It\u2019s his son’s first time driving a roundabout. It\u2019s a Friday just before rush hour, and Nate has drawn the short straw of showing Liam how to do it. Leah was so anxious that she made them go by themselves, saying that she was tired, that the forecast wasn\u2019t great, that she\u2019d stay home. It does look like rain, the sky blown into stone, the air on the verge of slick. As they back out of the drive, Nate stares at the house, thinking of the desiccated remnants of his latest apology. He thinks of Leah leaning over their daughter, Sylvia, of Sadie, their standard-issue goldendoodle, with her tongue lolling stupidly. He thinks of what more he could possibly say.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2014<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Then there they are, at the edge of the roundabout, and when it\u2019s Liam\u2019s turn, he freezes. Behind them, a car honks its dissonant horn. Nate can see a man in sunglasses with both hands in the air. \u00a0He tries to keep his voice level, a nervous heat quavering in his throat.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cLiam, go,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cJust wait for this one to pass.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Nate watches Liam\u2019s leg stiffen on the brake.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Leah had said he wasn\u2019t ready, asked Nate if he was sure he wanted to do this. And Nate had said that he needs to learn, that she might want some time alone anyway. She\u2019d said fine. On this fundamental point it seemed they were agreed, that it would be best if he weren\u2019t around.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cLiam, you gotta go,\u201d Nate says, his voice dusted with exasperation.\u00a0Behind them, the line of cars grows from one to two. Then two to five, the honking monotone, laced with invective.\u00a0\u201cDo you want to switch?\u201d Nate asks.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s nearing rush hour. The traffic is only going to get worse.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Liam says. \u201cI want to do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright,\u201d \u00a0Nate says, looking back at a gigantic truck on a menacing lift kit. The first note of rain hits the windshield.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sure?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d Liam says shakily.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Finally, a break in the traffic. It\u2019s clear. The allegro of rain pounds as Nate watches his son\u2019s foot ease off the break and onto the accelerator.\u00a0 He can almost feel the relief in the other cars even as thunder slides past the clouds overhead.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Now they\u2019re in it. Hand slaps of rain peppering the windshield. Nate is trying not to shake, as he finally understands Leah\u2019s trepidation in full. His hand slips into his pocket for his phone, the entire world swirling in watercolor as they round the first bend.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2014<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Then the roads leading into and out of the roundabout are gone, along with the line of cars behind them. They\u2019re at what used to be the second exit arcing around, but it\u2019s gone as well, as though the earth had opened to absorb it. The darkness of the storm presses.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cJust keep going,\u201d Nate says, thumb jamming the phone, dialing Leah.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The streets are gone. There\u2019s a nothingness outside the roundabout, father and son locked inside.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cDad,\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cDrive,\u201d Nate says, not wanting to give away that this was, in fact, worse than any fear Leah could have possibly dreamed up.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Finally, Leah picks up. She\u2019s on speaker.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cHey,\u201d she says flatly. Unperturbed. Always on solid ground.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cHey,\u201d Nate says. They drift around for a second lap in the rain.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Nate says. \u201cIt\u2019s just\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat, Nate?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re stuck,\u201d Liam blurts.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Nate observes his own knuckles, the alien strings of the tendons in his hands tensing. In the background there\u2019s the lilting sounds of Sylvia humming an indistinct tune.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d she asks. \u201cLike in a ditch?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201c106th street roundabout,\u201d Nate says. \u201cWe can\u2019t get out.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They round the same, manicured median for another pass. In the middle juts a pristine concrete sundial engraved with the silhouette of a blue heron.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need to tell someone,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cThe fuck, Nate?\u201d she gasps.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He can feel her voice growing distant as they continue to circle. He can tell she doesn\u2019t believe him. Again. Probably for good reason. They have their normal problems, their middle-America woes. As they make yet another lap, Nate realizes this is the beginning of a whole new set of troubles. Yet he can\u2019t help imagining, as he has so many other times, their heads close together, a damp defense drifting from him into her, a breathy, tentative reconciliation.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI know how it sounds,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWho the hell would I even call? Goddammit, Nate,\u201d she yells. \u201cFor real?\u201d Sylvia\u2019s humming extinguishes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s only been a couple weeks. He should have gathered this would sound like a lie. Everything for a while will sound like a lie. Maybe it is.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know how long my phone will hold a charge. Liam, turn yours off. We\u2019re going to slow down and think about this. I\u2019m sorry, sweetheart,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On the other end ethereal static.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I love you too,\u201d Leah whispers. \u201cBe careful.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rain slows.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cSlow down,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cDad,\u201d says Liam. \u201cWhat the fuck are we gonna do?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
