A person should never slurp tartar sauce. Ever. Clara tongues the edges of her fish sandwich, moves the brittle pieces of batter like loose teeth until they drop onto the table between us.
Should we just switch? You go to Sam's and I make the Lexington trip?
I don't care, she says. You can handle Sam's endless prattle better than I can, though, and you know how you hate the drive to Lexington. Things are okay like this.
It was never suggested we go together, first to Sam's and then to Lexington. Without saying it, we both thought that option a drab thing, a limp possibility, a draining thing. Watching the clock, I hear her say it all again.
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