How many people are in the car when you are driving alone?

Driving Alone

Terry looked over at his wife Linda sitting in the passenger seat of the white Caddy. He couldn’t see her face. She was starring out her window as though there was magnificent scenery to be observed.

She was still pissed off at him. They hadn’t said more than thirty words since leaving LA this morning. While they were in the snarl of the freeway traffic he’d been able to concentrate on driving, but once they got through Cajon Pass and Apple Valley it was pretty much flat desert.

He’d set the cruise control at 78, three miles above the speed limit, but not fast enough for CHP to care. Barstow would be coming up in another hour or so, and they’d planned to stop there for gas and have lunch at that Mexican restaurant. Maybe he’d just pull into a fast food drive-thru. He knew his wife could maintain that frosty silence for days.

If he was alone, he’d pop some Randy Newman into the CD player and sing along. Loud. But Linda didn’t like Randy’s songs or Terry’s singing.

This trip to Vegas was supposed to have been a relaxing get away from the stress of both their jobs and LA’s smog. But he could feel the tightness of her body two feet away. When she stomped her left foot down on the empty coke can that kept rolling around at her feet, he almost groaned. He was never going to make it through the week-end like this. Shit.

So even though the fight hadn’t been his fault and she was the one who should be apologizing to him, he flipped down his visor, pulled out an old Eagles CD and stuck it into the player. Welcome to The Hotel California washed over the frosty interior of the car and he could see her relax just a bit. It was her favorite song, it was their make-up song. He kept his left hand on the steering wheel and reached out his right hand as far as he could, flat on the seat, not touching her leg, but almost.

There was Barstow coming up beyond the next rise, he could see all the little homesteaders shacks dotting the desert around them. Linda had always wanted to stop and take the time to explore them, but he always wanted to keep going, get there, have fun, and get back. He didn’t even hit his turn signal, just pulled off at the next exit.

Linda sat bolt upright and turned to face him. “What are you doing, Terry?”

“Well, we’re ahead of schedule and I thought you’ve always wanted to stop here and poke around. Don’t you want to stop here?”

She leaned towards him a little, looking into his eyes.

He wasn’t good at apologies, especially when he hadn’t been wrong. She knew that, she knew that about him.

She looked down at his hand next to her thigh on the seat and covered it with hers. “Yes Terry,” she said. “I’d love to stop here, and then we can have lunch in Barstow at the Mexican place. We’ll still have time won’t we?”

“Yes, Linda,” he said. "We would.”