All of the strip mall corners are gone, all the whitewashed brick and towering billboards, the crush of conformity. It\u2019s just them, circling. Around them a new sameness of boundless meadow where there once were streets crisscrossing and winding toward the highway. Everything flat and gouged out by ancient glacier. Green and tepid, flowing monochromatic. The sky above still gray. Luckily, Nate notes, a full tank, charged phones.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Goddammit, Nate<\/em>, he can\u2019t stop thinking in his wife\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He lets Liam keep driving, watching the landscape ripple, the world spin smaller into the absurd ease with which they now sat in silence, winding around the circle, thinking of what to do next. It\u2019s been nearly an hour of silence and revolving. He can tell Liam is afraid.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cShould we call Mom again?\u201d Liam asks.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNah,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He knows this is the last thing they need here, and in their own way, they seem to be adjusting already. The concrete circle. The smooth grass. Except Nate\u2019s arms and torso feeling bounded and tight, lower back knotting up against the upholstery. He strains his eyes toward the horizon line, looking for anything.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cAre you and Mom okay?\u201d Liam asks.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re fine. Just one of those things.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The rain stops, the lie gliding out of his mouth so easily. As he says this, the world seems to shift around them, a low luminescence brimming at the edges of the gloom left from the brief storm. Just the promise of shimmer.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cMaybe we should stop the car,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d Liam asks.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cTo save gas,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWe have a full tank,\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, bud,\u201d Nate says. \u201cJust stop. I need to get out and walk for a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He watches Liam pull over. However, behind his son\u2019s straight face Nate can sense the roiling fear pooling in his jaw muscles.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cTurn the car off,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI want to listen to the radio,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cLiam,\u201d Nate says, thinking of his next set of lies, the way he might maneuver things back to normal, the way he might be able to get things back to the way before.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They stop. Liam gets out of the car, pulls out his phone, and holds it arm\u2019s length in front of him. Nate watches him walking to the median then back across the concrete and out into the meadow, watches the steady light of his phone screen.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate\u2019s phone goes off. A text.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: Liam is streaming. What happened<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: No idea.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: Call someone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Why? They can\u2019t get here. There\u2019s no road.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He knows their marriage can\u2019t take something like this. She\u2019s typing again, the three dots holding his sanity. The sun breaks through the clouds.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: I don\u2019t know what to do<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Me either<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: I\u2019m sorry<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Me too.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2014<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cJust tell me. What\u2019s going on between you and Mom?\u201d Liam asks when he returns.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNothing,\u201d Nate says. He thinks of the slinking ease of his wife\u2019s laughter.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In the distance, a chunk of meadowland rends itself from gravity, shoots upward into the sky. A green and tan mess zooming up. He watches it into the sky, hearing his son shouting behind him. Liam is there with his phone outstretched, breathing wildly, capturing the whole thing.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then the shakes are over, his phone rings. It\u2019s Leah, and he doesn\u2019t know what he\u2019ll say, so he lets it ring. In his mind he can still hear his justification, feel the heat of his face during the fight. The resignation of her limp arms as she sat on the bed, tearless. How he\u2019d begged and pleaded with no real hope.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDad,\u201d Liam shouts.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The earth shakes. He feels heavy, replete with an exhaustion so absolute that he crumbles and sinks to his knees, a sense of loss careening into his stomach, his collarbones.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m calling Mom,\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Nate shouts back.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWhy? What the hell is going on?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s just one of those things. We had a fight.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not\u2014\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s get back in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cAnd go where?\u201d Liam yells. \u201cDad!\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The ground trembles yet again, and another chunk of earth splits in the distance, rockets upward.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A new text.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: It\u2019s all over the news. Everyone saw you disappear.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Did you feel the earthquake?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: What?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Nvm. I\u2019m sorry<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2014<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They\u2019ve found there is a limit, an ethereal plane extending into the heavens near where the earth had blown itself upward at the very beginning.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n But eventually those outside find a way in, at least to get them supplies. Gas cans appear. Razors and bottles of water, non-perishables. Car batteries and tools to install them. They pile what comes in heaps, Liam constantly reorganizing the boxy remnants like firewood. Reams of business cards and half-complete first-aid kits. They\u2019ve found that they can\u2019t send anything out, but they can receive. They still have cell service, but Leah hasn\u2019t called to talk directly to Nate since their last conversation. Instead, she texts to tell him that she can\u2019t get through on Liam\u2019s phone anymore because of his constant streaming. He braces himself against the car. He\u2019s tried to call, but she won\u2019t pick up. He can feel the dispossession in his toes, the creeping ankle pain as he limps around the sundial when they hang up. He monitors Liam in the distance as he patrols the meadow, arms and phone locked in place, his head bobbing excitedly.