Whiteout
Becca and Zach shared a light meal of lentil stew, oil-and-vinegar cole slaw, and sliced rye bread at Zach’s apartment on Saturday evening one week after their reunion following Professor Reichart’s party. They weren’t supposed to be together. Becca’d planned to spend the weekend at her family’s home in Greensboro but had cancelled those plans that morning after hearing of an approaching snowstorm that might prevent her from getting back to campus for Monday classes. After changing her plans, Becca’d tracked Zach down at his work-study job in the Archives Department of the library and asked if she could stop by and see him that evening. Zach’s schedule was open and he was delighted at this unexpected chance to spend time with her. “Come by around seven,” he’d said. “I’ll make us a light supper.”
So here they were, eating that meal at Zach’s tall butcher-block table while seated on wooden stools with short backs. They’d not been together in private since their impassioned reunion a week earlier, and their occasional public encounters had been friendly but stiff, as each tried to ascertain the ground rules of their relationship going forward. That undercurrent of uncertainty persisted now that they were again alone together.
“So a week from today you’ll be in Rome,” Becca said.
“Actually, a week from tomorrow. We leave on Saturday afternoon, but don’t land in Rome till Sunday morning.”
“Are you excited?”
Zach looked up from his stew. “I guess.” The table was long but narrow, so her smiling face was barely a foot away. Zach wondered how someone so close at hand could be so far away.
She closed that narrow distance with her free hand and lightly brushed his neck. “Zach, come on. This is Rome you’re talking about. Everybody, myself included, would kill to spend spring break there.”
Zach nodded and tried to smile. “I’m sure I’ll be glad once I’m there.”
“The Colosseum, St. Peter’s, the Trevi Fountain.”
Zach laughed. “I’ll send you a postcard.”
“How about an in-person delivery?”
“I can do that—probably faster than the mail anyway. What about you—figure out your Break plans yet?”
“Oh, yes. While you’re touring Rome I’ll be chasing Katie around the house. Sarah has classes all week and two papers due and is leaning on dear old sis for some baby-sitting time—the sacrifices one makes for family.” Becca offered up an extended sigh and an exaggerated pout.
“Katie’s sweet. You’ll have fun.”
“I guess. But compared to Rome, or even Myrtle Beach?” Myrtle Beach was where her roommate and some of her friends were headed for their Break.
Zach nodded. “Family sacrifice.”
They finished their meal and Becca hand-washed their few dishes and utensils in the sink while Zach dried them and put them away. As they finished and Becca was draining the sink and wiping it clean with the sponge, Zach threw his drying towel over his shoulder and reached around and gave Becca a hug from behind, resting his head on her shoulder and kissing her neck.
Becca leaned back against his body and pushed her head and neck against his mouth.
Zach whispered in her ear, “I’m so glad you’re not in Greensboro tonight.”
Becca spun around, still in his arms, and faced him from inches away. “I’m so glad I’m here with you.”
Zach stared into those beautiful eyes and found there the love and reassurance he’d been longing for all week. Any doubts or reservations or fear of renewed hurt flowed out of him, down the drain just as surely as that dishwater. This was the old Becca—his, all his. He ran his hands lightly up and down her sides.
Becca kissed him lightly on the mouth then said, “Let’s go out.”
Zach shrugged. “O.K. Where?”
“On campus. Aren’t they showing the game tonight?” The school’s basketball team was playing in the conference tournament final in Raleigh. If they won, they’d be in the NCAA Tournament. The game was being broadcast on closed-circuit T.V. on campus.
Zach nodded. “I think they’ve got a big screen T.V. at The Inn.” The Inn was a student hangout best known for its late-night food and its pitchers of beer available for purchase with meal tickets. You (and your friends) could drink all night and charge it off to your parents, with the charges listed simply as “on-campus food and drink.”
“Let’s go cheer our team on.”
