Page 110 of The Black Table
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you…” She frowns. “Reacted.”
“I’m sorry.”
She sighs—actually sighs. “You don’t need toapologize,” she says calmly. “You’re allowed to feel…frustrated, or whatever.”
“I’m not frustrated,” I say. “I’m…”
I don’t know what I am. What I feel. Those aren’t things I think about.
“People always say that,” I finish. “About the car.”
Gwenna cocks her head. “Aren’t they right? I thought Volvos were, like, notoriously safe.”
I lick my lips. “Safety standards have gone up a lot in the last thirty years. Any car on this block is just as safe as this one. This car’s safe mostly because it’s…solid.”
Her eyes flick up and down. Over the car.
Over me.
She shrugs.
“Solid is good.”
A burst of heat, unbidden and unwelcome, flares somewhere deep in my belly, climbs all the way to my cheeks. I take two quick steps to her side of the car, pull open the door and hold it there.
She blinks. “Thanks.” Then gets in.
I nod, and go to take my seat. The car rocks to the left as I get in, and I slide the key in the ignition as she wrestles with the passenger-side seatbelt.
“Damn, really jammed in there,” she mutters.
The heat flares again, fully in my face. “It catches,” I say. “Sometimes.”
She nods, but after another fruitless yank, lets it go, drops her hands to her lap. “Well, just drive carefully.”
Is she kidding? That’s not safe.
I reach over the console, my arm across her shoulders, and give the belt a hard tug. It gives with a jerk, then smoothly as I pull it down to secure it.
Gwenna does, too. And her fingers brush mine.
She glances up, eyes wide like she’s worried she’s hurt me.
“I don’t drive without seatbelts.”
“Of course.” She nods, gives the buckle a little pat. “Thank you.”
I nod, grip the e-brake and push it down, then ease us into the street.
Sarrasford’s narrow and choked with pedestrian traffic, but only about three blocks of business district, so we’re quickly out of the thick of it and onto the winding road back to campus—probably only two miles as the crow flies, but the switchbacks of the hills make it at least a ten-minute drive. I hold the steering wheel at ten and two, keep my eyes on the road for leaping deer or lingering black ice. Wish I had a radio or something to turn on.
A few minutes pass in silence. I signal for the turn that starts the climb up to campus, and swing the wheel to the right, the last strains of daylight streaking across the dashboard and catching the surface of my rings.
“Those are nice,” Gwenna says, nodding at my hand.
I tighten my fingers a little. “Thank you. They’re a…” I don’t know why I started that sentence. Don’t really want to finish it.
