Vivian
Chapter One
The first snowflakes to dance in my headlights are so tiny and I’m so focused on getting as far away from California as possible that I don’t realize I’m driving in snow until a thin layer of white coats the highway.
How can it be snowing in April? When I left the shelter this morning, it was beneath a pale blue sky.
I use my rearview mirror to check on Mateo, thankfully still snoozing in his car seat, his little legs limp and his sweet face relaxed in sleep. Maybe I should have stopped sooner, found us a motel that accepts cash, but when Matty drifted off, it seemed like a sign to keep going.
That was before I entered the mountains and these dark clouds closed in.
If I could just make it across this valley, we’ll be home free. New job, new place to live, new life.
The snowflakes coming at me have gotten bigger, flying out of the darkness like shooting stars. The highway is now coated with an inch of white snow, the lane markers barely visible. I’ve never driven in the snow before. How do I know when to stop and put on the chains I purchased but never thought I’d use? At least I bought myself a warm jacket. Why didn’t I also buy gloves? Snow boots?
Someone needs to write a how-to for reluctantly brave mothers who suddenly find themselves on the run. Step 42 of 700: practice putting on snow chains.
The four-lane highway is deserted on this Tuesday night, with occasional cars coming from the opposite direction, their bright headlights muted by the falling snow. I passed a truck stop about an hour ago, and the next service station isn’t for another thirty miles. But I’m now driving so slowly that covering that distance is going to take hours.
The snow is clumping on my windshield wipers, making a horrible scraping noise. I give the backseat a quick glance, but Matty hasn’t stirred. When he does wake up, he’ll have questions. And he’ll be hungry, and tired of being cooped up. I’ll want to hold him, reassure him.
I should have stopped. Because if he wakes up now, I won’t be able to do any of those things. Tightening my grip on the wheel, I turn my focus to the road ahead. If I drive slow enough, we’ll be okay. We’ll be a little uncomfortable, but it won’t last forever.
A green mileage sign, the top edge plastered with snow, appears out of the darkness.
FINN RIVER 41
MONTANA STATE LINE 54
We’re so close.
A car comes into view from behind me, headlights bright. Monitoring the distance between me and the guardrail along the right side of the highway, I keep a steady speed. When the truck races by, snow and slush spray onto my car, blinding me for a terrifying second. With a gasp, I pull off the gas pedal, but it must be too fast because the sudden change in speed causes the back end of the car to drift a little. It quickly snaps back—so fast it’s like it never happened—but the reaction in my body is immediate. Gripping the wheel, breaths heaving, my face suddenly hot.
Why didn’t I stop at that cute little town two hours ago? The one with a four-lane stoplight and a general store and a little park where Matty and I could have stretched our legs before finding a place to sleep for the night? Now I’m out here in this freak storm, putting my son and myself in danger. What if we crash or careen off the road?
Living in L.A. my whole life hasn’t exactly prepared me for life-or-death weather emergencies. Earthquakes and wildfires, I can handle. Surviving a night out in freezing temperatures while snow buries us is beyond my skillset.
I focus on the mile markers, each one bringing us closer to the end of this escape that started a month ago at the Los Angeles International Airport. My months of planning before that paid off, and I made it to the shelter before Kent put it together that I’d left him and walked away from our life for good.
FINN RIVER 29 MILES flashes out of the darkness. I risk a look at Matty as he shifts in his car seat, relieved to see him sigh and drift back to sleep. When he wakes up, I’ll have to pretend I’m not terrified right now.
My empty stomach gives a low growl. The grocery bag of Trader Joe’s snacks sitting in the passenger side floor is too risky to reach for. I need both hands on the wheel and my eyes glued to the road ahead. My bladder is also starting to ache a little, but I can’t tell if it’s because I have to pee or if I’m holding my body too tense.
I’ve now completely lost the lane marker lines beneath the blanket of snow.
Lights from another vehicle behind me seem to fill my entire rearview, making me squint. When the vehicle emerges from the storm, I see it’s massive, with a huge plow-shaped shovel blade attached to the front. The plow is curved to spit snow to the side which is spraying in a giant arc into my lane. I brace myself as the snowplow approaches, its giant wheels bound up with huge snow chains clanking and grinding. Does the driver even see me? The forceful spray of chewed up snow slaps the side of my car and covers my windshield.
