“You know, one memory did transfer to me,” she says, looking out the window.

“I know.”

“The problem is—”

“It had no sound.”

“How did you know?”

“They told me. Explained they didn’t burn the memory well.”

She glances at him through the rearview mirror, hoping he’ll look back, but his eyes are fixed on the road.

“Is it from the trip you took two months ago?”

“Yup. In the desert.”

“You were cold,” she says, and laughs.

“Yup,” he replies, trying to suppress a chuckle. She notices, and grasps his other hand in hers.

“Was there sound in the memory I shared with you?”

“You didn’t share a single memory.”

“What?”

“You didn’t share anything with me.”

Her legs tense. She presses them together.

“That’s what they told you?”

“No. I know you.”

She takes a deep breath and turns on the radio, hoping to find a song she likes. She doesn’t.

“What did you talk about?”

“Who?”

“You and him. What did he say to you over there, under the waterfall?”

Ilan shoots her a quick glance before turning back to the road. They continue to ride in silence. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

“He shouted that it was a shame you weren’t there. That you could stand under the water for a whole hour,” he finally says with a smile. “And I told him he was right.”

Ruthie lets go of his hand.

“I don’t get it, I thought you’d be happy.”

She takes big gulps of air, feeling as if she’s suffocating.

“Pull over,” she demands.

“What?”

“Pull over. Now.”

“There’s nowhere to pull over, Ruthie. We’ll be home in a minute, we’ll talk it all over.”

“You can pull over from the other lane,” she asserts, pointing at it with her entire body.

“I can’t switch lanes, it’s a solid yellow line.”

Ruthie leans in, making sure the road is clear, and jerks the wheel left.

“Ruthie, enough!” he shouts, pushing her off. The car swerves, almost crashing into a parked car. Ilan manages to brake in time. The front fender almost grazes the rear fender of the car in front of them. The alarm goes off.

“You’ve lost it completely,” he says, shifting into reverse. He wants to get out of the middle lane but she won’t let him. She raises her arms and throws herself over and into him, pressing up against him as closely as possible. At first he still tries to continue driving, but soon realizes he doesn’t stand a chance. The car behind them keeps honking at them, but they don’t move. She sidles up to him even closer, and he caves. Wraps his arms around her.

“I can’t breathe,” he says.

“You’re doing fine,” she replies.