Midnight pushed his hood back away from his face and turned in his seat to face her. He licked his lips, outlined with sugar glaze and cracked from the cold.

“It’s all about texture,” he began, taking an exaggerated breath before continuing. “When you drop something on the hard ground, it makes a loud noise. But snow is soft, and it absorbs sound. Kind of like carpet.”

Ruth suppressed a smile. “Yes, unlike rainfall. Raindrops fall at a higher velocity, so they make that slapping noise when they hit the pavement.”

“How did you know that?”

“Science was my favorite subject in school.”

That seemed to surprise and please Midnight. A blast of wind rocked the car like a tiny earthquake, and Ruth tightened her hold on the steering wheel to steady it. The motion knocked the phone out of Midnight’s hands, and it slid under his seat. When he bent to look for it, he bumped his head on the glove compartment.

“Ouch.” He muttered under his breath, “Some people don’t know how to drive.”

“I heard that. I could have left you out there in the dark walking by yourself in a blizzard.”

“It’s not even that bad out here. I walk by myself all the time.”

And why was that? she wondered. In every city, neglected children walked the streets looking for the love they either didn’t get at home or rejected when it was offered. Lena nurtured almost instinctively, though.

The boy’s gloved fingers fumbled with the radio controls, bypassing Top 40, jazz, and urban contemporary, which was the PC marketing code for Black music. He settled on a country station she knew had been Lena’s favorite for years. Strains of guitar music filled the car, and when Midnight’s head swayed from side to side Ruth turned up the volume and he sang along with his eyes closed.

“You know all the lyrics,” Ruth said.

“Mommy loved Blake Shelton. She used to sing in the car all the time.” The glow from a streetlight passed over Midnight’s face, but it was blank, unreadable.

“I heard about your mom and I’m so sorry.”

“She’s been dead awhile. Died when I was seven.” Death lived in Midnight’s words, too. In the way he said them. No inflection in his tone. No sadness there, either. Ruth could only assume the more he said the words, the less they stung.

“I can only imagine how much you miss her,” Ruth said.

“I wonder what it’s like to be dead.” He turned his face to the run-down row houses passing outside his window. “Granny said nobody’s ever come back to tell us about it.”

Snow fluttered in front of the car’s headlights like confetti. Ruth clutched the steering wheel, dividing her attention between keeping the car from swerving and looking at Midnight.

“I still talk to her. And sometimes she talks back.” He glanced at Ruth, as if daring her to dispute this fact.

“I talk to my papa, too. He was actually my grandfather and he died a long time ago, but I still miss him.”

“Does he answer you back?”

“Well, I don’t hear an actual voice. But when I have a problem I’m trying to solve and need to know what to do, I ask him. Then I get this overwhelming feeling that pushes me in the right direction, and I know that’s Papa. When I still lived here, I’d go to the Wabash River to feel better. That was our special place.”

This was the first time Ruth had told anyone about her talks with Papa. At home, when Xavier turned the lights out, she would lie on her side of the bed in the dark, shadows moving across the ceiling and horns honking on the busy street below, and silently tell Papa everything.

She swiped her cheek fast. Without looking at her, Midnight dropped his crumpled napkin on the console between them. It was brown, with the Dunkin’ Donuts logo on it, and she felt the roughness of the recycled paper as she dabbed her cheek with it, leaving sugar crumbs stuck to her face.

Midnight said, “I go to the river sometimes with my friends.”

Ruth cleared her throat. “Papa and I mostly fished there. You could look out as far as you could see and get lost in the water, the beauty of it, the stillness. Then you’d realize the river is bigger than any of your problems.”

The kid didn’t say anything, so she kept talking. “You know, my grandfather and your grandfather used to work together. Fished together, too.”

Midnight tilted his head up like he was considering what she’d said. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“I never met my grandpa. He was already dead when I was born. Granny said I got my appetite from him.”

Then he yelled. “Right here. You missed it.” He twisted his upper body and pointed behind him. “My street. Kirkland. It was back there.”

Visibility was poor and she’d passed her turn. Forgetting the black ice beneath them, she slammed the brakes and the car skidded in the intersection. “Damn.”

“You said a bad word.” Midnight laughed louder than necessary.

“I’m sure you’ve heard worse on TV.”

He looked surprised that he hadn’t rattled her. The car churned the ice for a few seconds before turning around. The green house he pointed to seemed forlorn and sickly, with two rusted pickup trucks in the yard turning white in the snow. Lena’s house had never been this run-down back in the day, but as a kid, she didn’t have much to compare it with.