We barely exchanged two words, and all I remember is white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire way in an effort to prevent me from making a goddamn fool of myself. When we pulled up outside her parent’s old house on Oakwood, however, I could have sworn she hovered in the truck, painted fingernails resting on the handle. Coulda sworn she opened her mouth as if to say something, but then thought better of it and bolted out the door into the darkness, and back out of my life.