It’d started snowing steadily while they were inside eating. When they emerged to head up to campus, there was about an inch of fluffy snow on the ground with more falling. The air was very cold and the wind blew briskly. They navigated the open stairs with care, taking one step at a time and holding onto the handrail and each other. But once on ground level, they ran along the sidewalk and skated on the smooth blanket of snow, interspersing long hyphens among their ellipses of footprints. There were no other tracks on the sidewalk or in the parking lot, and only one set of tire tracks on the road in front of the apartment.
Zach’s truck, light in the rear end and bulky, was impossible to maneuver in slippery conditions. But Becca had her sister’s Japanese import which, with its short wheel base and front-wheel drive, was well suited for driving in snow. Still, Becca stood in front of her snow-coated car and said, “Maybe we ought to stay in.”
Zach laughed. “You southerners—all afraid of a little snow. We’ll be fine.”
“You sure? Sarah’d kill me if I wrecked her car.”
Zach laughed and grabbed a fistful of snow and tossed it on her head. “You’re taking care of Katie next week, remember? Sarah owes you.”
“Zach, I’m serious. I don’t want to damage her car.”
“Listen, if we get stuck, I can pick this thing up and get us out.” He was only half joking—in high school, he and two friends had picked up the Volkswagen Beetle of a mean-spirited teacher and left it wedged between two tree trunks.
“O.K., but you’re driving.” She tossed him the keys then began to brush the snow off the Honda with the sleeve of her coat.
Zach said, “I’ll protect Sarah’s car with my life.”
They made it up the hill to campus with no problem at all. There were no other cars on the road to worry about, and the little car’s front-wheel-drive tires never slipped once. When they’d come to a stop in the deserted parking lot behind the Chapel, Zach patted the dash and said, “Our trusty Japanese Jeep.” Then they dove out into the snow-sprinkled dark.
The campus was eerily quiet for a mid-semester Saturday night, with the wind-blown snow accentuating the uncommon emptiness. Many students had travelled the short distance to Raleigh in car pools and at least two chartered busses to attend the tournament finals. Most of the rest were in dorm rooms, commons rooms, and bars watching the game on T.V. Wherever they were, they weren’t out in the snowy dark; and Zach and Becca felt, as they walked through the untrodden snow from the Chapel parking lot to the Inn, that this night was all theirs, an unexpected gift for them to take and use.
The Inn was unusually quiet as well, with fifty or so students scattered around long wooden tables that would’ve accommodated ten times that many. The long, narrow room’s lofty walnut-stained cathedral ceiling with its exposed rafters and carved arch supports and clerestory windows revealing the snow swirling in the darkness beyond only further emphasized the sparse and quiet attendance. While others might’ve considered this dearth of company and noise boring or unsettling, Zach and Becca were secretly pleased to be on campus on a Saturday night and in the presence of others without having to deal with the demands and noise more typical of the location and the time of week. They’d be able to carve out their own little world within this quiet environment. The game, already more than halfway through the first half, was being projected onto a large screen mounted on the wall at the end of the hall. Zach and Becca staked their claim at an empty table just past the midpoint of the hall and sat in the two chairs closest to the wall and facing the screen. They ordered a pitcher of beer and watched the game. The game was hotl
y contested and intense, with the two teams exchanging the lead frequently throughout the first half.
And it was there—in that most impersonal and mundane of settings, surrounded by a smattering of indifferent or oblivious witnesses, brought here by an improbable mix of circumstances, on a night when they shouldn’t have even been together—it was there that Zach and Becca found their perfect harmony, the long sought but heretofore unrealized merging of all their hopes and care and love. No, they hadn’t found it; it had found them, been bestowed as gift: all they had to do was partake of its joys and wonders.
