You drove 3,000 miles to the middle of nowhere because some dead person asked you to?
Not just some dead person. My dead ex-husband.
Still, a dead ex-husband. Not your current husband; who by the way thinks you are going to visit your cousin, but the dead one that you divorced 20 years ago.
I don't care. I know it seems strange or perhaps odd. But when someone dies and sends you a letter asking you to do just one thing, I assume it must be a pretty important thing and should get done.
Fair enough, but did we have to drive the whole 3,000 miles? Couldn't we have flown into Portland and drive the final stretch?
You know I can't stand air travel. This was the only way. No one twisted your arm to come with me.
I just don't think it wise to take instructions from a dead person you hadn't been in the same room with for over decade. I'm sorry for caring too much.
Would you rather be stuck in your small overpriced apartment in Brooklyn or on a adventure with me?
Well considering I don't like nature, let's go back to New York.
Ha! Too bad. We have 15 more miles according to the navigation thing. You can go back after we find out what was so damned important out here.