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The narrative drags on in the media. It\u2019s t like a hostage situation.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Liam gains millions of viewers on his live stream.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDad,\u201d he says in an increasingly rare moment without his phone. \u201cPlease. Just tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve been through this, son,\u201d Nate says. He\u2019s taken to calling him son instead of bud or buddy or his name. The formality between them a growing cavern.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDad.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The earth rumbles beneath them, and they both crouch next to the car, cover their heads as the sound of moving earth envelops them in a fetal white noise, threatening to break the very air they breathe as it moves through their open, screaming mouths.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then it stops.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n When they emerge, there\u2019s a fully grown, ancient-looking forest crowning hills off in the distance, the same direction of where the ground seemed to threaten to come apart and shoot into the sky all at once.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate\u2019s phone goes off.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: We felt that one.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Can we talk?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: No.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: What about Liam?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: We\u2019ve been through this. I\u2019m working on it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2014<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Eventually they stop tracking the passage of days and are just glued to their phones, watching the coverage of their situation. On screen, the barrier shows itself as a resplendent cylinder around the 106th Street roundabout, gossamer cells of writhing light. The crowds swell by the day. Nate and Liam eat what they can, save their batteries, turn on the car only to charge their phones. They\u2019ve traversed the entire meadow, explored the forest, breathed in all the scents of the wood, climbed to the top of the tallest trees they dared. Nate\u2019s back is starting to hurt all the time, his muscles seeming to pile up on themselves in a way they never did even just a few years ago. Liam has all but stopped speaking to him, and yet Nate is glad he has his son with him.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He\u2019s sitting in the passenger side of the car with the seat leaned all the way back when Liam comes up to the door and taps on the window. It\u2019s gotten unseasonably hot outside. The air seems to be dripping.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDad, what happened?\u201d Liam says. The pleading in his eyes, the longing to return to his half-open, sixteen-year-old life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n And yet a mysterious glint. His son\u2019s hand gingerly wrapped around his phone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI told you it\u2019s best not to talk about it.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2014<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They\u2019re sitting together in the car with the A\/C cranked.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDad, please,\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The sun beats down.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cHonestly, son, I don\u2019t even know anymore,\u201d Nate says. He ventures the half-lie into the stale air between them. The heat languid to the point the air glimmers outside the car. Sweat tingling on his collarbone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A tremor beneath them. Nate closes his eyes. It\u2019s over quickly. Nate raises his head, looks around the meadow, over the tops of the trees. Fire. Black soot seeps over top of the treeline, spiraling up in great smiles of smoke.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n His phone goes off.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: Some people think there\u2019s a way.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Do you even want me to come?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: I\u2019m not doing this.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The fire burns the entire forest, but it\u2019s been contained by something, leaving a stark, black line of ash in the grass.\u00a0Deer, hawks, a cavalcade of insects run out of the blaze and vanish into thin air; as soon as they hit the barrier, there\u2019s nothing left, not even a sound. Conversely, piles of fire extinguishers, USB chargers, takeout boxes grow into three small hillocks. It\u2019s a one-way. Nate watches his son\u2019s face lighting up when he turns the camera around with an effortless tap. Watches him casually pick over the latest food offerings and come up to the driver\u2019s side door just as the moon glides into the sky.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2014<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The next night, his phone goes off as he\u2019s on a walk back from the barrier. In the distance, Nate can see the oceanic light of Liam\u2019s phone beaming from the driver\u2019s side window.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: They think there\u2019s an opening. Are you coming?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: I\u2019m sorry.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: Me too. I just can\u2019t do this anymore.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: What?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: All of it. I\u2019m so tired.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Do you think I wanted this?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n As he nears the roundabout, Nate sees the light of Liam\u2019s phone go out, hears the car ignition sputter. Then the car drops into gear, begins going in circles, headlights rotating at steady pace. Then the engine flares, a squeal of tires as Liam picks up speed.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cHey,\u201d Nate shouts. The light of Liam\u2019s cell phone still flashing in his mind, the finality of his marriage brewing. His back burning as he runs. Perhaps this rift is too great to cross, too absolute. He can\u2019t imagine a scenario in which they go back to the way things used to be.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The engine revs to deafening power just as he gets to the edge of the roundabout, and Nate is sure Liam will lose control. He has all the intention of just standing in the way, of just putting his entire body on the line, as he\u2019s unable to offer much else. But as the screaming tires pass, he can\u2019t bring himself to take the final step.