We met Sara in our twenties, purely by chance. I had hit her with my mother's car, and by the time I got outside, drenched in cold sweat, envisioning the next seven-plus years of my life in prison, she had jumped up, gotten into the passenger seat, leaped into the driver's seat, and was shifting gears.

I quickly jumped onto the hood, tried the passenger door – which she had of course locked – grabbed onto the roof rack, and braced myself for unusual things. She released the clutch, just like she would pull her foot out of the shower water when it was unexpectedly hot, and we were off...