Petrol Station, 9:40am

Renata took the wheel because nobody argued, and that was the first thing wrong. We always argued. Outside the petrol station the sky had the flat white look it gets before it can't decide on rain. Klara bought three coffees and a packet of those biscuits Dad liked, the pink ones, and she didn't say why and we didn't ask. I sat in the back with my coat still on. It smelled of the church. Renata adjusted the mirror twice, then a third time, like the road behind us was something she had to keep checking on. We had four hours. Four hours and a house at the end of it with his coat still on the hook and the will in a drawer that Klara had a key to and the rest of us didn't. I thought, we could just drive past it. We could keep going. I didn't say that either.