It was a battered white van. And it was following us, and following Oscar. Matching our speed, moving in and out of traffic. “Well,” I said, “not stupid after all.” And I raised my voice to go over the squeal of tires and the horns of the other motorists. “Oh, Deborah?” I said. “I don't want to distract you from your driving chores, but if you have a moment, could you look in your rearview mirror?”