Zach, sitting closer to the wall and a little behind Becca, reached out with his free hand and idly brushed her beautiful long blond hair still damp with melted snow. Becca felt his touch as in a dream, the soft sensuous brushing both soothing and reassuring of protection and love. She rolled her head gently from side to side, closed her eyes, immersed herself in that touch. Zach, with part of his attention directed toward the game and the other people milling about the hall, was paradoxically all the more in tune with Becca’s feelings and needs for not being totally focused on her, for not directing all his attention toward her, for simply reacting to her intuitively. Becca in turn was all the more responsive to his diluted attentions, knowing that she was not ignored—she’d never be ignored by Zach—but that she was not his sole focus and she was free to respond without expectation or inhibition. She loved that freedom. She loved Zach’s total attention and devotion, but she also loved the freedom to respond to his attentions without worrying about her response. She wanted all these levels of love; here, for the first time, she had them.
Becca, never one for public displays of affection, slid out of her chair and onto Zach’s lap. She fit quite well there, felt completely comfortable and at ease, straddling his left leg, leaning back lightly against his chest, resting her head in the notch between his shoulder and neck. Zach looped his free arm around her waist, squeezed her lightly, not too tightly, made her feel safe, made her feel wanted, made her feel caressed, made her feel free. All these gifts came in addition to feeling loved. She always felt loved by Zach.
They watched the game, drank their beer, and turned into a single seamless entity—a single flesh but more than a single flesh, a single spirit, a state of being neither had ever felt before or knew existed—without even knowing it’d happened.
As the game moved deeper into the second half, more students began arriving at The Inn. There was a growing sense of hope and excitement and anticipation at the possibility of their team completing a major upset and securing an improbable bid to the national tournament.
Caroline, Becca’s roommate, came into the hall, spotted them, and came over and took a seat in Becca’s former chair. “Don’t you two look comfy.”
“I am,” Becca said, making no move to get off Zach’s lap.
Caroline laughed. “You really look like you’re in heaven, Becca. You ought to try that brand of relaxation more often. Better yet, give me some.”
“No sharing. Talk to Michael.”
“He’s over there.” She gestured toward the T.V. “With the team. I’m solo tonight.”
“Then have a beer,” Becca said. “That’ll have to be your substitute till Michael gets home."
Caroline pushed her lip out in a pout. “No sharing Zach?”
Becca shook her head.
“O.K. I guess I’ll just have to get drunk.” She poured a full cup of beer and downed it in one long draught.
Becca said, “Well, maybe not that much beer.”
They all laughed.
With less than four minutes to play and the game tied, the Badencourt gang showed up—C.H. and Bill and Arnie and a half-dozen of their dorm mates. Every seat at their table was suddenly filled, then another table was pushed against it and all those seats filled. Their pitcher of beer was emptied in a hurry, but it was replaced by three more pitchers, and soon those pitchers were empty and replaced by still more. Everyone was focused on the game. The timeouts and the frequent fouls made the last few minutes of game time stretch out for over fifteen minutes of clock time. The lead changed hands five times in those last four minutes. Then Avery went ahead by a point, 80 to 79, on two made free throws. There were twelve seconds left. The other team called a timeout.
The opponent would have one final shot, or possibly a shot and a chance at a rebound if the shot were missed. The entire season had come down to these final twelve seconds. If the other team scored, Avery’s season, which had started with such promise then faltered badly toward the end, would be over. If the other team failed to score, Avery would win and go on to the national tournament. Everyone in the now nearly full hall was on their feet, waiting for the timeout to end and the game to resume. Everyone was on edge, holding their collective breath.
Everyone, that is, except Zach and Becca. They were buried in the crowd that had so suddenly appeared around them, Becca still sitting on Zach’s lap who was sitting on the chair against the stone wall of the hall. They were not oblivious to the crowd or the game but thoroughly amused by it. They were not threatened by the sudden invasion of their semi-privacy but rather thrilled to be a part of this outpouring of hope and energy yet still somehow separate from it. In their private harmony, they could also be one with this crowd of singular hope and anticipation.
Becca pressed her lips to Zach’s ear. “Let’s watch.”
Zach nodded. Becca stood on their chair to see the screen over the crowd. Zach stood beside her, his head against her shoulder, able to see the screen over the heads of the crowd.
