Morgan looked at his phone, which told him, sure enough, that they were now twenty-nine minutes out, though a brief glance at the road told him that, yes, there was no way to see pretty much anything.
They could easily miss their exit. The next one after that wasn’t for miles and miles.
He didn’t want to share such a doom-and-gloom bit of information, but missing their exit would put them in dire straits. Maybe they’d survive the night when the truck ran out of gas, but maybe the blizzard would go on for days and days, and maybe they’d die of cold.
“Jack,” he said, and then the phone rang again. “Hello, Mabel.” He put the call on speaker. “We’re about twenty-five minutes out, doing our best to keep our eyes peeled for that exit.”
“We’re sending Plowy to the off-ramp,” she said.
“What?” He squinted at the phone. “Plowy?”
“The exit slopes down to the road leading to town,” she said briskly, as though he were a young child who hadn’t been paying attention. “But Plowy is tall, so you’ll see its lights. Young Tommy will be there with his red-and-blues going, too. The road will be mostly cleared, so all you have to do is follow them home.”
Morgan blinked. His feet were like ice. Jack’s couldn’t be any better.
“They’re going to meet us and guide us home,” he said, his eyes hot as he looked at Jack, so unbelievably grateful that his throat felt thick with it. “Just keep driving slow and steady. We’re going to make it.”
It seemed a long time before the road dipped downward, and there, to the right, veiled by a curtain of white, were red and blue lights, whirling, whirling. Beyond that, a little higher, orange lights blinked on and off.
Morgan pointed, and Jack steered the truck that way, moving off the highway onto an exit ramp perilous with snow deep enough to slow them down.
They paused at the bottom of the slope, where the sheriff, in a dark blue SUV with the town’s emblem on it, waved to them to pause when they pulled up alongside him. Morgan rolled down his window. White snow spat into his eyes.
“The plow will lead you,” Young Tommy said, stern and steady amidst the blowing snow. “I’ll follow behind, and we’ll get you home in two shakes.”
Unsaid was the scolding Morgan knew Young Tommy surely wanted to deliver, in his plastic-covered hat, double muffler around his neck. About being so foolish as to venture far from home when October’s blizzard season was upon them.
He’d deliver it at some point, Morgan had no doubt. For now, he rolled up the window and gestured to where Plowy McPlowface was moving slowly down the narrow, two-lane road, pushing a foot of snow to the side.
They were headed north into dark clouds, and Jack drove carefully, as he had before, but his gloved hands didn’t clench the steering wheel so tightly, and Morgan could let go of both his cane and the door handle from time to time, to flex and warm his fingers.
Everything seemed easier now, even though the sky had lowered and they were now in a full whiteout. Only the orange lights flipping in front of them and the blue and red lights whirling in the rearview mirror provided any sense of reality.
The truck’s heater seemed to have crapped out, so the insides of the windows were filming over, their breath solidifying intoice and filtering what little light remained. Though Jack kept the windshield wipers going double time as they went, the snow grew thicker around the edges of the glass, giving him a clear space no bigger than the steering wheel.
“We’re going to make it,” Jack said, low.
“Barely.”
Morgan took a breath to say more, to complain and be irritated about everything that his life had become, when he stopped. They’d been in serious trouble only half an hour before. The High Plains of Montana in a blizzard were no joke, though maybe an evening or so hence, he might be able to spin the experience into a tale.
Nobody back in Denver would believe how thick and deep the snow had become so quickly, though there was nobody back in Denver to share the story with. But he and Jack could tell it to each other, couldn’t they.
“There’s some Frangelico left, I believe,” he said. Jack glanced at him. “Enough to take the edge off.”
“There’s also red wine,” Jack said. “In the cupboard. You could have used it for the spaghetti sauce.”
“I’m glad I didn’t.” He needed a drink right that moment, and though he shouldn’t, he’d get one the second he stepped through the door. Jack would get a double of whatever he wanted.
In the meantime, he needed to focus on the road, so Jack wouldn’t feel like he was doing this all on his own, though with the escorts in front of and behind them, the rest of the drive was child’s play. A straight, white-shrouded shot all the way into town, past the gas station, and into the parking lot of the feed and grain.
Plowy paused, and the driver waved a gloved hand and then drove on through the snow, scraping the road before him.
Young Tommy pulled up beside them. “You fellows will be fine now,” he called through his open window.
“Thank you so much,” Morgan said.
“Don’t worry about me. Mabel promised me her next peach cobbler.”
