Lin Page 36
Until today, it hasn't happened to me at all.

She eyes him. Maybe you're still investigating me.

No, no, no. How about this: you tell me whatever you want to tell me now, and we won't talk about it ever again.

Maybe I don't want to tell you.

That's fine. Just say whatever you want, and that will finish that business, and we can move on.

Slowly, they are pulling away from downtown. Out the window to their right is the Taipei 101 building, a single gleaming blue matchstick in the night sky, no buildings

next to it to give it any size of scale or importance. The road beneath them bumps and grinds, and the dirty streetlamps float by like buoys.

I miss my father, she says. She still looks straight ahead, her hands stiff on the wheel. He stares at her, keeping silent, waiting.

It was a drunk truck driver, she says. He was on the highway late at night, coming back from a trip, up in the mountains. The truck driver hit him straight on. My father was still alive, but the truck driver panicked. Thought it would be better if it looked like my father had an accident. So he pushed my father's car off the side of the mountain, and drove on. You think my father woke up before the car was pushed