The Book of Why Read Online Free PDF Page A

after the storm, but patches of ice remain. The car skids, and I gently pump the brake. Brief panic, I pump once more, and the tires grip the road again. The road bends, and I take the curves with caution. A salt truck, its tires chained, passes us heading in the opposite direction.
    â€œI don’t think he knew what he was talking about,” I tell Sam.
    â€œMaybe we should go back and try the road after yours,” she says.
    â€œWe’re already heading into town,” I say. “Let’s get your jeans first.”
    â€œPull over here!” she says. “Hurry, pull over!”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œA police car,” she says. “I can ask for directions.”
    â€œSorry,” I tell her, “but I can’t stop.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œMy car isn’t registered.”
    â€œThen let me out,” she says. “They won’t see your plates.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but I can’t.”
    â€œPlease,” she says, and I say nothing.
    She unbuckles her seat belt, puts her hand on the door handle.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œI’d like to get out of the car now,” she says.
    â€œBuckle your seat belt.”
    â€œStop the car.”
    â€œNot until you buckle.”
    She does as I ask, but I don’t stop.
    â€œThere’s no reason to be afraid,” I tell her.
    â€œYou don’t live on Woods Road,” she says.
    When I don’t respond, she says, “What’s your real name?”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.”
    â€œIt matters to me,” she says. “It matters that you gave me a fake name and address.”
    â€œHow do I know your real name is Sam?”
    â€œI can show you my driver’s license,” she says. “Let’s see yours.”
    â€œI don’t have it with me.”
    â€œThat jogger saw us,” she says.
    â€œI’m not going to hurt you.”
    â€œThat’s what people say before they hurt you.”
    â€œI’ll bring you back to your car, okay.”
    â€œI want you to bring me to the police.”
    â€œWhat will you tell them? That I made you tea and gave you a place to stay?”
    â€œWhy’d you lie about your name?”
    â€œI’m a private person.”
    â€œIs your dog’s name even Ralph?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDon’t laugh at me,” she says. “I’m frightened.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œHere,” she says. “Pull over—into that lot.”
    â€œCan’t we just keep driving?”
    â€œYou’re scaring me,” she says. “If you don’t pull over…”
    She grabs the wheel, and the car begins to skid. I lose control, and we swerve into oncoming traffic.
    You don’t believe until it happens, you don’t believe even as it’s happening, that your skull can break a car windshield. Surely the glass will break the skull, not the other way around. Surely your face will shatter. Surely your teeth will break, your jaw, your neck, your spine. Surely you won’t walk away from this, you will be carried. Surely you will never walk again. You brace, close your eyes. Your body stops breathing. You hear it before you feel it. The loudest crash you’ve ever heard, and then you feel it. The window comes at you. The wheel, the dashboard, everything comes at you. You bounce back in the seat. A sharp pain in the ribs. You struggle to breathe. Your eyes remain closed, you squeeze them closed, this is all the energy you have, you won’t open them no matter what, you don’t want to see. Someone is moaning. Someone else. You can’t remember who. What you want, more than anything, is one breath. You wait. You’ve had the wind knocked out of you before, you’ve fallen on a soccer ball, you’ve been punched in the stomach, you know how it seems as if you’ll never breathe again, but you always do, and this will be no