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When
she
felt
she
had
control
of
herself
,
she
began
to
drive
again
--
the
little
car
's
steering
did
not
seem
impaired
,
but
she
supposed
the
Avis
company
would
have
some
serious
questions
for
her
when
she
returned
the
car
to
BIA
tomorrow
.
Never
mind
.
One
thing
at
a
time
.
Got
to
get
some
coffee
into
me
--
that
's
the
first
thing
.
When
the
Pittsfield
exit
came
up
,
Rachel
took
it
.
About
a
mile
down
the
road
she
came
to
bright
arc-sodium
lights
and
the
steady
mutter-growl
of
diesel
engines
.
She
pulled
in
,
had
the
Chevette
filled
up
(
"
Somebody
put
a
pretty
good
ding
along
the
side
of
her
,
"
the
gas
jockey
said
in
an
almost
admiring
voice
)
,
and
then
went
into
the
diner
,
which
smelled
of
deep-fat
grease
,
vulcanized
eggs
.
.
and
,
blessedly
,
of
good
strong
coffee
.
Rachel
had
three
cups
,
one
after
another
,
like
medicine
--
black
,
sweetened
with
a
lot
of
sugar
.
A
few
truckers
sat
at
the
counter
or
in
the
booths
,
kidding
the
waitress
,
who
somehow
all
managed
to
look
like
tired
nurses
filled
with
bad
news
under
these
fluorescent
lights
burning
in
the
night
's
little
hours
.
She
paid
her
check
and
went
back
out
to
where
she
had
parked
the
Chevette
.
It
would
n't
start
.
The
key
,
when
turned
,
would
cause
the
solenoid
to
utter
a
dry
click
,
but
that
was
all
.
Rachel
began
to
beat
her
fists
slowly
and
forcelessly
against
the
steering
wheel
.
Something
was
trying
to
stop
her
.
There
was
no
reason
for
this
car
,
brand-new
and
with
less
than
five
thousand
miles
on
its
odometer
,
to
have
died
like
this
,
but
it
had
.
Somehow
it
had
,
and
here
she
was
,
stranded
in
Pittsfield
,
still
almost
fifty
miles
from
home
.
She
listened
to
the
steady
drone
of
the
big
trucks
,
and
it
came
to
her
with
a
sudden
,
vicious
certainty
that
the
truck
which
had
killed
her
son
was
here
among
them
...
not
muttering
but
chuckling
.
Rachel
lowered
her
head
and
began
to
cry
.
Louis
stumbled
over
something
and
fell
full-length
on
the
ground
.
For
a
moment
he
did
n't
think
he
would
be
able
to
get
up
--
getting
up
was
far
beyond
him
--
he
would
simply
lie
here
,
listening
to
the
chorus
of
peepers
from
Little
God
Swamp
somewhere
behind
him
and
feeling
the
chorus
of
aches
and
pains
inside
his
own
body
.
He
would
lie
here
until
he
went
to
sleep
.
Or
died
.
Probably
the
latter
.
