By Laura Garrison
The station wagon drifted for a few dozen yards, like a raft on a slow-moving river, before coming to a gentle stop at the base of an incline. The red Check Engine light glared accusingly from the dashboard. Around them, the forest stretched away in all directions, broken only by the pitted tarmac of the winding mountain road.
Susan glanced sideways at her husband, Paul, who was staring straight ahead through the windshield. His hands were still on the steering wheel, as if he hadn’t noticed the car was no longer in motion.