Because Jack didn’t drive—not stick, not on the left side of the road, not at all ever—Sadie piloted the rental car from the Dublin airport to the wedding, grinding gears and scraping along the greenery and—for a few miles—creeping behind a tractor on a winding road. It was 10PM and raining. If Ireland were emerald she couldn’t say. The tractor was a comfort, lit up with white lights. She planned to follow as long as she could. Till dawn if necessary.
“Pass him,” said Jack.
“You pass him,” said Sadie.
“I’m not driving.”
“That’s right,” said Sadie.