If he sat here long enough, he thought, he would see an accident occur.
For a long while he watched the oak, its solidity flickered by passing vehicles, and when he turned forward again he saw her.
He held his breath. He could see her. Coming out of the wavering distance, beside the flashing traffic. Stooped a little. Limping a little. Watching him as she came.
When she reached the minivan she opened the door and sat beside him. Smelling of sweat and exhaust and faintly sweet and of herself. Scarred. Without eyelashes.
Not saying anything. But here.
‘Love?’ he said, and abandoned all the rest, turned the key and began to drive again.
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About the Author
Nick Arvin grew up in Michigan and has degrees in mechanical engineering from the University of Michigan and Stanford. A graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, he is the author of two books:
