Lay your sleeping head, my love...

All that night and until the sun rose and scorched the endless ribbon of road, she leaned her little five-year-old head on my arm, so I made do driving with only my left. It was peaceful with all the quiet intensity of a hundred suns, that father and daughter pose, and I didn't have the heart to think -- to think about it all. About where we were going, about the hell I'd have from Susan when she found out, about the madness of it; mad and wild and free and impossible and absolutely every-fiber-of-my-being unavoidable as a headlong fall.