By eleven thirty, the wind coming across the Route 30 bypass was pushing thin sheets of gray ice across the diner lot.

Nathaniel pulled his pickup alongside Martha’s sedan and shut off the engine.

Martha rolled her driver’s window down two inches, her face pale and her eyes steady behind the frosty glass.

“The battery took a charge from my truck,” Nathaniel said, resting his hand on her door frame.

“But this cold will freeze your engine block before sundown.”

Inside the sedan, Daisy sat bundled in two heavy wool coats, her small legs tucked underneath her as she held her tin box of paper stars.

“We’re doing all right here, Mr.