At half past nine she called Decker's, outside of the morning rush but still early enough to get to Boston before the evening rush there. Quarter of, she lit up. Ten til, on her third, a Crown Vic swerved up. Jerry was driving.
"Jesus," Sharon gasped and the cigarette fell out of her mouth. "Jerry, this is your second day. Get the hell over, I'll drive." He opened his mouth, but she'd already come around the car and was pulling his door open. As she got in, he dragged himself to the other side of the bench seat and collapsed against the pillar.
She glanced at him as she yanked out of park. His eyes were bloodshot, the right still half-closed. "I gotta move the seat," she stated, trying to get him to talk, but he was asleep.
He awoke a couple times on the way down 91. There was the bridge over Gorham Creek. Then the interchange at NH 9; the triple stack and the curve around the cliff face. Here the turnoff for Jake's, and a life ended.
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