Brenda just nodded, her gaze fixed on the asphalt ribboning out before us. I leaned back, content. I’d brought along a dog-eared road atlas, a relic from another time, but I trusted them. This was a weekend for warmth, for closeness, a chance to see my son, David, more than the fleeting, distracted visits that had become our new normal. The sun glinted off the dashboard, and I hummed a little tune, completely oblivious to the storm gathering just over the horizon.

The hum of the tires on the asphalt was a lullaby. I’d drifted, lost in pleasant thoughts, picturing the faces of nieces and nephews, the easy laughter of family. Then, without warning, the SUV lurched to a sudden, jarring halt that sent my purse sliding to the floor. The engine sputtered, coughed, and died.