Rick, Bill said.
And at that word Rick spun, suddenly and without warning, his hand clamped to the back of Bill’s neck before he could even flinch, Rick’s face so close that he could smell the burning scent of his breath. You think you’ve changed, Rick said. The shit I did in prison just to survive you couldn’t even begin to imagine. And let me tell you this, my friend. I know where you live and where your girlfriend lives and where she works and where her kid goes to school. So you just think about that.
You’re making a mistake.
I’m not the one making a mistake. Not this time.
Bill’s voice was thin through his teeth. I’m sure we can figure this out, he hissed.
Let’s find out, Rick said.
He released his grip then. Bill knocked his chair over in his haste to stand, the table lurching forward and both beer bottles tipping. Rick! he yelled, but the man was already halfway across the room and then was at the door and then was gone.
Bill glanced slowly around the room, fists clenched and trembling, beer splashing the floor at his feet. The jukebox played its song of cowboys and lost love. Then he ran headlong for the door.
In the blowing snow, the yellow Honda was turning out of its parking spot, its chained tires whacking the surface of the concrete like muffled machine gun fire, the taillights a faint red blur as the car braked and then slid forward. Bill called his name again as he came down into the parking lot, his feet slipping everywhere but somehow reaching the car as it slid toward the asphalt of the highway, his fists battering the yellow curve of the roof, screaming that name again and again as the car pulled out and away from him, its tire chains flopping in the snow, pulling out onto the highway and into the darkness of the storm.
THE DRIVE to Bonners Ferry would have taken fifteen minutes on a clear day, but the snow was blowing sideways across the road and the pickup seemed to shift across that landscape as if adrift. They had plowed, had probably plowed many times, but the blizzard was so thick that he could sometimes not find the roadbed at all. And yet he kept moving forward, the snow a tunnel that seemed to curl in upon his vision, not opening up but closing upon him like a fist and the road continuing forever toward a destination that seemed, in the storm, to move farther and farther from his rolling tires.
When he finally pulled into the Safeway parking lot in Bonners and saw Grace’s pickup there he nearly wept with relief, the truck sliding in next to hers, his door already opening. She stepped out onto the snow and he embraced her and told her he loved her and that he was sorry and she looked at him and put her hands against his face. This guy’s nuts, she said.
He nodded. I called the sheriff from the bar. He’s out looking for him.
Good, she said. Where are we going?
He hesitated before answering. Then he said: Coeur d’Alene.
Bill, she said slowly, you’re coming with us, right?
I can’t, he said.
She looked away.
You know I can’t.
Dammit, Bill, she said. There were tears in her eyes now. What am I supposed to do now?
Highway’ll be clear down to Coeur d’Alene. Get a hotel room and I’ll come down later tonight.
Later tonight? She would not look at him. You probably don’t even have a phone up there right now.
I can’t leave them, Grace. I haven’t even had the chance to feed them tonight.
They’ll be fine for one night.
You’re probably right but I just can’t do it.
The truck’s window cranked down and Jude’s face appeared. Come on, he said. Let’s go.
Hey big guy, Bill said.
Hey back, Jude said. We’re going on a snow adventure.
Crazy, Bill said.
Hey I have your book.
That’s all right, you keep it. He glanced over toward the truck and as he did so the book tumbled from Jude’s hand into the snow. He stepped over and picked it up. It was still in the plastic ziplock baggie, the rubber band holding the whole thing together.
You can keep the book, pal.
Mom says I need to work on returning what I borrow.
Oh, he said. All right. Good job, then. He unzipped his parka and slid the book into the inside pocket and then zipped it up again.
So let’s go, Jude said.
He looked from the boy to the woman and back. Roll your window up, buddy, he said. I need to talk to your mom first.
Hurry up, the boy said.
I’m trying.
Jude looked irritated but he rolled the window up and then scooted into the dark warmth of the cab.
Look, it’s gonna take me a couple hours, Bill said. I’ll have to take the sled up.
She did not respond, looked away from him out over the parking lot.
I just need you and Jude to be out of here, he said.
Dammit, Bill.
I know. Believe me I know.
What’s wrong with this guy?
This question he could not answer.
She embraced him. You’re pissing me off, she whispered in his ear.
I’ll see you tonight.
You’d better, she said. Her voice was thin and her eyes glossy with tears.