“Is Grandmother going to be mad at me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

I shut her door, walked around to the driver’s side, and climbed into the cold front seat.

My hands were stiff from the wind, but I turned the key right away.

The engine started with a low rumble, and the headlights cut two white beams through the quiet snowfall.

I backed out of the Elm Street driveway, keeping my eyes on the rear window until the brick front of my mother’s house vanished behind the tall pines at the corner.

We turned south onto Route 4, passing shuttered gas stations and silent suburban strip malls.