“Oh, I’m sure they’re fine,” said Vera. “We women don’t give men enough credit with babies. I know daddies can be clumsy, but they can handle it. Sometimes we just have to get out of their way. Give ’em a chance.”

“We can go now,” I said, feeling stupid for thinking they might be in that freezing cabin. And I felt stupid when we got to the Blue Anchor Grill, because there was no sign of anyone or anything helpful. The blond waitress wasn’t working that night, but the bartender said she’d be in the next day.

Vera said she’d be happy to drive me there again in the morning, and she offered to let me stay at her place overnight. I said okay. I didn’t know what else to do. My stomach hurt. My head hurt. It would be nice to take a hot shower. On the ride back to Vera’s, I leaned back and stared out my window, counting the passing telephone poles and green mile markers like I had done as a kid when I’d ride with my dad on long highways that seemed to go nowhere. I’d gaze up at the never-ending black night and ask him how much longer, how much longer, and he’d make up games for me. I hoped Vera was right: I hoped Digger could handle this.

When we pulled up to Vera’s, she helped me through their front door and into their warm home. Her husband got up from his chair. “Who do we have here?” he said, as if Vera often brought home stray strangers.

“This is Cally,” said Vera. “A friend of Amanda’s. She’s going to stay the night.”

We walked through the kitchen and upstairs to the guest room. She switched on an antique lamp. The walls were covered in yellow pineapples and the bedspread in pastel pink. A NordicTrack sat in the corner next to some boxes and piles of books.

“Never mind the junk,” she said.

I sat on the bed and immediately lay down. The pillowcase smelled like laundry soap, and lacy trim scratched my face.

“I’ll get you some towels and point you in the direction of the shower,” she said, reading my mind.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, and I hoped she heard me. She was already out in the hallway.