In late afternoon the sun was unnaturally bright. The sky resembled a watercolor wash of pale oranges, reds—too “pretty” to be real—and of a particularly banal prettiness, like calendar art. Deciduous trees that only the previous week had been skeletal and leafless were now luminous with tight little greeny buds.

Too soon!—Abigail felt a frisson of alarm, dread.

Cruel to awaken the dead, in spring. More merciful to let us sleep.

From Cold Soil Road her car was shunted onto a narrower country road that seemed to have no name, or at least she could not discover any name. No choice but to follow the DETOUR signs, with resentment and mounting unease, though a left turn should have been followed by a right turn to begin to complete the (rectangular) figure of the detour and not this slow curve leftward into the countryside …

Where am I being taken? This is wrong.

Traffic was sparse on this unnamed road. No one seemed to be coming in Abigail’s direction, all traffic in the other direction, strung out along the detour like dispirited Bedouins. Worse, after so much jolting, the steering wheel of Abigail’s car seemed to be loosening; each time she turned it, the car responded less immediately, as if she were driving on ice.

At last, at a curve, she turned the wheel with no effect at all—the car continued forward, off the road and in the direction of a shallow ditch. Panicked, she pumped the brake pedal, but this too had little effect.

Something struck her forehead, as if in rebuke. She heard a murmur of startled voices at a distance, witnesses to her folly.

She cried in protest. No! It was not her fault, something had happened to the steering wheel.

The front wheels of her car were in the ditch, the rear of the car remained on the roadway. The windshield had seemed to fly back toward her, striking her forehead. She was sobbing with frustration, dismay. What had happened to the steering wheel? And the brakes—useless.

Much effort was required for Abigail to extricate herself from the tilting car. Pushing the driver’s door open, climbing out into the road, panting. Her heartbeat was erratic, like her breath. She’d been so taken by surprise! Her balance had been affected, she walked as if on the listing deck of a boat.

A vehicle approached, she waved frantically for it to stop, but the driver seemed not to see her, continuing past without slackening his speed. The vehicle’s windshield shone with reflected sunshine, she could not see the driver’s face.

Calling after in a pleading voice—“No, wait! Please don’t leave me …”