I TURN TOWARD KENDALL. THE COLD HAS TURNED her cheeks nearly the color of the snowsuit. She looks awake. And beautiful.
A loud HONK from behind me makes me jump. I spin toward the sound.
The cab’s trying to brake but having trouble, fishtailing one way, then the other. I throw myself into the snowbank at the curb just as the cab comes to a stop a few feet away.
I see the driver drop his head against the steering wheel, his back heaving. After a few moments, he raises his head, rolls down the window. Glares at me.
“You all right, kid?” he barks.
“Yes,” I say from my burrow.
“What the hell were you doing in the street?”
“Trying to direct traffic. I didn’t see you coming.”
The driver shakes his head. “Don’t be an idiot.”
I bite my lip and nod, surprised to find I’m fighting back tears. The driver mutters under his breath and rolls up the window, then continues on. That could have gone worse. He could have unleashed a string of classic taxi driver curses at me. Or, of course, I could have died.
Kendall stands over me now, offering her hand to help me up.
“Come on,” she says.
“I don’t want to count all that,” I say. “Because that was stupid.”
She looks like she wants to protest, but then searches my face. Does she see how I almost cried? Does she see I have no idea why I almost cried?
Good stuff cancels out bad stuff, bad stuff cancels out good stuff. It’s never ending. What’s the point?
But here’s Kendall, pulling me to standing. She lets go of my hand and brushes the snow off my back. She gets me ready to continue on.
A few blocks farther up Park, there’s a man and a woman outside an apartment building, working hard to clear the sidewalk. He’s trying to push a snowblower while she shovels. Underneath the building’s front awning, there’s a stroller covered in plastic. Inside, a baby wrapped up like a burrito is screaming bloody murder.
“Good morning,” I say.
The woman stops and leans on her shovel, panting. “Yeah. Good morning.” She doesn’t look like she agrees.
“Do you need help?” asks Kendall.
“No, thanks,” says the woman, while at the same time the man asks, “What kind of help?”
“Just . . . help,” I say. “With whatever.”
The couple exchange a look. “Would we get in trouble?” he asks her.
“So what if we did?” replies the woman. Then she turns to me. “It’s the snowblower. Hard to push when it’s this deep.”
Kendall moves to the stroller and peeks in, then motions to the woman. Points to the baby, then to herself. The woman nods. Kendall lifts the plastic barrier and picks up the baby, who’s now reached the point where its cries don’t sound human anymore. Kendall looks a little scared, but she holds the baby close and starts bouncing it up and down. Making a loud Shhhhhhhh noise. The baby’s cries slow down and fade a little. It’s like turning the volume knob to the left.
“She likes that,” says the woman to Kendall. “Thank you.”
I step up to the snowblower and the man backs away, clearly glad to be putting some distance between himself and this machine. He puts one hand to his chest. Checks out my snowsuit, then glances at Kendall. I’m sure he has questions.
I give the snowblower a push. It inches through the snow, but not easily. Clearly not meant for this kind of load. But this is where being tall comes in handy, because I can really get some leverage on it. I push again, an unplanned oof sound coming out of me, and gain some momentum. The snow spurting out of the blower is my own personal blizzard. Maybe this is what a god feels like, making weather.
Over by the door, Kendall is showing the baby the arc of blasting snow. She points, whispers in its ear. It’s only whimpering now. The woman smiles at them and keeps shoveling.
Ten minutes later, the walkway is clear. Or at least, clear enough. Kendall hands the baby to its mother. The man comes over to me and turns off the snowblower.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he says.
“It was no problem.”
“You’re a good person,” he adds, then slips something into the pocket of my snowsuit.
I shake my head, push my hand in the pocket to give him back whatever he just gave me.
“Please,” he says, gripping my arm and holding it in place.
There’s a pleading quality to his expression. It’s important to him. Finally, I nod.
Kendall comes over. Her smile plus the rosy cheeks equals completely lovely.
“Our work is done here,” she says, pretending to wipe her hands clean. “Tune in tomorrow, boys and girls, for another episode of the Ski Bunny Squad!”
I laugh. We wave to the husband and wife as we make our way down the street. The baby looks unconvinced.
“Can we count that as two?” asks Kendall.
“Don’t think so.”
“Fine. I’ll write it all down later. But for the record, that was a big one. You pushed a big heavy thing and exerted yourself, and I braved a banshee child.”
I reach into the pocket of the jacket and pull out a ten-dollar bill. Hold it out to her.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“The guy. He gave it to me. Or I should say, he forced me to accept it.”
She stares at the money. “I’m conflicted.”
“Are you?”
“On the one hand, that’s ten bucks! We could go get some overpriced hot chocolate as soon as a café opens up.”
“And on the other hand?”
“It changes the way I feel about what we did.”
“I know,” I say, staring at the money. “We made that rule about money for a reason.”
“But that’s not why we stopped,” she says. “That wasn’t our intention. I think we should focus on that.” We walk in silence for a few moments. When we reach the corner of the next block, Kendall stops and says, “I have an idea.” She holds out her hand. “Give me the money.”
She smiles wickedly as I hand her the bill. For a second, I think she’s going to pocket it and run off down the street.
Instead, she rolls it into a tight little tube, walks over to the nearest mound of snow. Shoves her arm in up to the shoulder. When she pulls it out, the money’s gone.
“Someone will find it tomorrow after a little of the snow melts. It’ll make their day.”
“You know we can’t count that as a kindness. We agreed.”
“This one’s just for fun,” she says, her eyes dancing again.
“And I thought you wanted to get hot chocolate.”
“At my brother’s apartment, they have completely ridiculous hot chocolate for free.”
She grins at me and I grin back, like we’ve claimed something together. This whole frosted city, or the block we’re standing on. Or maybe, simply, this moment. One moment, when there is nobody else on earth I’d rather be with.
“Onward,” says Kendall. We continue walking.
I look back to where she stuck the money and hope whoever finds it isn’t an asshole.