Abstract
Abstract Wayne adjusts his rearview mirror as he turns onto the highway. His eyes rest briefly on a handkerchief, shoved into the armrest on the door of his old but immaculate Lincoln Towncar. She was never without a handkerchief, always presentable, cotifident, content. There was a subtle groove worn into her passenger seat from the many miles of their lives together. Every day she found an adventure. She would lean forward, pouring over the roadmap, plotting a course to the next town with an antique store or the fastest route to the impending graduation, wedding, or birthday. He wasn’t much for weddings and the like, and never could figure out the attraction of antiques. But her joy spilled over the driver’s side and he would find himself eager to reach the next stop for no other reason than to see her smile, pluck up her handkerchief and bound from the car like a kid on the first day of school.
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