I try to decelerate slowly this time, but I’m blinded for so long I’m worried of crashing into the guardrail. But the worst is the clumped up, chunky snow deposited in the snowplow’s wake. My car jostles, and I have to slow down even more.
The left lane is scraped bare, but it looks sketchy and icy. Should I try to switch over? My wipers struggle to clear the glass. There’s so much snow clumped on them now, they look like giant white caterpillars. I trigger my de-icing fluid but nothing changes. Is it frozen? Or is there too much snow blocking it?
Turning my wheel only the slightest bit, I navigate over the hard lip of blocky snow separating the lanes to the left one. The feel of bare pavement beneath my tires sends a pulse of relief through me. I’m still catching my breath when another plow vehicle materializes behind me, this one in the right lane, with snow shooting into the void like a giant firehose. Of course, they work in pairs.
I make sure I’m as far to the left in the lane as I can safely be, and the giant snowplow lumbers past, chains clanking. I watch it, the spinning orange light at the back fading into the sea of falling snow. The highway is now a bare swath of charcoal gray streaked with white where the ice has been wedged into the cracks. An eerie wind dances across the surface like smoke. It’s a reminder that the road is still slick.
Within a few more miles, snow is accumulating on the highway again. It’s so dark out here that my headlights barely illuminate the road ahead. My windshield wipers are only sweeping halfway up my windshield now, making me scrunch down to see through it. I should stop and clear them, but there’s nowhere to pull over—the berm of snow deposited by the snowplow takes up the entire shoulder.
FINN RIVER 17
There’s at least an inch on the road now, and I can almost sense the change in traction beneath my tires. Okay. It’s officially time to stop and put on the chains. I’ll be able to clear my windshield wipers then too. Keeping my eyes glued ahead for any place to pull over, I keep a steady pressure on the gas pedal. To distract myself, I think about the duplex I found not far from the cute downtown. I’ll be able to bike to work in the summer. And there’s a little creek running through the backyard where Matty and I can play, and a lovely park just down the street. I try to imagine my new job at Finn River Pediatrics. What will my new boss, Dr. Boone, be like? On the phone he sounded kind enough, but I detected an edge of impatience. He didn’t question me about the four-year gap in my work history or why I wanted to move to Finn River.
My car’s tires lose traction so fast I’m too late in trying to compensate, and my car swings sideways. I let off the gas and we glide to a stop in the middle of the highway. Quickly, I try to back up, but my tires spin. No, no, no .
I force in a series of breaths so I can think but I’m stuck in the middle of a highway blocking both lanes and my brain is too busy sounding the alarm. With my heart slamming into my ribs, I ease down on the accelerator. To my relief, my tires bite into the layer of snow, and I creep forward. Moving the wheel ever so gently to the right, I manage to straighten out, but my hands are shaking and my breaths are coming in ragged gasps. There’s no place to pull over, but it’s obvious I should have done so already.
I’ll just have to crawl along. There has to be a pullout somewhere soon.
Ahead, in the distance, red and blue lights are flashing, along with the glare of someone’s high beams. Is the road ahead is closed? If they make me turn back, I’m going to cry.
My empty tummy flips—flashing red and blue lights usually mean police. If there’s some kind of checkpoint, and they ask for my ID, I’m sunk.
But I’m so starved for human contact right now, even the possibility of help if I need it, the risk is tempting.
As I near the lights, it takes me only a second to realize something’s very wrong. The headlights are coming from off the road. They’re from the truck that passed me earlier, which has rolled down the embankment. Two police SUVs are parked on the shoulder, and two people in uniform stand there watching the medics bring up someone on a stretcher, the snow swirling all around them. One of the men in uniform is wearing a tan cowboy hat.
A cowboy hat? In a snowstorm?
As I approach, medics carry the gurney to the back of the ambulance. The patient is bundled up with blankets but I can see their eyes are open—they’re okay. Did their truck slide off the road? I steer to the left lane and slow down even more, but when I pass the two cops, I can almost feel their eyes on me.
The ambulance doors snap shut as I pass. I’m barely past the scene when it overtakes me,
its swinging red lights cutting the darkness. When it vanishes into the storm, the sense that I’m completely alone out here settles through me, making me tense.
Ahead, the road extends straight, like into another dimension.
