Shattered

a man in a light trance, he was aware only of the road and of the Chevy's engine revving at just the right pitch, and he was considerably quieted by these things.
        For the first time all day Leland smiled. And he wished, for the first time in a long time, that he had someone to whom he could talk…
        “You look happy, George,” she said, startling him.
        He glanced away from the road.
        She was sitting in the passenger's seat, only a couple of feet away from him. But how was that possible?
        “Courtney,” he said, voice a dry whisper. “I… “
        “It's nice to see you so happy,” she said. “You're usually so sober.”
        He looked back at the road, confused.
        But his eyes were drawn to her magnetically an instant later. The sunlight pierced the windshield and passed through her as if she were a spirit. it touched her golden hair and skin, then kept right on going. He could see the door panel on the other side of her. He could see through her lovely face to the window behind her head and the countryside beyond the window-as if she were transparent. He could not understand. How could she be here? How could she know that he was following Doyle and the boy?
        A horn blared nearby.
        Leland looked up, surprised to find he had drifted out of the right lane and almost collided with a Pontiac trying to pass him. He wheeled hard right and brought the van back into line.
        “How have you been, George?” she asked.
        He looked at her, then quickly back at the highway. She was wearing the same outfit she had worn when he saw her last: clunky shoes, a short white skirt, fancy red blouse with long printed collar. When he followed her to the airport a week ago and watched her board the 707, he had been so excited by the way she looked in that trim little suit that he had wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman before. He almost rushed up to her-but he had realized that she would think it was strange of him to be following her.
        “How have you been, George?” she asked again.
        She had been worried about his problems even before he recognized that he had any, even before he had seen that everything was going wrong. When she dissolved their two-year-old affair and would only talk to him on the telephone, she had still called him twice a month to see how he was getting along. Of course, she had stopped calling eventually. She had forgotten him completely.
        “Oh,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road, “I'm fine.”
        “You don't look fine.” Her voice was faraway, hollow, only slightly like her real voice. Yet there she was, sitting beside him in broad daylight.
        “I'm doing very well,” he assured her.
        “You've lost weight.”
        “I needed to lose some.”
        “Not that much, George.”
        “It can't hurt.”
        “And you have bags under your eyes.”
        He took one hand from the wheel and touched the discolored, puffy flesh.
        “Haven't you been getting enough sleep?” she asked.
        He did not respond. He did not like this conversation. He hated her when she badgered him about his health and said his emotional problems with other people must come from a basic physical illness. Sure, the problems had come on suddenly. But he wasn't at fault. it was other people. Lately, everyone had it in for him.
        “George, have people been treating you better since we last talked?”
        He admired her long legs. They were not transparent now. The flesh was golden, firm, beautiful. “No, Courtney. I lost another job.”
        Now that she had stopped nagging him about his health, he felt better. He wanted to tell her everything, no matter how embarrassing. She would understand. He would put his head in her lap and cry until he had no tears left. Then he would feel better… He would cry while she smoothed his hair, and when he sat up he would have as few problems as he had had more than two years ago, before this trouble had come along and everyone had gotten nasty with him.
        “Another job?” she asked. “How many jobs have you held these last two years?”
        “Six,” he said.
        “What did you get fired for this time?”
        “I don't know,” Leland said, genuine misery in his voice. “We were putting up an office building-two years of work. I was getting along with everyone. Then my boss, the chief engineer, started in on