xli. Shapes
She will never travel by car with Sam Seaborn ever again.
Standing outside in the cold, as white flakes tumble from the sky, she casts him a pointed glance. She unfolds the map and sets it on the hood of the car. "You see, Sam," she says, condescension escaping her, despite her best efforts. "There are these shapes on this paper…and it tells people like us where to go!" He rolls his eyes, refolds it, and hands it to her.
On the road again, she stares out the window and rolls her eyes. Celestial navigation.
Galileo, Copernicus, the highway? Stupid.