Clara
We left early on Saturday. Alexander picked me up at nine o'clock. Not nine and five. Not nine "approximately". Nine exactly. When I got into the car, the air smelled of wood and that perfume of his that is never invasive, but is always there.
"Ready?" he asked, as he took the highway.
I nodded.
It was not a long trip, but it was not a short one either. Two hours enough to think too much. During the journey we talked about simple things; a tender that was about to close, the weather that was beginning to get colder, a book that he was reading. There was no tension. There were no awkward silences. Just a conversation that flowed effortlessly. And that, again, baffled me.
As we moved away from the city, the landscape changed. The gray of the concrete was replaced by open fields, t
