The driver my wife fired without a cent stepped out of the shadows and whispered, “Tomorrow, if she tells you to get in that car, don’t. Take Bus 214, or you may not live long enough to regret it.” I almost laughed — until the next evening, I climbed onto that bus and saw someone in the back row wearing something no stranger should have had.
The day my wife’s former driver warned me not to get into the car, he did not look frightened. That was what stayed with me. He did not grab my sleeve. He did not look over his shoulder every three seconds like a man being followed. He did not speak in the trembling, breathless tone…
