“This may be out of line,” Misaki said, “but it’s been on my mind. Is it okay if I ask?”

“Shoot,” Kafuku said.

“Why don’t you have any friends?”

Kafuku looked questioningly at Misaki’s profile. “How do you know I don’t have any?”

Misaki shrugged. “I’ve been driving you around for two months now, so I guess I can figure out that much.”

Kafuku studied the tractor trailer’s enormous tires for a long moment. “There haven’t been many people I could call true friends,” he finally said. “I wonder why.”

“Even when you were a child?”

“No, I had lots of pals back then. But once I grew up I no longer felt the need for them. Especially after I got married.”

“Having a wife meant you no longer needed friends?”

“I guess so. She and I were great pals too, after all.”

“How old were you when you got married?”

“Thirty. We were in the same movie. She had a major supporting role, and I had a bit part.”

The car inched its way forward through the traffic jam. The roof was closed, as it always was when they drove on the expressway.

“You don’t drink at all?” Kafuku changed the subject.

“My body can’t handle alcohol,” Misaki said. “And my mother was a problem drinker, which may have something to do with it.”

“Does her drinking still cause problems?”

Misaki shook her head from side to side. “My mother’s dead. She was driving drunk, lost control of the steering wheel, went into a spin, and flew off the road and into a tree. She died almost instantly. I was seventeen.”

“Poor woman,” Kafuku said.

“What goes around comes around,” Misaki said without emotion. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. The only question was when.”

They were silent for a while.

“And your father?”

“I don’t know where he is. He left home when I was eight and I haven’t seen him since. Haven’t heard from him, either. Mother always blamed me for his leaving.”

“Why?”

“I was their only child. If I’d been prettier, Father never would have left. That’s what Mother always said. It’s because I was born ugly that he abandoned us.”

“You’re not ugly,” Kafuku said quietly. “Your mother just preferred to think of it that way.”

Misaki gave a slight shrug. “Normally she wasn’t like that, but when she was drinking, she just went on and on. Repeated the same stuff over and over again. It hurt me. It’s bad, I know, but I was relieved when she died.”

This time the silence was even longer.

“Do you have friends?” Kafuku inquired.

Misaki shook her head. “Not a single one.”

“Why?”

She didn’t answer. With her eyes narrowed, she focused on the road.

Kafuku tried to take a nap, but sleep wouldn’t come. The car edged forward and stopped, edged forward and stopped, as Misaki deftly shifted gears. In the adjacent lane, the tractor trailer moved ahead and fell behind, like the shadow cast by some enormous fate.