Instinctively, my foot slams on the brake. Which Iknowyou’re not supposed to do when it’s snowing. But something’s out?—
The tires skid, sending me into a spin.
My heart leaps to my throat.
My life flashes before my eyes.
Then the advice of Bob, my last foster father and the one I liked most, comes back to me.
“Steer into the spin,”he explained as he calmly maneuvered his truck around an icy corner.“Don’t panic. Don’t slam on the brakes.”
Too late.
“The car is going to go where it wants,”he explained.“Just work with it. And as soon as you get control back, get to safety.”
It’s easier said than done. But the alternative—crashing into a line of towering trees—isn’t appealing. So I grit my teeth and do as Bob said, praying silently to anyone listening for mercy.
After a few breathless seconds, the car stops spinning. Feeling nauseous, I pull off the road and just sit,hands locked on the wheel, my heart thundering so hard I can hear it.
“Crap,” I whisper. “Oh, crap.”
As my pulse starts to slow, I’m reminded of the reason I slammed on the brakes to begin with. The color. The dark shape. The movement on an otherwise empty road.
A deer, perhaps? Lucky then that I stopped, or my car could have been badly damaged. I could have been hurt. Without a car or able limbs, I’dreallybe in trouble.
Peering through the windshield, I search the road for a deer or maybe even a bear—they live around here, one of my new coworkers informed me cheerfully, as if having bears around was no big deal. But I don’t see anything.
A tree branch, then? Fallen from the weight of the snow collecting on it? Or maybe my overactive imagination conjuring visions?
But on a second sweep of the road, I spot movement again.
The shape is small; smaller than any deer I’ve seen. And it’s dark brown, almost black. As it moves, something swishes behind it, almost like a small flag.
Something has me lowering my window to get a better look.
I’m not sure why. But there’s just something familiar about it.
Then the shape turns. And in a flash of recognition, I realize what it is.
Not a deer. Not a bear. Not a figment of my imagination.
It’s a dog. And I think he’s as alone as I am.
For a moment, I hesitate, caught between reason and instinct. Rationally, I know I should stay in my car. Ishoulddrive back to Bliss and find someplace to hunker down for the night.
But I’ve always loved dogs. Always wanted one, though I didn’t have the time or space for it. And it’s part of my dream to have one, one day.
Not that I think I’m going to keepthisdog. But how can I leave him alone in the storm, and on a road no less, where it’s likely he could be killed?
I can’t. That’s the answer. My own safety be damned.
That’s why I shift the car into park, flip on the hazards, and loop my purse crosswise over my chest. Then I pull up my hood, tug on my mittens, and pull my collar over my chin. With a deep breath, I push the door open and dart out into the whipping snow. The wind catches the door and yanks it from my hand, slamming it shut behind me.
It’s tough to call out to the dog without it sounding like I’m shouting, but I try my best to keep my tone friendly and comforting. “Hey, buddy,” I croon as I slowly approach the dog, who’s now standing in the center of the road. “Come here, buddy. It’s okay. Want a treat?”
Crap. Of course I left the little food I have back in the car. But if he gets close enough, maybe I can bribehim inside with some chips or part of the sandwich I got from work.
As the dog stares at me, I move closer, my hands low and open. “Good boy,” I tell him. “You’re such a good boy. Or girl,” I amend. “You’re a good dog. Such a good dog. I bet you’re lost, aren’t you? Why don’t you come here, and I can find your owner. Get you home.”
