I’d heard about these new easy-to-clean plastic seats with their built in cavities for wrists bound in handcuffs or locking plastic straps. But a wooden church pew would have been more comfortable. And church pews don’t roar down washed-out country back roads at seventy-miles an hour. In my lap, I held the printed notes that Jann had brought on the trip. I read and re-read them, trying to take my mind off her. It wasn’t working. For some reason, I was fixated on remembering her last words. Her voice had always had this gravelly quality that had attracted me to her the first time I heard it. What was it that she said to me just before the crash? Everything was a blank, like the memory had been beaten out of me. Or maybe it was just twenty-four hours without sleep. What could I have said if I had just one more minute with her? The local highway patrol had been the first to respond to the accident and had pulled me free from the battered and flipped Vic.
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