It still kills me that Dad wanted to live so far away from anyone or any place. It takes us at least forty minutes to get anywhere: school, the city, the lab. Luckily, we still have Mom’s car, which became mine as soon as I learned to drive. The black Lincoln Continental moves like a boat in a storm, but Dad won’t hear of replacing it. It’s solid. Built to last, Dad likes to joke, with that lopsided grin that always makes him look like the used car salesman he once was when he was my age. Still, a car is a car, and without this boat, I would never be able to leave the house. I would be a captive in the tower forever.
I pat the hood, silently greeting my car, and step inside. With both hands firmly on the steering wheel, I drive out onto the desolate frozen road. Any sudden jerk can throw the entire thing into a tailspin. A rut or bump can mean sitting by the side of the road for hours before someone stops to lend a hand. I drive carefully over the snowblown roads. A few miles from school, I spot Hannah standing in her usual spot.
“Hey,” she says as she steps into the car and immediately places her hands over the heating vent. “I damn near froze my ass off last night.”
I slowly ease back onto the dirt road and keep my eyes peeled for any bumps.
“Why won’t this winter end? We’re low on wood,” Hannah complains.
“It can’t stay cold forever,” I respond. “I mean, it’s March; spring must be right around the corner.”
Hannah smiles. “You sound like Frog.”
I glance over at her, raise one eyebrow.
Hannah baps me on the shoulder. “God, were you raised by wolves? For such a geek, I can’t believe how little you’ve read. Frog and Toad. Remember reading Frog and Toad back in, like, second grade or something?”
I shrug. My memories are not always reliable.
“It’s the one good thing my mom did before she cut out,” Hannah says. “But you were probably reading National Geographic instead of having a normal childhood.”
I snort. “If normal means moving all the time so that you’re so far behind in school you have the great distinction of being the oldest kid in high school, yeah sure, it was super normal.”
“Shut up, you’re not the oldest. I thought Andy Deter was the oldest.”
We drive over a bump and I grip the steering wheel harder. “Nope,” I say through clenched teeth. “I beat him by six months, easy.”
Hannah reaches over and touches my hair. “Yup, it’s gray. Okay, Granny, you win.”
I swat her hand away and Hannah laughs, leaning back into the seat and digging around in her jacket pocket before pulling out sections of granola bar from a foil wrapper. She pops one into her mouth. Soon a crinkling and smacking noise, like a small ravenous animal, fills the car. Hannah worries the wrapper in her hands as she stares out her window. Her sudden silence tugs at me.
“Tell me a Frog and Toad story,” I say.
She keeps her gaze toward her window but responds faintly, “Frog and Toad are best friends, and they have all these adventures together.”
“Really? Frogs and toads prefer different habitats.”
Hannah laughs, spraying bits of granola all over the dashboard. “You are such a nerd.”
I accept this honor with a beauty-queen wave.
Hannah smashes the wrapper in her hands and balls it up before shoving it into her coat pocket. She turns and tucks herself deep into her seat. “Well, my favorite one was about the time Frog wanted to be alone, and Toad starts freaking out because he thinks his friend doesn’t like him anymore.”
“That sounds terrible. Why’s that your favorite?”
“Just listen.” Hannah draws her knees up to her chest. “Frog wanted to be alone to think about all the wonderful things in his life. The sun shining, how being a frog was so great, and having the best friend in the world, Toad. But Toad, who’s kind of insecure and always jumping to the worst thoughts, thinks that Frog is mad at him and doesn’t want to be his friend anymore.”
“So Frog’s the optimist and Toad’s the pessimist?”
“Sort of.”
“Like yin and yang.”
“Or two sides of a coin.”
“So what happens in the end?”
“Toad makes some sandwiches and iced tea and tries to take them out to Frog, who’s sitting on a rock in the lake, thinking his happy thoughts. But as Toad’s on his way out there, he falls and everything ends up in the water.”
“No wonder he’s a pessimist.”
Hannah snaps her fingers and points at me. “But Frog doesn’t care and tells Toad he’s a great friend anyway and they eat the wet sandwiches sitting on the rock together. The end.”
“I would say eating cold, wet sandwiches is truly a testament to friendship and love.”
“I would eat wet sandwiches with you,” Hannah says softly.
I keep my eyes on the road and smile. “Me too.”
Before long the town’s buildings appear on the horizon. Hannah’s arms wrap around her middle as though she is cold.
“Do you want me to turn up the heat?” I ask.
“No, I’m fine.” Hannah’s expression hardens as she spies at the gray buildings ahead. I stop at a red light.
“You okay?”
Hannah’s eyes suddenly glisten with pooling tears. “Shit,” she says.
“Whoa, wait, what’s up?”
