“Home?“ she asks and I look straight into her warm green eyes. A nod. “Okay.”
The road is sugar-coated and empty ahead of us, the wheels are digging through cushions of fresh snow. It’s Christmas time. The radio’s playing old-time favorites, country singers and 60s show stars. Flakes are dancing on the windshield, the sound is damped. I close my eyes, inhale her scent.
“How was Ontario?” Her voice cuts gently into the silence of my thoughts.
“Lonely.” I smile and rest my hand on hers. Her skin is soft, her nails are brittle. “Did you find a tree?”