Flying back into her seat she yelled. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”He furrowed his brow and didn't reply. “Way to fuck that one up... Mr. Suave... Jesus H. Christ.” Diane reached to the radio and tuned in on a classic rock station. The Eagles, Hotel California played. Then Dan Folgerberg in Leader of the band and by the time they reached the restaurant she had sung nearly twenty songs, commercial free. John stopped the car and she looked out the window. She gazed at a Southern. We ate in the car.Mostly I stared unseeingly at the passing landscape, distracted and lostin thought. The ride was comfortable enough. The silence was less so. Icouldn't tell if K was left either angry or awkward after last night'sperformance, or was maintaining her role as Wendy Jones, my supposedmother.What do relatives do on long drives together? It's not like I had muchin the way of personal experience to draw from, you know? What do normalpeople talk about after a lifetime of conversations. More

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