Rhea spent most of the morning trying to convince Ross to leave early. She was Diego’s secretary and technically Ross’s immediate supervisor. “It’s only going to get worse. The weather forecast says it will warm up just enough this afternoon to change the snow to freezing rain. That will make the roads even more treacherous. Get out now. I can take care of things.”

“What about you? You’ve got a long drive up to Red Wing. What will you do?”

Rhea shrugged. “I’ve got this deadline for Mr. Flores. I’ll curl up on the little couch in his office if I need to. Don’t worry about me. I’ll stay off the roads if they get worse. I don’t have any emergencies to take care of at home.”

“That’s why I’m sticking around. So we can both go home and curl up under the covers in the morning in our beds in case we’re all covered by a thick sheet of ice.”

Despite the weather, Ross had a feeling in his gut that he needed to stick it out until after lunch. Diego breezed in late in the morning and said they should both go home. He asked to speak to Rhea in private, and Ross heard raised voices, notably Diego’s, which rose in pitch any time he was agitated.

By the time the discussion was over, Diego was muttering, “Crazy gringos.” As he headed out the door, he said, “Alan left an hour ago and said it was hard to see. I’m going home now. I don’t want to be called to the morgue to identify your bodies.”

As they sat on opposite sides of Rhea’s desk eating bag lunches, Ross asked, “Don’t you think this is kind of exciting? Maybe we’ll get stuck here. I think Mr. Flores, I mean Diego. I call him Diego since we’re friends outside of the office. Anyway, I think he has a month’s worth of hard candy and granola bars stuffed in his file cabinet. We won’t starve if we get stuck here.”

“So you found it, too. He’s tried to get me to call him Diego, but I can’t do that in the office. I have a hardwired habit from earlier jobs. Here he’s Mr. Flores to me.”

As they finished up their lunch, Diego called from the house he shared with Alan in Coldbrook Bend and growled at them again.

By 2:00 p.m., Rhea said, “Go now, Ross. I have about an hour of work to finish up, and you can’t help me with it. Go home and be careful out there. I won’t be as graphic as Mr. Flores, but I don’t want to hear about you on the police report.”

Ross’s gut sensation told him that it was finally time to go.

The weather was as bad as everyone said. The two-lane highway between Zephyr and Coldbrook Bend was half-covered in an icy slush. Ross tested it with light braking, and his car began to fishtail. He was having trouble keeping the windshield clear. He kicked the defroster into high gear and also bumped the wipers to high. Together, they managed to keep a significant chunk of the windshield clear of ice.

The traffic crept at about 35 miles per hour on the highway. Ross was relieved when he passed the sign that indicated only three miles to go before the Coldbrook Bend exit. He followed in the wake of the same car the entire distance between the towns. The leading car blocked the brunt of the wind-blown freezing rain, but occasional splashes of murky slush from the pavement clouded Ross’s visibility.

Suddenly, the car ahead began to fishtail dangerously. Ross pumped his brakes lightly to slow down. He gasped when the driver lost control and the vehicle careened into the ditch at the side of the highway.

Without thinking, Ross turned on his emergency flashers, pulled to the side of the road, and made sure he was entirely on the shoulder before coming to a stop. He couldn’t remember how deep the ravine was in the area, and it was difficult to see through the icy rain mixed with snow.

Ross zipped his coat up tight to his neck, pulled on his cap and gloves, and grabbed the ice scraper from the floor of the passenger’s side of his car. He didn’t know what help it would be, but at least it was some kind of tool.

The freezing rain felt like tiny daggers hurtling through the frigid air. Ross dug into the pockets of his coat, but he knew that his ample collection of winter scarves were safe at home in the top drawer of his bedroom dresser. Holding a gloved hand up to his face, he picked his way along the side of the highway. The rain had frozen into ice on the shoulder and made walking treacherous.

About ten feet before the spot where the leading car ran off the road, Ross saw the ruts in the ice indicating the driver’s futile attempts to stop himself with his brakes. Ross peered down into the ditch and was relieved to see not more than a five-foot drop from road level. Hearing wheels spin, he watched as the headlights dimmed each time a driver inside attempted to put the car into reverse.

He breathed a massive sigh of relief. The person driving was well enough to attempt getting out of the ditch. However, the attempt was doomed to fail. Ross tried waving his arms over his head to signal for the driver to stop, but the windows were already so crusted with ice that it was impossible to see.

After another moment of watching futile attempts to move the car from its spot wedged between the banks of the ditch, Ross slowly picked his way down the slope. The grass and weeds were tall enough in their wintry brown that it was much easier to scale the side of the ditch than walk along the highway.

As he reached the door of the car, Ross pounded on the window. He watched cracks appear like spider webs in the accumulated ice. While he pounded on the ice again with a gloved fist, Ross felt the entire car rock. The driver was pushing against the door trying to get out.

