lead on Ayaka was only temporary. Sister Silence is busy burrowing for data on Ayaka’s organization. Next to me, Nancy has slumped in her seat. She keeps closing her eyes and deliberately unclenching her hands.
Nancy’s phone rings, the Bluetooth setting off the car’s speakers. A little screen near the top of the screen lights up with HOME, and a synthesized woman’s voice declares “Call from. Home.”
Nancy perks up.
“It’ll wait,” I say. “Just breathe right now. Empty your lungs first. Then fill them. It’ll help.”
How do people in this country get to their twenties without learning how to breathe? No, I shou
