"Georgie. Okay. Listen to me." His voice was calm in a way that frightened Vivienne more than shouting would have. "I'm at the second switchback. Their car's in the ditch, a Saab, nobody's hurt. The lady's doing okay. But I've put the wrecker into the wall coming round the bend, I came up on them too fast in the snow, it's my own fault. Truck's fine. I'm not. I did something to my wrist, it's no good. I can't shift. And the wrecker's blocking the road anyhow. I need somebody to bring the Bronco up. It's got the chains on. Is Doris there? Is anybody there?"
Georgie looked at Vivienne.
Vivienne looked at the window. The snow was coming down in the light over the pumps so thick it looked like static on a television set. In the right bay was the Bronco: a 1979 Ford, brown and white, four-wheel drive, with chains on all four tires that Luc had put on that afternoon while Georgie laughed at him for being an old woman about a few flurries.
Doris had not driven since her husband's funeral. The fire department had gone to Route 4. Everyone else in Coldwater was on the green in bedsheets.
"I'll go," Vivienne said.
Georgie stared at her. Then she keyed the handset.
"Big Tow, base. Vivienne's coming. Over."
There was a very long pause on the CB, full of static and wind.
"Georgie," Luc said. "Put her on."
Vivienne took the handset. Her hand was not quite steady. "I'm here."
"You don't have to do this."
"I know."
"It's the Gap Road. In the snow. In the dark. You've been driving for five weeks."