Leaving the bridge, it was just a few miles before I turned Old Blue south towards the Delta, and then, more silence. For the most part, it had been an empty, stoney ride home from Houston. I knew all I could do was wait, hoping that my wife would open up about her prognosis, but after Layla died Maggie had not been one to let people in.

Seeing the lights of our favorite roadside diner up ahead, I said, “Hey, sweetheart, would you like to stop and get something to eat? Charlie’s place is still open. A little gumbo might do you some good.”

“No Jim, I’m too tired to eat, but if you want to stop, I’ll have a cup of tea.”

Maggie’s tone was polite, but I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. I decided to press Old Blue on through the foggy night.

The weather was turning worse and with another hour to go it was probably best to move on. Now, with just the sound of the wet asphalt swishing under the tires, I noticed Maggie’s breathing grow heavier and, after glancing over at her, I was relieved to see that she was asleep.