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Maura sit next to me?”
    “But this is always my seat.”
    “She’s our guest. Give her the chance to ride shotgun.”
    “Doug, let her stay there,” said Maura. “I’m perfectly fine sitting in back.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Absolutely.” Maura climbed into a seat at the back of the Suburban. “I’m good right here.”
    “Okay. But maybe you two can switch later.” Doug shot his daughter a disapproving glance, but Grace had already inserted her iPod ear buds and was staring out the window, ignoring him.
    In fact, Maura didn’t at all mind sitting alone in the third row, right behind Arlo and Elaine, where she had a view of Arlo’s bald spot and Elaine’s stylishly clipped dark hair. She was the last-minute add-on to the quartet, unfamiliar with their stories and their inside jokes, and she was content to merely be an observer as they headed out of Teton Village and drove south, into the ever-thickening snowfall. The windshield wipers swung back and forth, a metronome sweeping away showers of snowflakes. Maura leaned back and watched the scenery go by. She looked forward to lunch by the lodge fire, and then to an afternoon of skiing. Cross-country, not downhill, so no need to feel the least bit anxious, no fears of broken legs or fractured skulls or spectacularly embarrassing falls. Just a quiet glide through silent woods, the swoosh of her skis sliding across the powder, the pleasant burn of cold air in her lungs. During the pathology conference, she’d seen far too many images of damaged bodies. She was glad to be on a journey that had nothing to do with death.
    “Snow’s coming down pretty fast,” said Arlo.
    “We’ve got good tires on this baby,” said Doug. “Hertz clerk said they can handle the weather.”
    “Speaking of the weather, did you check the forecast?”
    “Yeah, snow. What a surprise.”
    “Just tell me we’re gonna make it to the lodge in time for lunch.”
    “Lola says we’ll arrive at eleven thirty-two. And Lola’s never wrong.”
    Maura called out: “Who’s Lola?”
    Doug pointed to the portable GPS, which he’d mounted on the dashboard. “That’s Lola.”
    “Why are GPSs always referred to as females?” asked Elaine.
    Arlo laughed. “Because women are always telling us men where to go. Since Lola says we’ll be there before noon, we can have an early lunch.”
    Elaine sighed. “Do you ever stop thinking about eating?”
    “The word is dining . In one lifetime, you can eat only so many meals, so you might as well—”
    “—make each and every one worth it,” Elaine finished for him. “Yes, Arlo, we know your philosophy of life.”
    Arlo turned in his seat to look at Maura. “My mom was a great cook. She taught me never to waste my appetite on mediocre food.”
    “That must be why you’re so thin,” said Elaine.
    “Ouch,” Arlo said. “You’re in a weird mood today. I thought you were looking forward to this trip.”
    “I’m just tired. You snored half the night. I may have to insist on my own room.”
    “Aw, come on. I’ll buy you some earplugs.” Arlo slung an arm around Elaine and pulled her close against him. “Honeybun. Baby. Don’t make me sleep alone.”
    Elaine extricated herself. “You’re giving me a crick in the neck.”
    “Hey, people, will you look at this gorgeous snow!” said Doug. “It’s a winter wonderland!”
    An hour out of Jackson, they saw a sign: LAST CHANCE FOR FUEL. Doug pulled in to Grubb’s Gas Station and General Store, and they all piled out of the vehicle to use the restrooms and cruise the narrow aisles, scanning the snacks and dusty magazines and windshield ice scrapers.
    Arlo stood in front of a display of plastic-wrapped beef sticks and laughed. “Who eats these things, anyway? They’re like ninety percent sodium nitrite, and the rest is red dye number two.”
    “They have Cadbury chocolates,” said Elaine. “Shall we get some?”
    “Probably ten years old. Oh, yuck, they’ve got licorice whips.