Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I bend down, hooking my cold little finger into his.
He laughs, shaking his head.
Then I herd him into the car without protest.
The thick snow feels like it’s already an inch deep on the sidewalk, and the melting slush under my shoes makes my feet number.
My fingers are a little clumsy as I strap Arlo into his kiddie seat.
“Can we go sledding again?” he asks.
“Maybe this weekend if it lasts. But don’t count on it; we’re getting to the point where this stuff turns to slush overnight.”
“I wanna go now.”
“Now? Oh, no. It’s dark and I need to get you fed.”
“That makes it more fun!”
More terrifying, he means.
“Arlo, no. We aren’t going sledding at night in this mess. The roads could turn into solid ice if it drops a few more degrees,” I say, voicing my biggest fear out loud.
“We can sled home on ice.”
His innocence makes me smile.
“Maybe you can. I can’t, big guy.” I give a strap going over his shoulder one more tug. He folds his arms, but I just shut the door, ignoring his puppy dog eyes.
My breath smokes as I walk awkwardly to the driver’s door.
Sure enough, there’s a growing layer of snow on the car like icing, half melting as it lands on the warmer metal and trying to refreeze. I stop and scratch the ice off my side mirrors.
It’s nights like this that make every Midwesterner wonder why they don’t live in Florida.
This is too cold.
Bullshit cold.
The kind of breathy cold that spits across the city, frosting every living thing until you wonder if it will ever let up before trees buckle and power lines snap.
When I was little, I thought an ice dragon came down blowing ice crystals, rather than fire. My mother used to laugh at how dumb it sounded, too practical to entertain childhood fantasies for a split second.
Now, I know better, but there’s still the same sense of weird dread I used to get—especially when I look at the car’s temperature and it says thirty degrees.
Right on the nose.
Just a degree or two away from unpredictable ice that will send this car skittering off the road if I’m not careful.
I start the engine and let the heater run, making sure the windshield fully defrosts before we start moving.
“It’s like being in a spaceship tonight,” Arlo says, imitating spaceship sounds that are way too fancy for this old car. “The snow looks like stars.”
When I was young, I also used to pretend the swirling snowflakes illuminated in the headlights were some sort of time warp, too. But that was before I was the driver.
I hate driving in this crap.
At least the roads are pretty deserted, thanks to the weather. There aren’t many cars out.
I ease us onto the next street, feeling the tires churn through accumulated mush.
Shit, don’t give up on me now.
“Mommy,” Arlo says quietly, sensing the tension. “What’s for dinner?”
His favorite question, and the worst when I’m praying for the car.
“I don’t know yet, honey. Please let me focus.” I glance in the mirror and ease my foot on the gas.
I’m not a bad driver.
Not an amazing one, no, but not terrible. I have a lifetime of experience with how Kansas City streets get with spotty services and temperatures that can change on a fly.
But the first time I feel our wheels sliding with zero help from the brakes, I’m worried.
No, don’t touch the brakes. Easy, easy!
“Mr. Spike said I was awesome today,” Arlo says, his head still back in his karate class.
I nod because I don’t want to scare him.
The stoplights glow red through the pelting snow. I swear it’s picking up, coming down in soft pellets you can hear as they hit the hood.
I tap the brakes carefully.
The wheels skid and my hands clutch on the steering wheel.
I say another prayer—or maybe it’s a curse this time—before the tires stick to the pavement and we stop.
Holy hell.
My heart pounds violently in my mouth, so hard I can taste it.
“Mommy?”
“Not now, sweetie. Hang on.”
A big truck pulls up beside me, window down, puffs of smoke emanating from the cab. The guy glances at me with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and away again.
The light changes.
I put my foot on the gas and cross the intersection uneventfully.
Just a few more miles to home, but I can’t unclench my hands.
Come on, come on. You’ve got this.
The snow hasn’t lightened up at all, though. I’m pretty sure the temperature keeps changing by the second, bouncing up and down depending on the wind. Visibility sucks and we’re not going fast. Still, I don’t dare go a mile faster.
“Mommy?” Arlo asks again. “I’m starving.”
I risk a glance back at him.
“I’ll figure it out, Arlo. You’re just going to have to wait for—”
A horn blares.
I whip my head around, just in time to see a car rocketing toward us, its too bright headlights swinging across the road like blinding knives.