“Oh,” he said, obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry. At first you seemed a lot younger. I see now . . .” His voice trailed off.

Silent miles rolled by.

“So when was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“What is your interest here? Are you trying to make conversation or be my keeper?”

“Listen. I pick up what I think is a half-­frozen, starving little kid on the side of the road. I ain’t supposed to pick up riders anyway. I’m just trying to help you out and all you do is give me lip.”

He was right. I retreated into the folds of blanket.

“I’m going to stop for something to eat. I’ll buy you a sandwich if you like; maybe eating will take some of the meanness out of you. Or you can see if you can find another ride. I don’t know why your attitude is so bad, but I don’t need it.”

I wasn’t at all hungry; my stomach shivered with cold.

Eventually he pulled his rig into a cafe parking lot, parked it with skill, and shut it down. “Junction a mile ahead,” he said. “You can catch a southbound ride there. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” I said, and with trembling fingers unwrapped myself from the blanket and felt for the door handle.

“Keep the blanket.”

“Oh, no, that’s all right. Listen,” I said, folding the blanket and stowing it behind the seat. “I’m sorry if I was a bother.”

“No bother, just no fun. I can have a better time alone,” he said, then jumped down, waited for me to get out, then turned his back on me and walked into the cafe.

He turned his back on me and walked into the cafe.

He turned his back on me.

I watched him go, trying to raise enough indignation to go after him, but I couldn’t.

Again, life was hard; it settled heavily on my shoulders. I watched him go, thought of running after him, apologizing. I thought of following him into the cafe, ordering a cup of hot chocolate, but I wouldn’t be mistaken for begging another chance. I watched him go, then settled my pack on my shoulders, adjusting it away from the tender spot where it had been rubbing, and began walking. Next time I would be nicer.

Steadily moving, placing one foot in front of the other, eventually I could make out the junction. It was one lone streetlight shining a yellow pool of light at a lonely crossroads. As I got closer, it seemed lonelier and more barren with a light snow falling diagonally through the spill of light.