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and speak with Frank,’ Allyson suggested, steering me away.
    At least Frank Taylor was pleased to see me. We chatted about the progress their son Raven was making with a one-on-one teacher who came to the house, and new therapy based on creative activity to help with his autism.
    ‘Come visit any time,’ he suggested. ‘The door’s always open.’
    I tried my hardest with the chit-chat, but the visit wasn’t going well. I felt Sharon’s eyes drilling through the back of my head and Jon keeping a wary watch over his fragile wife. ‘I have to go,’ I told the Taylors. ‘Bye.’
     
    At the bottom of the Madisons’ drive, I found Brandon Rohr leaning against my/his red convertible. ‘What are you doing here?’ I challenged. Here was another person to mess with my already messed-up head.
    ‘You mean, “Hey, Brandon, how’s it going?”’ The grin he gave me was loaded with irony. ‘I say, “Cool. How’s the car I gave you?” You say, “She’s a beauty. I totally owe you, Brandon.”’
    ‘I’m not in the mood.’ I stepped to one side as he launched himself free of the car and stood upright just centimetres away from me.
    ‘Is my mom in there?’ he asked, tilting his head towards the house. He didn’t care that I was frowning and shaking my head, trying to get into the car.
    ‘Yeah. Brandon, I need to go.’ Because you’re too in my face, because you found me this car, because with his dying breath Phoenix asked you to take care of me. And because you’re not him.
    ‘She told me to pick her up from the party.’
    ‘She’s in there, I already told you.’ Now I caught sight of Brandon’s black truck parked down the street with Zak sitting waiting. ‘What time did she tell you?’
    He glanced at his watch then up at the Madisons’ front door. ‘Ten minutes ago. I’m in trouble. Here she comes.’
    Finally I got past him and jumped in my car. I was out of there before Sharon Rohr made it down the drive.
     
    And now I was out of patience, through with the waiting and I was driving across town, through the Centennial district to where the highway stretched out clear into the mountains, climbing steadily with the tyres thrumming over tarmac, eating up the distance between me and Foxton.
    I know – Summer said Hunter would give me the call. He’d specifically told me to wait. But she’d also used the word ‘soon’ and I took that to mean a couple of hours, right after daylight broke, no time even for breakfast. Not all this endless, crappy waiting, trying not to picture Phoenix coming back from wherever the Beautiful Dead stayed when they weren’t on the far side, settling in with Summer and the others, maybe doing chores like lighting a fire in the house or clearing snow from the yard.
    I don’t do waiting patiently, never have.
    So I made Foxton in record time, not bothering to stop for gas in Centennial. A weather forecast on Rocky Radio told me to expect snow before nightfall. Just give me time to reach the ridge before the heavens open, I prayed. The station played more Country tracks about guys in jail missing their gals, and gals getting even with their mean, cheatin’ guys. I switched off the music to concentrate on frozen puddles on the dirt road by the creek.
    They were only half right about the snow – clouds rolled down from the peaks but it came earlier than forecast, falling softly at first and coating the rough road with white powder. Then the wind rose and I had blizzard conditions. Snow hit the windshield too fast for the wipers to handle and pretty soon I had to stop the car to clear the screen.
    Turn around, go back, a voice in my head told me. This car isn’t built to drive through deep snow. What happens if you skid off the road?
    Since when did I turn into my mom? I ignored the common-sense voice, got back into the car and drove on. But then I had to stop before I reached the ridge, after I heard the wiper motor whine and cut out. After that, it was either sit in