59
The little car suddenly vibrates. The road noise goes from a buzz to a roar.
We’ve veered onto the rumble strip at the edge of the passing lane. Concrete barriers dividing eastbound from west flash past less than a foot from the side view mirror.
No, we haven’t veered. I lost control, and I almost drove Nancy’s little car into the wall. Broken glass and twisted bits of plastic along the base of the wall reflect the brilliant streetlights.
Nancy is cowering up against the passenger door, hanging onto her shoulder strap like it can keep her from flying through the windshield when I inevitably drive us head-first into an overpass.
I force myself to take a deep breath. Nothing, but nothing, makes me as livid as helplessness. That red rage won’t help.
“I’m not done,” I mutter to myself