There was a reason for the ice scraper. Ross chipped at the ice and finally removed enough to peer in through the window. His mouth fell open in shock. It was Puck! Ross continued to hack at the ice on the window and in the crack between the door and the frame of the car.

Finally, the door opened, and an angry Puck glared out at Ross. “What the freaking hell?! It’s like being trapped in a damned igloo!”

Puck gripped the upper door frame and hauled himself out of the car. He tried to stand and immediately tumbled to the icy grass. Ross said, “Oh, shit! I should have called 911!”

He began to pull his phone from his pocket, but Puck waved his hands in the air. “No, fuck, no! I don’t need that. I’ll be fine. Put the damned phone away.”

“But you’re hurt…”

“And I’ll heal.” Puck hobbled to a standing position on one leg with a gloved hand balancing his weight against the car. The key was still in the ignition, and a tone was sounding alerting everyone about the open car door. “Can you give me a ride home? I can deal with the car later.” Puck looked up at Ross. “You’re the fucking guy from the grocery store, aren’t you? Shit!”

While he slowly nodded, Ross struggled between choosing to do what he knew was right, calling 911, and following Puck’s wishes. The pleading stare in Puck’s eyes, pitched somewhere between puppy dog sadness and angry desperation, was too much. Ross chose the latter.

“Can you sit for a second?”

“It hurts like a motherfucker, but I think so.” Puck grimaced and lowered himself to the ground.

Ross stepped up to the car, leaned inside and turned the key to off. He pulled it out, pocketed the fob and closed the door. “Do you have anything in there that you need?”

“No, I was going to stop for food on the way home. I’ve got plenty of baby formula there at home, but I’m down to one box of cereal.”

“It’s not going to be easy getting to my car up there by the road, but we’ll try.”

Puck breathed hard and grimaced in response to the pain. “Damn, man, I’ll owe you big time. I think the ankle’s just twisted or sprained. I know what it feels like. I used to play hockey and injured my ankles more times than I can count. I used to play hockey…puck…get it?”

Getting out of the ditch was the most challenging part. At first, Ross tried to help Puck hop up the side of the ditch. After falling twice, they decided the best approach was for Puck to crawl on hands and knees. Ross said, “I’ll help you hop back to the car when we get to the top.”

As he crawled his way to the top of the ditch, Puck’s face brushed the icy grass. “This is fucking humiliating.”

“But you’re alive.”

Puck threw his arm around Ross’s neck and shoulders, and together they hobbled back to Ross’s car where the emergency flashers were still operating.

Ross was surprised that no police cars or emergency vehicles stopped, but he guessed they were sensible enough to stay off the roads at the height of an ice storm. Mercifully, the freezing rain slowed as the pair made their way to the vehicle.

“Why don’t you stretch out on the back seat?” asked Ross. “I don’t think we need to try to fold you up in the front.”

“Uh, yeah, good idea.”

Ross did his best to be gentle while he helped Puck into the car. The muscular body was heavier than it looked. “I’m sorry if I hurt something. It’s not intentional.”

“Fuck, it’s better than dealing with a doctor. People go to hospitals to die.”

Ross wanted to dispute the argument. He remembered the stories from his family about how he got a toy lodged in his throat when he was only three years old, and fast-acting doctors saved his life.

Puck growled again as Ross lifted his ankle onto the back seat. It was apparently the focus of the injury. “Damn! That hurts!” Puck closed his eyes and winced.

As Ross climbed into the driver’s seat, Puck asked, “Do you think you can drive in this?”

“We’re almost at the exit. Do you live in Coldbrook Bend?”

“Yeah, only about half a mile from the exit. Take it slow.”

Ross chuckled softly to try and break up the tension. He said, “The guy with his car in the ditch is trying to tell me how to drive.”

“This is not the time to be an asshole about it.”

As Ross pulled back onto the highway, he noticed that the slush had melted somewhat. The air temperature must have gone up just a tiny bit. He could feel his tires gripping the pavement better than they did earlier. In a more upbeat voice, Ross looked into the rearview mirror. He said, “I think we’ll make it fine. The rain is letting up, and it looks like they got some salt down on the road.”

Puck grumbled. “This is just the icing on the cake of a horrible week. The sitter told me she’s leaving town in a week, I might have to work overtime soon, and now this. Fuck! I didn’t do anything to deserve this. I promise, God. I didn’t do a fucking thing.”

Ross drove in silence. As he pulled onto the exit ramp, he said, “Maybe I can help out some.”

“Hell, you’ve done enough already, and you don’t even know me.”

Ross pulled up to a stoplight and then watched in the mirror as Puck gingerly poked at his ankle. Ross didn’t respond to the comment. Instead, he asked, “What’s the route to your place? Give me a couple of blocks warning before I need to turn. These streets are still slick.”