Another minute flicks past on the digital readout in Bennett's truck. We've been driving for well over two hours, and the conversation is light and easy. The two of us are swapping stories of different memories in our lifetimes. Bennett's mostly revolve around the foibles of learning to raise his son and mine more often than not include a baking mishap. It's perfectly us.
It's a steady flow of chitchat back and forth, but now as Bennett's truck turns off the expressway and he peers out the window, obviously looking for our final destination, the cab goes silent. Dead bug carcasses dirty up his front window, but one particular gushy one is driving me insane. I want to lean over and turn on his windshield wipers to wash the green slime away.
"Are we there yet?" I ask in a totally annoying-
