Headlights appear in the distance. Clare turns her lights on and we are rushing along again, perfectly aligned between the yellow stripes in the middle of the road and the edge of the highway. It’s 11:38.

　Clare is expressionless in the reflected dashboard lights. “Why did you do that?” I ask her, my voice shaking.

　“Why not?” Clare’s voice is calm as a summer pond.

　“Because we could have both died in a fiery wreck?”

　Clare slows and turns onto Blue Star Highway. “But that’s not what happens” she says. “I grow up and meet you and we get married and here you are.”

　“For all you know you crashed the car just then and we both spent a year in traction.”

　“But then you would have warned me not to do it,” says Clare.

　“I tried, but you yelled at me—”

　“I mean, an older you would have told a younger me not to crash the car.”

　“Well, by then it would have already happened.”

　We have reached Meagram Lane, and Clare turns onto it. This is the private road that leads to her house. “Pull over, Clare, okay? Please?” Clare drives onto the grass, stops, cuts the engine and the lights. It’s completely dark again, and I can hear a million cicadas singing. I reach over and pull Clare close to me, put my arm around her. She is tense and unpliant.

　“Promise me something.”

　“What?” Clare asks.

　“Promise you won’t do anything like that again. I mean not just with the car, but anything dangerous. Because you don’t know. The future is weird, and you can’t go around behaving like you’re invincible—”

　“But if you’ve seen me in the future—”

　“Trust me. Just trust me.”

　Clare laughs. “Why would I want to do that?”

　“I dunno. Because I love you?”

　Clare turns her head so quickly that she hits me in the jaw,

　“Ouch.”

　“Sorry.” I can barely see the outline of her profile. “You love me?” she asks.

　“Yes.”

　“Right now?”

　“Yes.”

　“But you’re not my boyfriend.”

　Oh. That’s what’s bugging her. “Well, technically speaking, I’m your husband.