—Jump in the front, he said in his deep throaty voice.
She loved that voice. She loved the stories it told at bedtime, about adventures in distant countries a long time ago. Sometimes its rhythm and hum left her nodding off before the end. She also loved how this voice could laugh. When he sat in his favourite arm chair with a book or the paper, he would come across an amusing passage or an absurd situation and his laugh came deep down from his throat as a kind of guttural hiccup. He absorbed the anecdotes in detail and incorporated them into his own stories. When he re-told these stories his laugh developed into a hearty infectious roar. Continue reading The Drive