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Back 3 a.m.
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

I take a left and continue in the opposite direction. I spend the next twenty minutes on a one-lane highway shoving processed food into my gullet, swigging down the water, and staring at the three-quarter moon brightening the rolling hills and greenery that litter the beautiful Virginia countryside.

I glance at the passenger seat. I picture Ingrid sitting there, her head craned to the side, her blue eyes gazing upward into the night sky.

I so badly want her to be in the seat next to me.

I haven’t spoken with her since Lassie and I were at the vet. Did she wrap up her case? Is she worried about me? Is she staring at the moon at this exact second as well? Or is she fast asleep, Henry Bins the furthest thing from her mind?

Granted I was only awake for an hour a day, but it seemed like only a couple minutes could go by before something reminded me of her and she did a cannonball into my thoughts.

But how often did she think about me? Once an hour? Once every five? Her day was so diluted by time that even if I popped into her head a dozen times, it still couldn’t match the percentage of time I was thinking of her. But is it even fair to think like that?

The alarm on my dad’s watch breaks my reverie.

I don’t have time to search for a good hiding spot. I pull the car over on the side of the road, flip off the lights, and crawl into the back.

I look at the GPS.

Six miles to go.

::::

A green Prius drives along the road under the afternoon sun. The car passes the white Lincoln, then slows, then begins to reverse. The driver wonders what such a nice car is doing abandoned on the lonely country road. Where is the owner? Did something happen? Car trouble? Something worse?

The car parks in front of the Lincoln and a man steps out. Not a woman. A woman wouldn’t stop and get out of her car in the middle of nowhere. At least a smart one. Prius is forty. Upper middle class. Successful. Church going. Out for a drive. Nowhere pressing to be.

He walks up to the Lincoln. Checks the front tire. Gazes into the front seat. Sees a bunch of discarded wrappers on the passenger seat. Sees the man in the back seat.