The timeout ended and the ball was thrown in play. The opponent’s best player got free after a series of screens and got the ball. He got free of his defender, was open at the top of the key, and launched a clear shot. The ball seemed to hang in the air for many seconds. It was right on line. It looked like it was going in. It was dead on target. But it was just a little short. The ball hit the front of the rim and bounded high into the air. It rose up as high as the top of the backboard then started to fall. The opponent’s best rebounder was waiting there, at the front of the rim, in perfect position to tip the ball back into the basket. There were four seconds left, then three. The rebounder went up to complete the play, make the tip-in from mere inches away. It was hopeless. Avery was bound to lose. The ball fell toward the front of the rim. There were two seconds left. Then the opponent’s best rebounder disappeared from his position in front of the rim, lost his balance and tumbled to the floor as an Avery player crashed into his legs. The ball fell past the rim, was not tipped in, bounced harmlessly on the pile of players sprawled across the floor. One second left, then zero—the buzzer sounded. Avery had won!
Every voice in the hall united in a single exuberant cheer. Beer cups, some full of beer, flew into the air. Hats and scarves and mittens and coats flew into the air. Becca jumped off the chair into Zach’s arms. He held her around the hips and spun around in a circle, bumping into chairs, the wall, the table, all the people jumping and dancing everywhere around them. From her lofty spot above the crowd, Becca traded high-fives with Caroline, C.H., Bill. Everyone was cheering and jumping into each other’s arms. Avery had won! Becca and Zach had watched it and shared in this corporate jubilation. The joy around them affirmed and magnified the perfect harmony they’d been granted. The crowd carried them along in its intoxicating energy and enthusiasm and ebullience.
And all that energy, too great for indoor confines, quickly spilled outdoors, sweeping Zach and Becca along with the tide. Four inches of dry, wind-blown, drifting snow now coated everything, with more steadily falling. Students, some of them shirtless, were running about the Quad, rolling in the snow, tossing each other into drifts. Firecrackers were popping. Music blared from speakers propped in open windows lining the Quad. Some fraternity brothers were trying to start a fire with wet, frozen branches. The smoke from the smoldering fire quickly dissipated on the brisk wind; but the odor lingered, giving the entire area the scent of a cabin in the woo
ds. A long chain of students joined hands in the center of the Quad, at first forming a circle and chanting cheers. Then someone broke the chain and pulled a meandering line of revelers behind him into the snowy dark. Soon the former circle became the world’s (or at least Avery’s) longest ever whiplash line, with the chain of students undulating from one end to the other, the students at the far end of the line flung outward by powerful centrifugal forces—first five flying off into the snow, then ten, then twenty—till finally the whole line, even those not yet whiplashed, dove into the snow in the world’s (or at least Avery’s) largest ever pig pile.
Zach and Becca meandered through this boisterous crowd as in some sort of white-washed, deep-chilled fantasy—every sight and sound, smell and touch brilliantly vivid but also surreal in its utter lack of precedence or prior context. It was a moment and place cut out of time—a brittle fairyland populated by shrieking fauns and nymphs, a mid-winter night’s dreamscape of youthful revelry. They wandered through this great spontaneous outdoor party sometimes hand-in-hand, sometimes pulled apart by strangers or friends grabbing them and swinging them about. Everybody in sight or earshot was of a single celebratory mindset, Zach and Becca included. Yet through this public celebration, they remained united in what they’d been given, what they held against all comers or claims.
With most of the revelers soon wet and frozen, and the would-be bonfire a smoldering mass of blackened branches and one charred frat-house bench, the victory party gradually moved back indoors to any number of venues. Zach and Becca followed the Badencourt gang into their dorm, where the cupboards full of booze were unlocked, the ice machines emptied, the glasses and mixers set out, and the music cranked up. The setting and most of the faces were familiar, but somehow everything was just a touch different than ever before—a tad fantastic, a wisp ethereal. Every face was flushed from the cold, hair peppered with snow then damp with melt, clothes and shoes soaked and quickly tossed aside and in some cases not replaced as guys and girls ran around barefoot and in their underwear, and at least two fraternity brothers shed even that bit of modesty. Zach and Becca also looked different—though they’d avoided the worst of the snow-coating, their faces were bright red, their hair glistening, and their eyes twinkling.
