He didn’t mean it, and neither did she.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Jane sniffed, looking out as wheat fields passed in rows of dizzying symmetry.
John looked ahead, both hands on the wheel and out of her reach.
A strawberry field approached, and for a moment Jane wanted to ask John to pull over, but she knew he wouldn’t. His face was stone and it was 300 miles to Killington.
They would fight again today. And tomorrow. And the next.
Until then, a truce, with 299 miles to go.
“It’s okay,” she said.
She didn’t mean it, and neither did he.