She sat quietly in the dark car while the heater finally started pushing warm air around our feet.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Start the car,” Sophie said.

“I’ll show you once we’re back on Elm Street.”

We drove the eleven miles into town without another word.

The autumn leaves lay flat and wet on the blacktop, lit only by our headlights as we went past the dark cornfields on Route 4.

The kitchen smelled of cold coffee and old wallpaper when we unlocked the front door at eleven thirty.

I took off my coat and hung it on the wall hook, feeling that deep ache you get from sitting tense in a cold car.