The right shoulder widens, and I feel like shouting in glee. It’s not a very big pullout but I’m not about to be picky. Except that it hasn’t been plowed, and the berm of deposited snow isn’t exactly an easy obstacle for a sedan. Gripping the wheel, I steer for the shoulder and try to keep my momentum. The car lurches and the wheels bounce over the crusty chunks, but I get us safely off the road.
It’s a little surreal—my headlights illuminate a sea of soft white. It would be pretty if I wasn’t immediately worried about how I’m going to get back on the road. Reality sets in as I idle, the defrost blaring in my ears. I’m currently wearing sneakers and a pair of baggy overalls I bought at Goodwill because Kent would hate them, and a cropped, fitted tee because it makes me feel cute.
Appropriate for a perilous drive through a snowstorm? No. But I needed a dose of confidence this morning, so here we are.
“Mama?” Mateo’s groggy tone startles me back to the car.
“Hey, bug.” I twist in my seat to smile at him.
He yawns, his eyes scrunching shut for an instant. Then he looks out one window, then the other. “Where are we?”
“On the highway. We’ve pulled over so I can put on our snow chains.” It hits me that he’s never seen snow before.
I unclip my seatbelt and reach to the seat next to him, where I was at least smart enough to stash my coat. “I’ll be right back, okay? Do you need a snack?”
He nods.
I dive into the Trader Joe’s bag and whip out a package of dried mango. “How’s this?”
His eyes light up.
I tear open the package and pry open the zip closure. The sweet, almost tropical scent of the fruit is so foreign and enticing in the stuffy car. I tease out a small piece and pop it into my mouth. The flavor explodes on my dry tongue.
“Is Daddy coming?” Mateo asks as I hand him the package, his brows drawing together.
“Nope, it’s just you and me.”
While he’s focused on prying apart two pieces of dried mango, I slip on my jacket and open my door. Snow blasts my face and bare hands and wind whips into every crack in my clothing, making me gasp. I step from the car, my feet sinking into the snow which fills up around my bare ankles. The wet and cold come as a shock. Squinting into the wind, I shut the door and zip my jacket as high as it’ll go, then step through the snow to the trunk.
I pry open the black plastic box containing the chains and try to unfold the directions, but the wind flutters the paper and my trunk light isn’t bright enough for me to read by. I hold them closer to the light and squint at the pictures of what I’m supposed to do, but it’s a blur and my hands start to burn from the cold.
I stuff the paper into my pocket and untangle the stiff cables. The traction beads affixed to the center of each rung are made of sharp metal that pricks my bare hands. Gloves would sure come in handy right now. I wade back to the front tire and try to do as the instructions pictured.
I’m on my second attempt of getting the tangle of cable and metal to drape neatly over the tire, my fingers raw and tears pricking my eyes when Mateo calls to me from inside the vehicle.
“I have to go to the bafroom!” he adds.
I close my eyes for one instant, then drop the chains in the snow and wade to the back door. A cold gust blows in laden with snow, dusting everything in white. I kneel on the back seat and unbuckle Mateo’s booster. Where is his coat?
I dig in the pile of clothes next to his seat, then duck down into the foot well, but it’s not there.
“Hang on, Matty,” I say as he slides out of his booster to stand on the hump behind the console.
“I gotta go.” The pleading look in his eyes gets me unzipping my coat in a flash. I wrap it around him and whisk him from the car.
The snow blasts us head on, making my hair whip around my face. Mateo’s body gives a violent shudder.
“We’re going to have to go in the snow, okay buddy?” I say over the screeching wind.
I should really be on the other side of the car and out of sight of the highway, but I am way past caring about modesty.
“Brrr,” Matty complains.
Turning my back to the wind, I hug him close to me. The side of the car and my body create a tiny corner of shelter from the wind, enough that we manage to get his jeans tugged down. The wind at my back is like ice picks, hitting the bare flesh at my ribs burn and making me shiver and huff. While Mateo gets busy my hair whips into my eyes and mouth and my ankles start to feel frozen from the snow stuffed up my cuffs.
Mateo giggles. “It makes yellow.”
His lighthearted take on life in this moment makes me laugh, and a little pulse of relief washes through me. If we can be outside in a blinding, freezing snowstorm, laughing about yellow snow, maybe we’re going to be all right.
Matty is just finishing up when red and blue flashes materialize out of the darkness, followed by a silver SUV crawling over the snow berm, a set of bright headlights pointed straight at me.