Notes from the Backseat. Jody Gehrman
me. “You’re not cramped back there?”
Gee, I’ve only been wedged between two surfboards and a steamer trunk for eleven hours, now—how kind of you to notice. “It’s not too bad.”
An awkward silence ensued. The barking seals started up again, so far away you could barely hear them. It comforted me, knowing we were close to the water, even though we couldn’t see it from here.
“It’s getting kind of cold,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
An owl let out a high-pitched, lonely hoot. Dannika shivered and pulled her sweatshirt together at the throat. “Why don’t you come up here?” she said. “That way I don’t have to turn around when I talk to you.”
It’s all about you, isn’t it? I thought, but I went ahead and climbed over the seat into the front. She was sitting dead center and I climbed into the passenger side so she had to scoot over behind the wheel. I couldn’t see any reason why I should contend with the steering wheel—not when her surfboard had been dripping cold, waxy blobs on my beautiful car coat for the past two hundred and fifty miles.
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