My Virtual Reading Room

It was a bleak, rainy day, and I had no desire to drive up the winding mountain road to my daughter Carolyn’s house. But she had insisted that I come see something at the top of the mountain.

So here I was, reluctantly making the two-hour journey through fog that hung like veils. By the time 
I saw how thick it was near the 
summit, I’d gone too far to turn back.

Nothing could be worth this, 
I thought as I inched along the 
perilous highway.

“I’ll stay for lunch, but I’m heading back down as soon as the fog lifts,” 
I announced when I arrived.

“But I need you to drive me to the garage to pick up my car,” Carolyn said. “Could we at least do that?”

“How far is it?” I asked.

“About three minutes,” she said. “I’ll drive—I’m used to it.”

After ten minutes on the mountain road, I looked at her anxiously. “I thought you said three minutes.”

She grinned. “This is a detour.”