I grab his hand and squeeze gently. He doesn’t squeeze back, but over the next ten minutes his grip tightens and tightens until his fingernails feel permanently embedded into my skin and I’m fighting not to grimace. When we turn off the highway into a residential neighborhood full of a million samey-looking nice houses, he squeezes his eyes shut. My thumb can feel his pulse fluttering frantically in his wrist. I have no idea what to do for him, so I just sit there and let him mangle my hand.
