After several minutes, Linda's tears gradually subsided into quiet sniffles. She pulled back slightly, and let out a shaky laugh that seemed to surprise even her.
"Look at us," she said, her voice still thick but warmer now, "crying in a parking garage like a couple of teenagers."
She reached for the tissue box on the console, handed one to Alex, then took one for herself and dabbed at her face. "I must look like a complete mess."
But as she settled back into her seat and looked closely at Alex for the first time since they'd gotten in the car, something shifted in her expression.
The raw emotion was still there, but now it was tempered by the familiar, watchful concern of a mother who notices things.
"You know," she said slowly, buckling her seatbelt.
Alex started the engine, the soft hum filling the garage as golden light slanted in through the concrete slats. His headlights swept long shadows across the floor as he backed out.
