The street they drove on was well lit, reflections flashed across the car at a regular beat. The ocean was too their left. Keith had his window open resting his hand on the door.
Imogen Howe
's was cracked and she quiet. Right when she landed she told Keith "Im not feeling so well, must be a migraine or something."
He tried to keep the car temperature low, taking the slow road by the sea he thought would better. She had her eyes closed now so he quieted the radio.
He's glad he didn't use so much cologne or get the roses he thought. He left the room window open so hopefully the sea air had washed any intense smell away.
He wanted to ask her so many questions. Whenever she would leave again he felt like she'd change, her hair was different or he wondered if she added anything new to her routine. What memories did she think of that week. More about her mom? Keith always liked those, wished he could know more about her, someone Imogen took after she said. He wanted to know everything about her, what she was doing before all this, how did she get here.
