Was she talking to me? I peered my head around the corner, dish towel in hand. Franny was pacing in front of her bed, phone pressed against her ear.

“When did this happen?” A pause. “Oh god, okay. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

She was pale white, and she crumpled to the ground, leaning her back against her bed and clutching her knees. “That was my stepdad,” she said, her voice tense and quiet. “My mom had a heart attack this morning, and she’s at the hospital.”

“Oh, no, Franny.” I dropped to my knees to face her.

“He said she threw up while she was setting up tables in the backyard, and her entire left side was in pain, so he drove her to the emergency room. They caught it early, which is lucky. The nurse told him they call this kind of heart attack the ‘widow maker.’”

I clasped her hands in mine, stroked her knuckles with my thumbs. Her face was calm, stoic, and it registered to me then that she might be in shock.

“I was supposed to be there.” Her voice was pained. “She could have died.”

I helped her up to sit on her bed, my hand on her back.

“Can you take me to the train?” Her voice was practically a whisper. “I need to get out there.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding reassuringly. “You stay here. Let me figure it out.”

I rose to my feet, hustled to the kitchen, grabbed a cup from her dish rack, and filled it with water. She was still on her bed when I handed it to her. “Thank you.” She gave me a small smile, and my heart squeezed.

Just as I was about to search for train info out to New Haven, an idea clicked in my brain. I opened Google. Sure enough, there was one of those short-term car-rental places around the corner.

“Hey.” I reached a hand to her, and she accepted, letting me pull her onto her feet. “I will absolutely get you to the train if that’s what you’d prefer. But it would be just as easy for me to rent a car and drive you there. I’d be really happy to do that. If you want.”

Forty-five minutes later, I was behind the wheel of a Zipcar, Franny silent in the passenger seat beside me. I was used to things feeling abuzz whenever I was around her. There was always something coming from her: tears, laughter, excitement, information, energy, sass, new ideas. But she was uncharacteristically subdued: no crying, or texting, or commenting on my driving. Just her arms wrapped around her knees, her face toward the window.

“Do you want to listen to music?” I asked. She just shook her head, and so I kept driving in silence.