Still Life by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Still Life
Page 10
Susie’s car is a faded Volvo, an S90 sedan of recent vintage, a metallic deep blue model displaying its owner’s disinterest in being bogged down in routine cleaning chores. It sort of looks like every other car. Susie has enough money to buy a Bugatti La Voiture Noire if she so chose, but that’s the point, isn’t it? Susie doesn’t want to be gawked at by assholes. Its interior smells faintly of homeopathic coffee, leather, and the ghosts of road trips past. Susie drives with purpose, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing as she speaks.
The trees blur past in streaks of green and gold. Finn watches them, still half dreaming, the prophecy echoing faintly in his ears.
“You’re wondering why,” she says, not looking at him. “Why now. Why Europe. Why the Netherlands.”
He doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need him to.
The Volvo hums along the back roads, its engine a low murmur beneath the rustle of birch leaves and the occasional thump of a pothole. The morning is still young, but the light has shifted— less golden now, more resolute.