He got mad at himself sometimes, a quiet anger like parental disappointment, his expression similar to how she imagined he must look at his boys when they were naughty or got low grades at school. He held himself to such high standards, became annoyed when he had missed a turn on Route 3 an hour or two ago. They doubled back and stopped to ask for directions at a restaurant, had ended up eating there, too, and the moist slice of chocolate cake she had gotten sat in her stomach, its weight welcome, sweetness still lingering in her mouth.
