The wind tore my words apart. At this speed, the road noise swallowed everything.
Gretchen sat behind the wheel of the car ahead, sunglasses perched on her face. She saw me leaning out. Without a flicker of hesitation, she folded her left side mirror flat against the door and turned away.
She couldn't hear me. She didn't want to.
Cecil watched the whole thing from the truck's driver seat and burst into gleeful applause, slapping his hands together.
I didn't have time to deal with him. I pointed at myself, then jabbed my finger toward the backseat where my father-in-law had slumped over, completely limp.
Cecil froze. Before I could register what he was doing, a voice message came through.
"Well, well. So your old man's dying. No wonder you're driving like a maniac!"
I stared at the phone. Cecil thought Norman was my biological father?
I kept turning toward him, frantically trying to explain, gesturing for him to pull aside.
Cecil just smiled. Said nothing. Watched me the way someone watches a show they're thoroughly enjoying.
We'd been tearing down the highway for ten minutes. Other drivers, spotting the three-car standoff, had started calling the police.