I slid toward the door, but not all the way. I had enjoyed being small between the shoulders of the two men. At last I had been in the position I had envied earlier in the evening. But it was so brief—and now there was a vacancy next to me, air around me, and I was anxious, for a moment, afraid that I would lose the feeling of companionship.

But the beautiful voice was with me, in the back of my mind, with me always. I felt fulfilled, and I relaxed.

It was early yet, the night stretched long before us. I didn’t care to go back to Lewis’s house, but what could we do, and would it be proper for me to suggest something?

We drove along, each silent with our own thoughts. I loved driving, being driven. I loved being on the road, on the move, always looking out the window at something new.

And then it occurred to me that Boyd had not asked me where I lived. My spirits lifted. So the evening had not ended. We were on our way some­where, toward some adventure. The anxieties of fac­ing Lewis’s house alone slipped away and I relaxed. The hot air blowing on my boots made me slightly sleepy. Boyd reached over and turned down the radio, far more perceptive to the nuance of music than his younger brother, and the old songs on the radio spoke their questionable wisdom into our square, speeding universe on wheels.

We continued to drive, on the highway, on the rutted roads, past broken fences, and out onto hard-­packed sand and dirt, with the moonlight actually reflecting off the desert. We drove around into town, cruised slowly through the red-­light district, then idled around the quiet little neighborhoods with their houses all lined up and inhabitants blissfully unaware of the effect the darkness was having on them, even as they slept.

Still, Boyd spoke not at all. I held my silence as well.

In time, there seemed almost to be a smell in the air. It smelled like well-­worn leather. I sensed loneli­ness mixed with love. There was relief in this togetherness—no, it wasn’t really togetherness, for we were not together. No, the relief was more in discover­ing a camaraderie. We shared a certain passion for driving, and the night. No words were needed for Boyd and me to communicate. On a certain level, we understood each other perfectly.

The night, the heater, the music, and the eternal movie outside our wide screen bound us tighter together. I was continually surprised by the evolving tour of the town and environs. As we progressed, I marveled at Boyd’s keen perception of me and of Westwater. He presented it to me in a logical sequence that surprised and delighted me at every turn. There was no need for spoken communication. The air was charged with our energy.