Jim stamped the brake. The van fishtailed, hard. The woman’s head bounced off the windshield; she turned on him, eyes wild with rage. "God damn it!" Jim shouted at her, staring in horror at the kids. The two boys were clutching each other in panic, half-reeling, but still toting the bags. She’d missed them, thank God. In a second, the two kids had scrambled off the car lot, down the slopes of a willow-strewn arroyo.