It rained all day. We drove and drove. 

“I had a doll when I was little,” he said. “Really little.”

“Oh,” I said. “ I didn’t know that.” My husband, with a doll. My husband little. I looked over at him driving my car. He liked to drive. He was a good driver. I liked to drive too, but I liked to ride with him because he was a good driver. So smooth. That’s why he was driving now. And I could just be. I was glad I took extra time to Rain-x when I last hand washed the car. The water beaded and bulged, fatter and fatter until it lost grip and cascaded to its death. I had always forgotten myself in those beads of water since I was a tiny girl. Driving in the rain was best. Driving in a softly floating snow was glorious, but driving in the rain was best. It was a wonder to behold. God was good. 

He did a little snort, remembering. He is famous for his snort. “I used to swing her around and sling her against the wall,” he said.

“That’s horrible,” I said. “So you were one of those boys. Mean to little girls. Treacherous to helpless animals, and sadistic with dolls. That’s horrible,” I said. 

The windshield wiper squeaked a crescent on the foggy glass.

“No, actually,” he said, maneuvering around a slow moving pickup, scratching his chest through his gold sweater. I looked into the pickup as we passed. A paper cup from Dunkin Donuts was in the cup holder. I reached for my own hot beverage, cozy in the insulated bottle I received at Christmas. I waited four years to be gifted with one of those. No more glass jars and leaky lids. 

“No,” he said again. “I did it because I couldn’t stand how cute she was,” he said. 

We drove and drove, and it rained.