She was driving the wrong way. Only two hours left on the babysitter’s clock, and she took a deliberate wrong turn and took them out of the pack. Just off the ferry, minutes after discussion about their timing and stopping for dinner, and after he’d said he was happy to be in the front of the pack. And she had him looking up details of her alternate route.

“Let me read,” he snapped, when she asked him if the road connected through, and she shut up and let him read. He shut the book. “No, there’s no way through. There’s a ferry.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, we won’t go through the pass this time.” She turned.

He stewed. “We were ahead of the pack. We were going to make good time, we… Where are you going?”

“We can connect up with the freeway this way.”

“Oh.” He paused. “I’m sorry I snapped.”

“It’s okay.”

“I was happy we had the lead, and you just turned away, without knowing…” He looked out the window for a while. Farms with lakes, craggy bluffs with evergreens, like where he grew up, passed by. “This is a really nice route. Thanks for taking it.”