“Mouths of babes,” Rose says. Her hand slides along the hood, the round smooth metal soothing. “It was on the day of your granddad’s birthday. They were high up, camping in a valley. After dinner Harley walked to the stream to wash, and a grizzly bear attacked him.”

“Dad said he was mauled by a bear. That’s bad, but not like something yucky, dying in flagrante delicto with a goat or something.” Mel’s voice is both husky and air-filled. Rose can feel her head beginning to lift, to float above her last cervical vertebra.

“Ish,” she says.

“You can’t blame the bear.” Mel’s words barely clear the mutter of the engine this time. “Granddad got between her and her cubs, Dad said. Do you feel bad because you let him go and he got killed?”

“No. Bears are not ageist. Young people get mauled and eaten, too,” Rose says, the foggy drift of carbon monoxide poisoning feeling unpleasantly familiar. “It’s that Harley being … you know … it’s just not real to me. I doubt it was real to me then. Harley was killed and eaten by a bear.” Rose laughs. “See? Not real.”

“Because you didn’t see the body?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe because that is how Harley would have wanted to go. You know how he loved the wilderness, the animals. It was too perfect: eightieth birthday, best friends, good food, then a bear. It’s like a deus ex machina. Except in reverse. Too perfect. I can’t make it real.”

“I bet Granddad gave that bear as good as he got,” Mel says stalwartly.

“I bet he did,” Rose agrees. “Except for the killing-and-eating part.”

“And you didn’t want to talk about it because nobody would understand why you thought your husband being eaten alive by a carnivore was some kind of wonderful?”

“Exactly,” Rose says. A weight lifts from her chest. Somebody understands her. She is not alien to all humankind. “That is it exactly.”

“Or why you find it excruciatingly funny.”

“That, too. That more than anything. I was afraid I’d laugh, and people would think I was crazy.”

“I guess that whole not-looking-crazy thing didn’t work out for you.”

“Karma.” Rose lifts her shoulders in an invisible shrug. Her fingers find the door handle. Nothing moves.

“The passenger door is locked. Are you still there?” she calls to Mel. The smell of exhaust is strong. Rose knows it’s poisoning her. The only symptom of carbon monoxide poisoning she can remember is red lips. In the dark, that’s not a big help.

“Still here.” Mel’s voice trickles over the truck’s low rumble. “What can I do to help?”

“Sit tight. I’ve got to bust out the window.”

“With what?” Mel asks.