Once inside Badencourt, they never left each other’s side, moving through the rooms and the crowds hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm or, for a little while, with Becca on Zach’s shoulders. They moved from room to room, greeting and congratulating friends and strangers alike, toasting the team and the university, laughing at the unlikely scenes they stumbled on—coed body painting in the school’s red and gold colors, quarters beer-drinking matches with red-dyed beer, and line-dancing to the school’s fight song. Zach and Becca absorbed every wacky scene, made it their own, counted it as gift.
And then, with the party winding down and more than three-quarters of the participants asleep or passed out in random aggregations like flotsam washed up on a beach, they left without fanfare or farewells and stepped out into the night.
The campus was once again deserted and largely still, with the quiet only occasionally interrupted by a wolf howl or a firecracker’s pop. It was still snowing, with six inches on the ground and deeper drifts. Fresh and wind-blown snow had partially filled the tracks and trenches and body prints from the earlier party, making those marks seem shadows from a dream.
Zach and Becca walked through the Quad and around the Chapel and along the buried walks to the dark and snow-flooded path through the trees to the parking lot. Artificial light faded the farther they got from the Quad and was gone entirely by the time they entered the thin woods between the Chapel and the lot. Yet it was not dark. The reflective snow and the low clouds and diffuse light from somewhere cast the woods in a silver-gray glow. They emerged from the woods and discovered the Honda as a hump of snow in the broad and flat plain of the parking lot. They brushed the snow off the car with their hands and arms, pushed it aside with their feet and legs. It was light snow and easy to clear away.
They climbed inside the car—Zach in the driver’s seat—and sat for a moment in the cold, dry, close silence. The whole rich night and all its wonders washed over them like a wave. One might’ve guessed they’d be exhausted, but neither was. In fact, neither was ready to let the night end, regardless if the rest of the proximate world was asleep or on the way there.
Becca said, “I need to get some dry clothes from my apartment. You think you can get us there?”
Zach laughed, delighted to have a cause and purpose. “With our Japanese Jeep? No problem.” He started the car, turned on the headlights, and followed their arc of light toward the main road.
The driving conditions wouldn’t exactly qualify as no problem, but they weren’t a big problem either. Zach drove slowly but steadily in low gear—never coming to a full stop, never applying the brakes, gliding through stop signs and traffic lights, not making any sudden turns or swerves. The car’s tires spun a few times, especially in the deeper drifts, and slid off the road on one curve; but Zach always managed to compensate and keep the car moving forward.
The road to Becca’s apartment went past the hospital and was partially plowed. They shared this four-lane road with a few police cars and ambulances with chains on their tires. Everyone was driving slowly and carefully, and they saw no accidents or abandoned cars along the way.
In the parking lot in front of Becca’s dark apartment, she faced Zach and said, “Caroline may be asleep.”
“Or with Michael.”
Becca nodded. “Either way, maybe I should go in by myself. I won’t have to turn on a light.”
“I’ll keep our Jeep warm.”
She disappeared into the night.
Zach switched off the ignition and sat there in the dark with the cooling engine clicking and tiny streams of melting snow etching lines on the windshield against the silver night. For one of the few times in his life—perhaps the only time when immersed in an important moment—Zach did not consciously reflect on his present circumstance or the past events that had placed him here or the options for the future going forward. He knew only that Becca’d been here and that she would return. He waited in blank contentment, could’ve waited forever.
Becca returned in under fifteen minutes. She had on dry boots, a clean pair of jeans, and a dark blue down vest over a burgundy sweatshirt. She’d also found a white knit stocking cap and a pair of matching mittens buried in her closet. She slid into the passenger seat and closed the door.
“A new woman,” Zach said.
She leaned over and kissed him. “Just a dryer version of the former one.”
