She looked at me in the rearview mirror. “No worries, sir.”
“And wouldn’t Beech be faster to the airport?”
Again, our eyes met in the mirror for a moment, but she didn’t answer.
The car whizzed past brick buildings and other cars, as if they were frozen. We made a few more turns before stopping in front of Memorial General.
“Here we are,” the driver said.
“This isn’t he airport.”
“It’s not, but your father only has a few hours left.”