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He screams at his son, unloading his guilt in great heaves as his breath tumbles out, his shoulders shake. Around him, he can feel wind pick up. Liam keeps driving around at speed. As Nate screams, the truth roars inside him. He can\u2019t even remember what happened, now, what the origin of the rift was, how he\u2019d been able to so utterly obliterate the life he\u2019d fallen into, the family they\u2019d made. All he knows is that the damage is irrevocable, that his cowardice is so complete. He screams and screams, the wind picking up, his skin roiling. He wants to shed himself, to just simply step outside himself and float into a billion particles without intention of reassembly.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The car is tilting dangerously. He still can\u2019t bring himself to step in front of it. His legs won\u2019t work, and he wonders if he secretly has no desire to do so, tries to convince himself that he would, yes, of course, do anything to stop his son harming himself. But this wondering breaks him and he falls to his knees, his throat seemingly on the verge of tearing as he just keeps on yelling.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Without warning, the car quiets and slows, pulls over into the grass. He hauls himself up from the damp ground and runs to the door, sees his son doubled over the steering wheel, the most magnificent tears he\u2019s ever seen budding in Liam\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2014<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The world around them shimmers into a vibrato of sobs. Liam keeps asking what happened, and Nate\u2019s mind is murky as creek water. All he knows is that the memory is sliding, burning the base of his skull as he holds his son through the coming storm.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWhy won\u2019t you tell me?\u201d Liam asks, the quakes subsiding past anger into resignation. Nate sees the film over his son\u2019s eyes through his own crying.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI truly don\u2019t know,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s bullshit,\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI know,\u201d Nate says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cJust tell me, Dad,\u201d Liam says.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Hearing the word \u2018dad\u2019 come out of his mouth sends a tremor through him. Nate\u2019s arms slip from behind his son\u2019s neck as he falls to his knees yet again, looking in the distance at what looks like a tear in the barrier. For a moment, he can see thousands of camera flashes, hear the twittering sounds of a crowd floating on the hot wind.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n His phone goes off.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: Did you see?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: Yeah.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: They say they\u2019re ready.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDad,\u201d Liam shouts above the tumult gathering on the wind.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d Nate shouts back. \u201cMove.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The tear has grown wider, and the crowd is a mass of faces swaying in the oncoming storm. The whole scene wreathed in static light, the barrier finally giving way.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate takes the wheel. Whatever his sins, he will get his son out of this.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He checks his phone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Leah: Are you coming?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nate: On the way.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They clamber tearily into the car, and Nate slams the gas, drives around the pile of supplies just as the earth starts to shake again, gigantic stones floating upward just as they had that first day. In the rearview mirror, he can see an opening in the ground swallow all their provisions, mountains of sustenance and novelty tumbling down. The rain sheets as the world throws itself upward. As he drives, he realizes that he can barely remember his life up to this point, much less how all this started.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They\u2019re past the copse of trees and wheeling toward the barrier opening. There are armored trucks, toneless voices booming through speakers, untold numbers of uniformed people walking in silhouette. He\u2019s looking for Leah and Sylvia, remembering their presence, the lightness of their hands. The wind picks up and threatens to topple them just as they reach the technicolor opening, barging through into a bizarre mirror of the roundabout they\u2019ve been living in. The same, all the signs of suburbia intact, reassembled from memory and solid as bone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Liam opens the door and crashes to the pavement, lying flat. Paramedics rush in, and their voices are so quiet in the suddenly dry air, barely able to penetrate Nate\u2019s senses. He can see a fist knocking on his window, mouths moving, but he clutches the steering wheel, trying to remember. He looks at his phone. Nothing. There\u2019s a throbbing in his ears.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sylvia and Leah are being ushered through the crowd, and when they emerge, they fall upon Liam in a mess of limbs. Boom mics are everywhere, it seems, vans and other vehicles, a crowd with a crush of voices stretching for what seems like miles. The knocking on his window grows louder, more insistent. Nate keeps checking his phone, waiting for the next message, the resolution, then watches his family embrace, the relief palpable in the way their shoulders move freely as they cry. His arms are heavy, laced with the faint tug of weeping exhaustion. His back burns. Coiled in his chest a smoky iteration of his guilt. He can\u2019t grasp it, can\u2019t get out and join them.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then his family is falling away, a new barrier piling on top of itself around the car, a gilded web forming. The fists and knocks dissipating, the low hum of voices casting off into a watery silence as the rain returns to a plain highway lined with green. When everything settles, he\u2019s on a straightaway with no end in sight.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It\u2019s his son’s first time driving a roundabout. It\u2019s a Friday just before rush hour, and Nate has drawn the short straw of showing Liam how to do it. Leah was so anxious that she made them go by themselves, saying that she was tired, that the forecast wasn\u2019t great, that she\u2019d stay home. It […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":6797,"template":"","categories":[9,48,49],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6792","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-fiction","category-literary-features"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n