It was soft and brief, but it changed her whole face.
I realized I had forgotten how beautiful she was.
That thought arrived so suddenly I felt guilty for having it.
Karen was Daniel’s mother.
I had known her for a decade.
She had seen me at seventeen with braces and a concussion.
There were certain categories your brain was supposed to put people into and leave them there.
Apparently, my brain had just misplaced the filing system.
I looked away.
Karen noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Again, terrible liar.”
“I learned from you.”
She smiled.
Then she looked toward the city.
“Take me somewhere quiet.”
The way she said it made my chest tighten.
Not seductive.
Not exactly.
But intimate.
Dangerously intimate.
“Karen, this is pretty quiet.”
“I mean somewhere I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because everywhere I know belongs to my life with him.”
That answer settled it.
I started the engine.
