I remembered turning it off after calling my father. I ran to my laptop to check the time. Seven in the morning. I had not slept as long as I thought. Still, it had to be enough. I had to get back to the hospital.

Grabbing a coat this time, I ran out of the house, then ran back in to double-check the stove and to grab grandfather’s T pass. As I began the walk to the bus stop, a car horn blared.

It came in stuttered intervals after that, clearly trying to get someone’s attention, as if they had just realized it was early in the morning on a holiday weekend. I kept my head down, frankly, embarrassed for them, and increased my speed. The car horn eventually stopped, to my relief.

I was nearly at the bus stop when a car slowed down beside me. I sped up again, heart hammering. I had always thought seven in the morning a safe time from kidnappers.

“Get in here, you doofus.”

I barely recognized her through the half-rolled-down window. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, her eyes framed by glasses I never knew she needed, and the car—a rust-red hatchback, paint flaking—so antithetical to her usual polish.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said stupidly.

“Just get in already.”

She had to lean over to manually unlock the passenger side door. The car smelled like herbal medicine. She cranked her window back up. Then she tilted her head toward me, eyes meeting mine, and gave a tired smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

I fumbled with grandfather’s T pass.

“Put in the hospital name?” She handed me her phone. I set the destination. The phone was plugged into a battery pack. It was probably too much to ask this car to drive and have a port to charge a phone at the same time. She began to drive.

“You hate driving,” I mumbled.

“Sure do.”

I gripped the door handle as she switched lanes barely in time to manage a left turn.

“You drove all night?” I looked out the window, or else I knew the tears would start again.

“Yeah. Luckily my brother was still distracting my parents. Turns out he was having an affair and told us he’s getting divorced.” She took one hand off the wheel to drink her coffee. I braced as the car swerved. She quickly righted it. “So my parents were furious, and nobody noticed when I slipped out of the house with the only car they let me drive.”

“You could have told me you were coming.”

She slammed the brake as soon as the light turned yellow. We lurched forward.

“You’re the one who hung up on me. And then blocked all of my calls afterward.”

“I didn’t . . .” Then I remembered turning off my phone. “I didn’t mean to.” But maybe I had.