A few minutes later they turned out of the Denny’s parking lot and joined the stream of evening traffic heading along Sunset Boulevard. Traffic was heavy but moving steadily, and the sidewalks on either side of the street were thronged with people. Laura watched the people move and clump, marveling at the way they flowed and accommodated one another. A horn suddenly blared very loudly behind them, and seconds later a siren came screamingly close. Bob looked in the mirror and pulled to the side. An ambulance shot by, making the truck rock slightly, followed seconds later by a fire truck easily doing seventy.

Laura felt her heart starting to pound. Breathe.

As the sirens receded, Bob pulled back out into traffic, hitting the brakes to avoid a speeding car slipstreaming the ambulance. There’s always one.

Sirens. The pressure of the seat belt. The smell of gasoline, the shocking gut-panic fear of fire.

Bob realized something had changed, and shot a glance at Laura. Pale again, a visible dew of sweat on her forehead. He pulled over and turned the engine off, angling himself to face her.

“Laura, you with me?”

She looked at him without really seeing him, trying to claw herself back to the current moment.

He reached over and took one of her hands, rubbing it between his own. “Laura, everything’s fine, you’re totally safe.”

With a cold shiver settling over her skin, Laura nodded. “Sorry . . .”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, letting go of her hand as he felt her tugging away.

“I’m fine now,” she said, sitting back. “Sorry, the siren made me jump is all.”

He looked at her and a line appeared between his brows. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

Her voice was sharp. “I don’t need to, we can go. Ignore it, I’m fine.”

Now his eyebrows went up, and he tipped his head slightly. “Laura, it’s really . . .”

“No, let’s go.” She turned away and wound down the window, letting the warm evening air into the car, closing her eyes where he couldn’t see her, waves of nausea receding as she breathed. This is not happening.

Bob hesitated, then decided to take her word for it and turned on the engine. He noticed her hands were gripping the edges of the seat, and wondered if it would be better to go faster and get home sooner, or slower, which might be easier on her nerves.

“Laura . . . ?” he began. “What . . .”

“Please,” she said desperately. “I’m a nervous passenger, please ignore me.”

“But it would . . .”

“No. Please drive.”

I’ll drive then, thought Bob, wondering what she was thinking about that made her so anxious. The accident, presumably. He tried to drive sensibly and calmly, which was pretty much all he could do to help her. All she would let him do.