“Sara, what are you doing? Where are we going?” Rob shouted at her across the howl of the wind whipping across the hood of my ancient Mustang convertable.

“Just shut! Drive. I don’t care where, just go,” she says with tears in her eyes. ” I can’t stand it here. There’s too many people, thinking they can help, make me better. I just…I’ve had enough.”

“Okay, I’ll…just drive. I know this place, on the ocean. We’ll go there, and you can talk. Or not. Whatever you want.”

She looks at me, relief in her eyes. “Thank you. You’re amazing. I just need distance from all this. The horde of psychatrists, priests, family members…it’s horrible. I just need to go…anywhere.”

He reaches over the stick shift and grabs her hand, tracing the scars on her wrist, but says nothing. He just squeezes tightly, knowing that words aren’t always necessary.