She had taken to standing on the center line of empty roads, her eyes closed and her face turned toward the sky. It’s like Russian Roulette, she told him. It only takes one car.
But won’t you hear it coming? he asked. Won’t there be time to get out of the way? He hoped she just pretended not to hear his questions.
He thought about the way her hair blew across her face on windy days. He thought about how car wheels hissed against pavement. He wondered if, at the last second, she would run.