A tension came and went within him and he laughed softly. ‘Him again. He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’ll never make me sick again. Driver! ’
His voice was like soft wood tearing. Startled, the driver slammed on his brakes. Hip surged forward out of his seat and caught the back of the driver under his armpit. ‘Go back,’ he said excitedly.
‘Goddlemighty,’ the driver muttered. He began to turn the cab around. Hip turned to Janie, an answer, some sort of answer, half formed, but she had no question. She sat quietly and waited. To the driver Hip said, ‘Just the next block. Yeah, here. Left. Turn left.’
He sank back then, his cheek to the window glass, his eyes raking the shadowed houses and black lawns. After a time he said, ‘There. The house with the driveway, there where the big hedge is.’
‘Want I should drive in?’
‘No,’ Hip said.’ Pull over. A little farther… there, where I can see in.’
When the cab stopped, the driver turned around and peered back. ‘Gettin’ out here? That’s a dollar ’n—’
‘ Shh! ’ The sound came so explosively that the driver sat stunned. Then he shook his head wearily and turned to face forward. He shrugged and waited.
Hip stared through the driveway’s gap in the hedge at the faintly gleaming white house, its stately porch and porte-cochere, its neat shutters and fanlit door.
‘Take us home,’ he said after a time.