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Francie shifted in her bus seat trying to find a comfortable position. She buried her nose into the collar of the sweater and still couldn�t remember the scent of her father, the man with soft, tapered fingers that could glide over piano keys, letting the music melt over the room like a concerto. She imagined the familiar sandalwood of his aftershave from when he lifted her up in his arms and spun her around the room until she rolled onto the carpet giggling breathlessly, feeling sick and giddy all at once. The only smell that lingered now was exhaust, a smell that reminded Francie of school buses with hissing brakes. The Greyhound never seemed to hiss but made a chugging sound as it sped along the highway, screeching painfully as it stopped every so often.

As Francie peered out of the window, she could see coral handprints of sun blazing over the Kentucky horizon, projecting the wispy shadows of trees and power lines onto the highway as the bus lurched forward, moving into night. It snowed briefly in Tennessee and Francie pressed her face against the glass, watching the tiny white flakes float to the ground like feathers, catching the air currents in a swinging pendulum motion before landing on the grass. Indiana was only one state away and she wondered if it would be snowing there too.