She grabbed the phone away and kicked me in the shin, hurting herself through her sandal; she got in the car while I stayed where I was, drinking in the vastness of the canyon. I muttered to myself: “I think we’re almost there. And it’s not just me being stubborn, but for now”—I had no idea if she was looking at me through the glass—“one thing I know is, in another life, we have a great relationship, and it’s not true that love is an illusion. But only in that parallel world. When she pulls away, it’s like we’re finally together…” I turned; she was reading the map. I wanted to kiss her, I got up, walked over, opened the car door, and leaned in to kiss her temple. “I really love you.”

“I love you, too, my darling.” She raised her hand, caressed my face, and drew me close.

“Really?”

“Yes, I do—look, though, don’t we have a while left to go? I’m not sure—is this where we are now?” She was pointing to a spot east of the Dead Sea.

I sat on the edge of her seat and we studied the map together. She was right. We couldn’t get to Aqaba, driving from village to village on that hesitating road where, not just in the denser areas—those lined-up villages and squares—but on the faster sections, too, kids stood selling tomatoes at the side of the road.

I got back behind the wheel and we sped off, without a clear idea of what to do.

“I don’t want to wind up driving at night. That scares me.”

“I know, honey. We’ll figure it out.”

Since we’d started our trip, we’d already been stopped three times by the highway police, and this filled her with anxiety. The rental car GPS kept switching off and the touchscreen barely worked. Still, she stayed incredibly focused, even if she wasn’t the one driving.

We wouldn’t figure out how long it was to Aqaba until we reached a turnoff that would take us along the Dead Sea. By that time, the light was golden. It was six-thirty—we’d screwed up on the distance. From the Dead Sea, we had to go south, toward a spot on the map that looked uninhabited, and Barbara sat rigid, silent for some time now.

She started talking again. [I’d written this in dialogue, then deleted it.] She said she had to be stupid to think she could take a trip with me, but even so, she still believed in us. The way she was sitting was ridiculous, at the literal edge of her seat, and since she couldn’t grab the wheel, she was gripping the armrest to the door, and she looked pretty strange, from what I could tell out of the corner of my eye, while I watched the road: I didn’t dare turn and look at her because that would scare her; she needed me to concentrate. I recognized the smell of her nervous sweat in the cold jet of the A/C.