They had just begun the long trip from California to Montana, where they would visit his grandparents for Thanksgiving, and Jeannie was weaving their blue Impala in and out of traffic, accelerating until the air beat against the car. Benny fastened his seat belt and looked at the faces of the other drivers. They seemed shrunken behind their windshields, shocked and worried as the Impala sped past. “Momma,” he said, “I think we’re speeding.” She was trying to light a cigarette now, but couldn’t because her hands were shaking. “We got to get to Grandma’s by tomorrow. You don’t want to spend Thanksgiving in this car, do you?” Bo shouted from the backseat. “You’re a bad driver, Momma.” Benny turned around to face his little brother. Bo was short for a boy of seven and had a hard time holding himself up in the seat because his feet didn’t quite reach the floor. He sat crouched over Black, their family dog, feeding the animal Cheez Whiz and crackers. “Shut up, Bo,”
