He drinks from his replenished coffee, keeping his jaws and throat and chest in that position that signals gentleness, that signals surrender. The howls of the engines in these old rigs seems they could rip your ears out. Forest has to shout. Eli looks at Forest s hands working the shifts. The tranny hump bristles with the shifts.
Forest lowers the wing, raises the wing.
There s uphills. There s downhills. Eli looks at Forest s hands seizing upon a shift knob. Eli shakes his head, no. Eli s pale exacting gaze slides to Forest s lap.