Zach started the car. “Caroline home?”
Becca nodded.
“Alone?”
“Couldn’t tell.”
“Too close?”
Becca hit him with her mittened hand. “Too dark, Mr. Voyeur.”
“Just concerned for her well-being.”
“No doubt.”
The car started sliding to one side where the parking lot sloped up to the road. Before Zach could stop and back up to try again, the car had slid off the pavement and into a deep drift. Zach tried rocking the car back and forth, in forward then reverse, but to no avail. For the first time that night, they were stuck, and with no one awake for miles to help them out.
Becca frowned.
“Don’t worry, Bec. We’ll get out. But you’ll have to drive while I push.”
“You sure? I can push.”
Zach shook his head. “You’re dry. I’m stronger. Let me be the macho man.”
He got out of the car on his side, away from the worst of the drift. Becca slid into the driver’s seat past the shift knob. Before shutting the door, he leaned back in and kissed her. “Just make sure you’re not in reverse when you let the clutch out. Otherwise you might end up with a Zach pancake.”
“Snow-covered?”
“With a cherry on top.” He closed the door.
Becca put the car in first and
waited for Zach’s signal to let the clutch out.
Behind the car, Zach dug his feet into the snow till they touched the frozen ground, found the best footing available, put his hands under the bumper, and leaned against the back of the car. “Ready,” he shouted.
Becca popped the clutch and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The front tires spun furiously, throwing loose snow along the sides of the car and up into the air. Zach pushed and released, pushed and released, rocking the car back and forth until the front tires had finally spun their way through the snow and reached the dirt below. The car suddenly lurched forward and Zach sprawled face down into what remained of the drift. Becca yanked the wheel to the left to avoid another snow drift on the far side of the drive. The car went into a slow motion double loop as it descended down the drive, finally coming to rest in the middle of the parking lot.
Becca jumped out of the car and ran over to Zach. “You O.K.?”
Zach was standing in the snowdrift, brushing snow and bits of grass and dirt thrown up by the racing tires from his brown bomber jacket. He grinned. “Never better. Nice driving, Richard Petty.”
Becca pushed him playfully.
He fell backward into the snow.
She jumped on top of him. They were almost completely buried in the light snow. They could’ve stayed there forever—so joyful were they in each other and in the combination they formed—except it was cold. They stood, brushed each other off, and returned to the car. Zach, with a little more speed and the proper angle of approach, made it up the slope and into the road with no sliding this time.
The few vehicles that had been on the main road earlier were gone now, and they had all four lanes to themselves. They passed the entrance to the hospital (with no signs of life there either) and were driving along a stretch of highway with no buildings or businesses when they spotted a heavy-set woman stumbling in the deep snow mounded on the edge of their side of the road. Zach slowed down as the car came alongside her. They could see (when she lifted her foot high to take a step) that she had on slip-on shoes with no socks. She was dressed in light-weight knit slacks and a thin windbreaker with its hood pulled over her head.
Zach stopped the car next to her and Becca rolled down the window. “Can we give you a ride somewhere?”
The woman’s round face was flushed. She breathed heavily and sweat beaded on her brow despite the cold and her light clothing. She took a minute to catch her breath before speaking. “I’ll be O.K.,” she said finally. She took another breath. “I’m walking back to the hotel.”
The only hotel on this road was more than a quarter mile away. She’d never make it—not in her condition in these conditions. Becca said, “Get in. We’ll drive you. It’s too nasty to be out tonight.”
The woman looked ahead along the deserted highway, hazy in the blowing snow, then faced them. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Becca said, then opened the door and slid over toward Zach to make room, ended up sitting half on the car’s console and half in Zach’s lap. She leaned her face into Zach’s ear and whispered, “You don’t mind, do you?”
“I don’t mind.” He kissed her near cheek. “But you have to stay here after we drop her off.”
