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know you're driving it?" The man cocked his brows.
    Claire stared at the damages. She tucked her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. "She died a year ago."
    The older man took off his baseball hat, revealing a bald head, and wiped his brow. "Sorry to hear that."
    Drivers honked their horns behind them. Wind stirred by the passing vehicles in the other lane. The man tapped his cap against his leg and spat a stream of tobacco juice on the pavement. "I suppose we should move ourselves off the highway."
    "But we're not supposed to, right? Don't we have to wait for the Highway Patrol?" Claire willed her hands to stop shaking.
    "Let's move up ahead. Then we'll exchange insurance information."
    She didn't have insurance. Claire watched the husky older man hitch his jeans up over his protruding belly.
    "Follow me."
    She heard the RV's engine come to life.
    Claire sat in her car and turned her key. She heard clicking sounds. She tried again. Nothing. She rotated her key once more. Great! The car chooses NOW to die! I should've had the car serviced before leaving L.A. She hit the steering wheel and covered her face with her hands.
    Was someone watching her? Claire sensed a presence and turned her head toward the driver's side window. She jumped when she noticed a thin older woman. Her gray hair hung to the side and down to her waist in a long braid.
    "Come child, my husband and I will haul you to the nearest campsite. It's a good thing we left our car at home this trip. "She opened Claire's door and motioned Claire toward the RV she had hit.
    Should she go with them? A driver honked behind them, giving Claire her answer. She grabbed her purse along with her keys and followed the woman while her husband pulled out a tow bar and hooked her car onto their trailer hitch.
    The small RV had all the modern conveniences—a booth-like table with a small kitchen light, a gas stove, a TV with a DVD player, and a queen-size bed in the back bedroom with the prettiest patchwork quilt Claire had ever seen. She sat down in one of the tan leather seats.
    "Welcome to our home on wheels," said the woman from the front seat. "We don't like to stay in one spot for long ever since our children flew the coop."
    "I understand. I'm flying the coop myself." Claire averted her eyes, self-conscious of her admission.
    The older woman grinned. "You . . . such a pretty young thing. I bet your friends and family miss you back home."
    Home. Claire didn't have one. But she'd prove she could make it on her own. She didn't need anyone's help. She clutched her purse against her chest and wondered how she got into this mess. One minute she was driving north with the wind whipping through her hair and the next she was sitting in a motor home with the front end of her car in a crumpled heap and refusing to start.
    "That about does it. Your car is hooked up and ready to travel." The man climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "I think we've stopped traffic for miles, but that's okay, people got to learn to slow down. Every one of those cars has a great view of Big Sur, if they'd take time to look."
    "Now, Harry, don't start on that soapbox. This girl's been through enough." The woman patted her husband on the shoulder.
    "It don't look like you'll be traveling much more today." Harry adjusted his baseball cap. "How about we camp the night at Plaskett Creek? You're welcome to join us."
    Claire gulped. She'd rather not, but did she have a choice? Any accommodations for the night would be better than sleeping on the side of the road.
    "We should introduce ourselves." The woman leaned over to face Claire. "My name's Pearl and this is my husband Harry. We've been married fifty-three years. Of course, we were only children when we tied the knot." She tapped her husband on the arm.
    He seemed to get his wife's meaning by the smile and the wink he gave her.
    "Say, how old are you, dear?"
    "Twenty-three," Claire answered.
    "Just a baby." Pearl turned around and