She'd automatically headed for the passenger's side and let him take the wheel. He had turned the keys over to her in the same manner more than a few times when he'd been drinking, but otherwise, Ben had always been the driver. He knew cars inside and out. He couldn't stand to ride in a car with someone else driving. Clara didn't like to drive, so it had always worked out well. Until now. There was an awkward moment, a wordless power struggle. But they were already in the car, she told herself as she turned the keys over to him. No one had spoken much this morning. Clara had said quiet good-mornings and made a perfunctory inquiry as to whether Ben had slept well. "Sleeping is one thing I do better than most people." He'd handed her a cup of the coffee he had made—just like old times—before she'd gotten up. "Even better than you," he'd added softly. "Your eyes always give you away, Clara-bow." She had glared at him—snapped her eyes, as he used to say.
