They had another two hundred miles to go.  That would be at least four hours on the road.  Certainly it should be plenty of time to think of a way.

Well, now, he could shoot her.  No, that would be too messy; and besides, where would he get a gun?  Mabel never allowed anything like that in the house.  Wait, though; he could use a knife.  There were plenty of those in the kitchen and he wouldn't have a hard time cleaning the tile floor.  But it would be messy; and if he didn't do the job right the first time, he'd have to do it again.  He wasn't sure he could.  Strange how easy it was to plan this whole thing now that he had made his mind up to it!

         "Henree," she screeched.  "You're not thinking.  This is where we turn."

         "Yes, I am, Mabel."

         "But you're not slowing down."

         "I am now dear."

         If only she knew what he was thinking.  Actually, he could have someone do it for him.  There'd be no problem then.  He could even be out for the evening.  Let’s see - where?  At the club?  That would be an ideal place.  The boys could be home with him.  They, together, would find the body and call the police.  Perfect!  No, wait.  Maybe he should do it himself.  The fewer people mixed up in the act, the better off he'd be.  Non-existing people can't talk.  This was getting to be a problem.  What else was left?  Why, of course, why hadn't he thought of that before?  Poison!  But how was he to poison her?  Drug?  No, . . . household poison?, no . . . strychnine?  No, those would all be traced to murder.  The police would suspect him.  How about sleeping pills?  She always took three aspirin and drank a cup of coffee and a glass of milk before bed.  He knew that she would make him get them for her.  After all, it wouldn't be hard to get aspirin mixed up with sleeping tablets and have a few of them fall in the coffee and milk.

         Wait a minute. Here they were, two hundred miles from home.  If he could get her out of the car, he'd just drive away and leave her in the middle of nowhere.  What kind of reason would he have, though, to stop the car?  They didn't need gas; neither one of them was hungry, especially her!

         "Henree, please slow down.  Can't you be a little considerate?  I shudder to think of dying, and you know how nervous I get when I shudder."

         "Yes, Mabel."  Good God, can't she leave me alone long enough to think this thing out.  Really it isn't as simple as one would be led to believe.

         "Henree, there's a railroad crossing ahead."

         "Yes, Mabel.  Mabel . . .?"

         "Yes, Henry?"

         "I think we're getting a flat tire on your side of the car.  When I stop, will you get out and check?"

         She rolled out of the car and closed the door.  He shoved the car into gear and slammed the accelerator to the floor.  Exploding in all directions, the car shot away leaving a shower of stones and pebbles behind.

         He was free, free for the first time in twenty-five years.  This was his great escape, the escape he had dreamed of for years.  Now he had finally done it.  He could see Mabel frantically waving to him in the rearview mirror.  He didn't see the train.

“Joy, joy," he thought to himself as the car sped along.  The fence posts appeared to him like teeth in a comb.

         "Henree!" she shrieked.  "You had better slow down."  The last word was noticeably affected by the handful of chocolate-covered peanuts she had crammed into her mouth.  Henry winced.

         "Yes, Mabel."  He eased his foot off the accelerator.  He could put tape on her mouth.  No, she'd just snatch that off.  He could cuff her ear or pull her hair, but she was bigger than he and she would hit back.

         "Henree, there's a car ahead of us!" Henry's baldhead wrinkled with his grimace.

         "Yes, Mabel."  He could take her chocolates away from her.  Wouldn't that be a riot?  His eyes gleamed and his upper lip twitched with glee.

         "Henry, you're smiling again!"

         "Sorry, dear."

         "It's not that I mind your smiling, but you always seem to be smiling at me."

         "I said, 'I'm sorry, dear.'  I was . . ."

         "Now don't make excuses.  If . . . Henry, be careful.  You'll make me drop my chocolates. Henry, you're going too fast; there go my . . . Now see what you've done!  All over the floor - my chocolates!"

         "Good," he thought to himself; "maybe the dirt will poison her."  No, that wouldn't work.  It would be like shooting an elephant with a BB gun.

         "Henree," that damnable shrill voice shrieked again.  "Henry, watch the inglphsecxglions."

         "Yes, Mabel."  Her mouth was full of those chocolates again, and he hoped plenty of dirt and sand had gotten on them.  He was sure she said "intersections," but to ask Mabel to repeat would have brought her wrath down upon him.  Therefore he reasoned that he wouldn't pay any special attention to the next intersection.  If she had said, "intersections," he would definitely hear about it.  If not, then he would have to try to figure out what she had said. 

         "Henree, I told you to watch out for the intersections."  That was it!  God, it would be nice if somebody would hit us from her side.  But, then, that would wreck the car, and that wouldn't do.  For twenty-five years now Henry had been putting up with constant nagging, bickering and foolishness.

         "Henreengph!"

         He silently damned those chocolate-covered peanuts of hers.

         "Henree, not so fast on the turns!  EEEK!"

         Just once he wished the door on her side would open.  Just once.

         "Open, darn you, open," he muttered half aloud.

         "What?  What did you say, Henry?"

         "Nothing, Mabel."

         "Oh, yes, you did.  Yes, you did Henry.  I heard you."

         "No, dear.  I was just thinking to myself."

         He had to get away from her; get rid of her.  How, though, that was the question.  He had to get rid of everything.  Her pug nose, double chin, chocolate-and-peanuts breath; all 193 pounds of her had to go.