“Well at least we know for sure why it doesn’t work,” she quips.
“Yeah,” I tell her. And then I keep talking. Mostly to delay the inevitable. “The funny thing is, Starlink advertises a ‘Snow Melt’ feature. But it doesn’t work when the power is off. Or when the snow falls too fast.”
“Figures, right!” she cracks back.
I don’t answer. I take the shovels solemnly from her, and she stops smiling when she sees my face.
I toss them onto the roof one at a time. They sink deep into the snow up there.
Then I stare at the ladder.
Would it be safer for her to go first?
Or me?
I decide on me, since I don’t know how slippery it’s going to be up there.
If anyone is going to slip and fall as soon as they step off the ladder, it’s going to be me.
“You hold it steady while I climb,” I tell her. “Once I’m up, I’ll brace the ladder from above while you come up. Understand?”
“I know.” She’s already gripping the ladder, testing its stability. Her face is pale but determined. “I got you.”
“If you see the cougar, call out immediately. I don’t care if it makes me fall. You warn me.”
She glances toward the tree line. “Gregory...”
“Promise me, Sorrel,” I insist.
She sighs. “Fine. I promise.”
I kiss her once more because I need to, because if something goes wrong... I can’t climb onto that roof without tasting her one last time.
God.
She tastes so good.
Worth it.
Then I start climbing.
The ladder rungs are cold even through my gloves, and I’m starting to shiver now as I climb without my jacket, but I do my best to hide it. Each step up feels precarious, with the ladder shifting slightly despite Sorrel’s grip. I can feel her watching me, can imagine her heart racing with the same fear that’s making my own thunder in my ears.
When I reach the roof edge, I carefully transfer my weight onto the slope. The snow is deep... four feet of accumulation from the five-day blizzard blankets everything. I can barely see the roofline beneath all the white.
Ahead, maybe fifteen feet away down the sloping roof, I can just make out where the satellite dish should be... a suspicious mound of snow that’s taller than the rest. It’s dangerously close to the edge.
I turn around and grip the top of the ladder with both hands, using my weight to anchor it.
“Your turn,” I call down to her, biting back a shiver. “I’ve got the ladder. Slow and steady.”
She starts climbing.
I watch her mittened hands grip each rung, and for a second I’m seized by the fear that the thermal gloves I forced her to wear underneath the mittens will make her grip unwieldy and clumsy. But she moves with careful confidence, testing each hold before fully committing.
Still, my jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth grinding.
Every placement of her boot, every shift of her smaller body on that ladder makes my chest constrict.
