(Nolan)
I sat behind the wheel another minute and watched people move past the windshield like they had somewhere worth being. Mom kept fixing her lipstick in the visor mirror even though nobody in Crosswell cared what she looked like. Dad was still chuckling to himself about the cashier at the gas station like that was the funniest thing he'd heard in years. I was surrounded by children in older bodies.
“We should go back there,” Mom said, snapping the mirror shut. “She liked you.”
“She needed glasses.”
“She knew something.”
“She knew loneliness.”
Dad leaned forward from the back seat and grinned.
“You should’ve given her your number.”
“I should’ve left you at the dealership.”
That only made him laugh harder. I started the Honda and pulled away from the curb before either of them
