“What?” "You heard me. I want to see some ID.” Once again, he was looking at her like she had grown a second head. “You want to see some ID?” His tone was incredulous. “You mean, like, my driver’s license? That’s ridiculous. You know me.” She shook her head. “I already explained it to you. I don’t even know myself right now, much less you. At least, not for sure. It’s like I’m trapped in one of those house-of-mirrors things they have at amusement parks. Everything’s so confused in my head that I can’t be sure what’s real and what isn’t. So my new motto just became trust . . . but verify. And by verify I mean I want to see some ID.” “You’re joking.” “Nope.” A beat passed in which they exchanged measuring looks. Her chin was up, her shoulders were squared, and her hand was curled in her lap and ready to make a grab for the door handle. If he started to drive away, all bets were off: She was leaping for the pavement. “Fine.” He took his hand off the gearshift, and she huffed out a silent little breath of relief.
