Warm air from the dashboard vents started blowing across the front seat, carrying the smell of wet wool and damp upholstery.

Benji pulled the coat tighter around his neck, his breath fogging the small side window by his head.

“Grandma?” he said.

“I’m right here, Benji.”

“Did Daddy tell you to come home?”

I twisted around a little in my seat to look at him.

Three nights earlier I’d been sitting in a Dublin hotel room when my phone rang at midnight local time.

Clay was up on his rig rotation outside Williston, working a twelve-hour night shift, so I’d expected to hear his voice when I picked up.