“It’s time to make the call!” It comes to him like a voice; a command. If he doesn’t make it now, he never will. Dread or no dread, it’s time to make the call. He swings out and slams the door of the Dodge. The sound doesn’t carry. It ends abruptly at his feet. He digs for change and crunches toward the phone through loose gravel and mouse bones, flattened beer cans and sun-bleached condoms. He sees all these objects very clearly now; sees them as though they’ve been laid out on a steel table for his personal examination, like crime evidence. He can see her face too. Her big eyes. He can hear her voice before he drops the quarter—the terror in it. He makes it person-to-person collect, negotiating through the composite voices of recorded operators; female voices, different ages, each one completely devoid of sexuality. He knows his wife has got to be home. He’s timed it, knowing she’ll be there. She is.

“Where are you?” is the first thing she says. He knew that would be the first thing and his dread cranks up a notch.

“Coalinga,” he says.

“What’re you doing way down there?”

“I’m on my way south.”

“Why? What’re you doing?”

“I’m just—going.”

“Going? When are you coming back?” she says, and he can hear she knows already.

“I’m not.”

“You mean, ever? You’re not ever coming back?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh my God!” she gasps, and now he hears the horrible thud of shock in her chest; her breath chopping away into black silence. Nothing. A truck blasts by and drones off into the steel gray bands of heat. A single cow moans. His hearing has become acute. “Listen,” she suddenly says. “Why don’t I drive halfway down and meet you? You drive halfway back and I’ll drive halfway down. Does that sound fair? Just to talk, okay? Will you do that? Will you meet me halfway?”

“I don’t think so,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“It seems like after fifteen years we could just do that for each other. Just meet halfway. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Then we could at least talk. We can’t talk like this, on the phone.”

“I’ve already come this far,” he says.

“I know. That’s what I’m saying. I’m not asking you to come back all the way. I’m willing to drive halfway down there and meet you somewhere.”

“Where?” he says. “There’s nothing down here.”

“I don’t know. Gilroy or something.”

“Gilroy?”

“Anywhere! I don’t care where it is. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, I can’t go back,” he says.

“Why not? After all this time? All these years? What about Spence? Are you going to tell him you’re not coming back?”

“Not right now.”