In The Garden Of The North American Martyrs by Tobias Wolff Page B

Glen could make out the logo on the back—WE MOVE FAMILIES NOT JUST FURNITURE—then they descended into the fog again and the truck vanished. “I was in a sandstorm once,” Bonnie said, “in Arizona. It was really dangerous but at least it wasn’t boring.” She pulled a strand of hair in front of her eyes and began picking at the ends. “So,” she said, “tell me about yourself.”
    Glen said there wasn’t much to tell.
    â€œWhat’s your wife’s name?”
    â€œI’m not married.”
    â€œOh yeah? Somebody like you, I thought for sure you’d be married.”
    â€œI’m engaged,” Glen said. He often told strangers that. If he met them again he could always say it hadn’t worked out. He’d once known a girl who probably would have married him but like Martin said, it didn’t make sense to take on freight when you were traveling for speed.
    Bonnie said that she had been married for the last two years to a man in Santa Barbara. “I don’t mean married in the legal sense,” she said. Bonnie said that when you knew someone else’s head and they knew yours, that was being married. She had ceased to know his head when he left her for someone else. “He wanted to have kids,” Bonnie said, “but he was afraid to with me, because I had dropped acid. He was afraid we would have a werewolf or something because of my chromosomes. I shouldn’t have told him.”
    Glen knew that the man’s reason for leaving her had nothing to do with chromosomes. He had left her because she was too old.
    â€œI never should have told him,” Bonnie said again. “I only dropped acid one time and it wasn’t even fun.” She made a rattling sound in her throat and put her hands up to her face. First her shoulders and then her whole body began jerking from side to side.
    â€œAll right,” Glen said, “all right.” He dropped the tennis ball and began patting her on the back as if she had hiccups.
    Sunshine uncoiled from the back seat and came scrambling over Glen’s shoulder. He knocked Glen’s hand off the steering wheel as he jumped onto his lap, rooting for the ball. The car went into a broadside skid. The road was slick and the tires did not scream. Bonnie stopped jerking and stared out the window.So did Glen. They watched the fog whipping along the windshield as if they were at a movie. Then the car began to spin. When they came out of it Glen watched the yellow lines shoot away from the hood and realized that they were sliding backwards in the wrong lane of traffic. The car went on this way for a time, then it went into another spin and when it came out it was pointing in the right direction though still in the wrong lane. Not far off Glen could see weak yellow lights approaching, bobbing gently like the running lights of a ship. He took the wheel again and eased the car off the road. Moments later a convoy of logging trucks roared out of the fog, airhorns bawling; the car rocked in the turbulence of their wake.
    Sunshine jumped into the back seat and lay there, whimpering. Glen and Bonnie moved into each other’s arms. They just held on, saying nothing. Holding Bonnie, and being held by her, was necessary to Glen.
    â€œI thought we were goners,” Bonnie said.
    â€œThey wouldn’t even have found us,” Glen said. “Not even our shoes.”
    â€œI’m going to change my ways,” Bonnie said.
    â€œMe too,” Glen said, and though he wasn’t sure just what was wrong with his ways, he meant it.
    â€œI feel like I’ve been given another chance,” Bonnie said. “I’m going to pay back the money I owe, and write my mother a letter, even if she is a complete bitch. I’ll be nicer to Sunshine. No more shoplifting. No more—” Just then another convoy of trucks went by and though Bonnie kept on talking Glen could not hear a word.