"North," he said. "Past Kapuskasing."
She whistled. "How long a drive is it?"
"Fifteen hours. Twenty, maybe. Depends on the roads -- you can hit
cottage traffic or a bad accident and get hung up for hours. There are
good motels between Huntsville and North Bay if we get tired out. Nice
neon signs, magic fingers beds. A place I like has 'Swiss Cabins' and
makes a nice rosti for dinner."
"God, that's a long trip," she said.
"Yeah," he said, wondering if she wanted out. "I can pull off here and
give you cab fare to the subway station if you wanna stay."
"No!" she said quickly. "No. Want to go."
#
She fed him as he drove, slicing cheese and putting it on crackers with
bits of olive or pepper or salami. It appeared that she'd packed his
entire fridge in the picnic bags.
After suppertime, she went to work on an apple, and he took a closer
look at the knife she was using. It was a big, black hunting knife, with
a compass built into the handle. The blade was black except right at the
edge, where it gleamed sharp in the click-clack of the passing highway
lights.
He was transfixed by it, and the car drifted a little, sprayed gravel
from the shoulder, and he overcorrected and fishtailed a little. She
looked up in alarm.
"You brought the knife," he said, in response to her unasked question.
"Couldn't leave it with him," she said.
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