She might be fascinated, but he suspected she was pretending. She was a Northwest native, and had seen the admittedly striking but also unchanging landscape before. He couldn’t quite figure out why he’d insisted on coming on this little jaunt. His being here didn’t have anything to do with his father. In fact, he hadn’t talked to Dad since the one peculiar call. Just yesterday, his father had left a message that Jakob hadn’t returned. Maybe because he didn’t want to tell him that Amy was going to the damn opening—but maybe because he didn’t want to try to explain his own part in this, when he didn’t get it himself. The one part he did understand was why he’d insisted on driving. Polite man that he was, he had walked her to her car the night they’d had dinner together. She drove, he discovered, an ancient, hatchback Honda Civic. He recalled running his hand over a rust spot on the trunk. Two days ago, when they discussed final arrangements, he had suggested that his vehicle might be more reliable.
