Page 118 of Final Drive

“Why?”

I could tell her I haven’t needed anything. It would even be mostly true. But that’s not what she’s asking.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Probably.”

Her eyes lift to mine. “Ask me for something.”

I almost make a joke. She’d let me. A few hours ago I probably would have.

Instead I think about it.

“Sit in the middle at breakfast tomorrow.”

Her forehead creases. “What?”

“You always sit at the end of the table.”

“Because it’s closest to the coffee.”

“No, it isn’t.”

She opens her mouth, thinks about the layout of our kitchen, and closes it again.

“You sit there because you can get up without making anybody move,” I say. “Somebody needs something, you’re already halfway out of your chair. Bo can’t find his keys. Jackson wants hot sauce. Tyler needs somebody to check a date. You get up.”

“I don’t always.”

“Yes you do.”

She looks away toward the dark track.

“Tomorrow, sit in the middle.”

“Why?”

“Because then somebody has to move for you.”

That brings her eyes back to mine.

For once, I can’t tell exactly what she’s thinking. The old instinct is there, trying to work it out from the set of her mouth and how she’s holding the helmet, but I let it go.

She can tell me.

“That’s what you want?” she asks.

“That’s what I’m asking for.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope.”

She watches me for another second, then her whole face softens.

“Okay.”