The car that stopped was a Volkswagen bug. The driver was a thirtyish woman, wearing an imitation fur coat and garish sparkles on her hideously long fingernails. Her name was Winnie, she said, and she flattened me to the seat with acceleration before I had an opportunity to settle in and buckle my seat belt.

“What the hellya doing out on a night like this?”

“Traveling to Red Creek,” I replied. I was grate­ful for the ride, and I knew if I could endure Rose­mary for as long as I had, I could endure Winnie for a couple of hours. I could do anything as long as it led to Sarah.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Legs,” I said, realizing too late that it was the wrong response to discourage conversation.

“Legs, then. What happened?”

“They froze.”

“Ooooh, Gawd, you froze your legs? How awful. How didya manage to do that?”

I sighed. Winnie was going to extract her fee from me. “I was outside in the snow, and my legs froze.”

“Gawd, I can’t imagine anything worse than freezing. I hate it when it’s cold. Hawaii. I oughtta live in Hawaii, ya know? I mean I’m just not built for this kind of weather. Brrr.” She pulled her coat closer around her and stepped on the accelerator, as if that would help. Then she reached between the seats and pulled up a lever with a red plastic knob. Heat flooded the little interior. It smelled faintly of exhaust, and it blew bits of debris around the inside of the car, but it was warm.

“I just love the heaters in these V-­Dubs. That’s why I’ve got one, you know? They’re great, these cars. Don’t worry. You’ll be gasping for breath soon. These heaters are great. So why’re ya going to Red Creek?”

“To see a friend. I have a friend there.”

“Good. Good.” She snapped on the radio and rudely ran the knob back and forth, looking for some music to suit her mood. When she found none, she snapped it off again, looked down at my cane, and scratched around in her orangey-­ratted hair.

“Nice cane. How is it to walk with a cane? I mean, do lots of people stare at you?”

“No.”

“I think of old people with canes, you know? I always think of young people with crutches, or wheel­chairs, but never a cane. Actually, a cane has class. Especially one like that. Wow. Look at that lizard.” She reached a hand over and touched it, then lifted it closer to her eyes. With brief flicks of attention paid to the road before us, she examined the brass end of my cane, then handed it back to me with a searching look at my face. “Wow,” she said. “That’s quite a cane.”