The woman stumbled out of the snow bank and grabbed the door to keep from falling. She paused again to catch her breath. Then, with much effort and maneuvering, she got turned around and sat down back first on the seat, then pulled her legs into the car one at a time. Once all her parts were inside the car, she took another minute to catch her breath then slammed the door shut. That action rippled all the way across the car, squishing them together and leaving Becca almost entirely on Zach’s side of the middle console.
Becca asked, “Can you drive?”
Zach laughed. “I can steer and probably manage the clutch and the brakes. But the shift lever is all yours.”
She nodded. “Just say when.”
Zach said, “Let’s start with first gear and go from there.”
Becca pushed the shift knob into first with only a little grinding of metal, and Zach let the clutch out and they moved slowly forward. Rather than take a chance on shifting, Zach drove the whole way to the hotel in the creeping first gear.
The woman, still huffing and puffing, said little during their three-minute ride to the hotel. She muttered something about walking to the convenience store to get snacks, but the nearest convenience store was a half-mile in the other direction and had been closed for hours. The woman offered no further explanation of her plight and they didn’t ask for one.
The hotel’s covered drop-off was an oasis of light and dry pavement. Zach parked in front of the entry doors and got out and walked around to help the woman. She took his hand and he tugged her out of the low and tight confines of the passenger seat. In the short ride, her breathing had calmed and her face was less sweaty though still flushed. She was, however, still very shaky on her feet. So Zach offered her his arm, which she accepted; and they walked together across the sidewalk and up to the doors. They discovered that the doors were locked and had to ring the bell to wake the sleeping desk clerk. The gray haired man made his way slowly to the doors, turned the deadbolt, and pushed open one of the doors. “We wondered if you’d ever come back,” he said to the woman.
The woman made no reply and didn’t even acknowledge the desk clerk. She released Zach’s arm and walked through the door and across the entry and around the corner out of sight without a word or glance back.
Zach looked at the desk clerk. “Found her stumbling through the snow just this side of the hospital.”
The clerk shook his head. “I told her not to go out. But it’s a free country.”
Zach shrugged. “Free country.” He turned to leave.
The clerk said, “Have a nice night, what’s left of it.”
Zach waved over his shoulder.
Becca was back in the passenger seat when he slid behind the wheel. “Any explanation?” she asked.
“Free country,” Zach said.
Becca looked puzzled. “Free to die alone in the snow in the middle of the night?”
“Or get rescued by nocturnal wanderers.”
“Thanks for stopping, Zach.”
“Didn’t want her death on our conscience.”
Becca laughed. “That too.”
The turn-off to Zach’s apartment was just a little farther down the road. But when they got to it, Zach coasted right past the turn, continuing straight on the main road. Neither had spoken since the hotel, and neither spoke now. This night, which was fast waning, had fully embraced them; and they weren’t quite ready to surrender the feast.
So they drove slowly and steadily through the snow and the dark the two miles to where the road ended at another highway. There Zach made a wide turn in the middle of the intersection and headed back the way they’d just come. The whole way they saw no other car or person or living creature. The houses and businesses they passed were all dark. The intermittent woods were silent and still. Surely life continued somewhere—maybe behind those darkened windows, maybe in those solemn woods. But for all they could see or tell or feel, the snow-bound world belonged to them and they to it, a two-part entity full engaged in reciprocal praise and thanks.
When they came back to the road to his apartment, Zach turned this time. This road was a steep hill sloping down all the way to his apartment building far below, invisible in the blowing snow. Zach switched off the car’s engine and turned off its lights. They coasted silently down the hill, the deep soft fluffy snow pushed harmlessly away to either side. The apartment building came into view, looming up out of the snow like a great ship in the fog. They coasted past the end of the building, then turned left to coast along the front where the road ran level, then left again into the parking lot and still coasting into a spot next to the walk, two up from Zach’s snow-shrouded truck. The car’s momentum would’ve carried them a little further, but not the night’s. Behind the clouds and the wind-blown snow, dawn a
pproached.
They were home. It was time for bed and whatever new stasis they could carve out from the aftermath of this blessed night.