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I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until Nick’s shoulders sag. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you. You didn’t mean any harm. I shouldn’t have been complaining. It’s my fault.”

I’m shocked how quickly the fight went out of him.

If this were Derek, it would have been the start of him screaming at me for hours and mentally torturing me for days.

When I dared tell him once that his mother’s casserole was too salty, he changed the locks on the front door so I couldn’t get in the next day.

(And believe me, that casserole was essentially a salt lick.)

“It’s okay,” I say. “You probably don’t get to talk to people much out here.”

“That’s for sure.” He smiles crookedly. “Anyway, thanks for listening. We’re relatively happy out here. I mean, things could be better. But it could be worse too, right?”

“Sure,” I say. You could be on the run after killing your husband. Or maybe you didn’t kill him, and he’s coming after you. So yes, things could be worse.

“Oh hey,” he says. “I think that’s my phone ringing.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“It’s on silent. I feel it buzzing.” He pulls off his right glove, revealing pink fingers. He digs around in his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Hey, Rosie. What’s wrong?”

I watch his expression change as his wife speaks to him. He turns and takes a few steps away from the car. His voice is lower this time but I can still barely make it out.

“I’m just helping her dig out her car,” he murmurs. “She’s stuck in the…” He ducks his head down. “No……… Rosie, come on, that’s not...” He lets out a long sigh. “What do you want me to do? I have to help.”

I wince. Greta was right—it looks like I’ve gotten him into trouble with his wife.

He lowers his voice a few more notches, and now I’m having trouble hearing him. Finally, he hangs up the phone. For a moment, he looks annoyed, but then he shakes it off.

“Sorry if I got you in trouble,” I say.

He waves his hand. “It’s fine. Do you want to try the car? See if you can get it going?”

I look doubtfully at my Corolla. We have gotten all the snow off of the car, but we’re still basically sitting in an ocean of snow. How am I supposed to drive out of here? But I’m willing to give it a try. I don’t have to get that far.

I slide into the driver seat. I thought it would be a bit warmer inside the car, but somehow it’s even colder. I say a Hail Mary, stick the key in the ignition, and I’m relieved when the engine turns over. I was worried the car died overnight.

But then I hit the gas. And the car doesn’t budge.

I roll down the window. “It’s not moving at all.”

Nick nods thoughtfully. “Okay, put it back in park. Let me dig your wheels out a little more. Then we’ll try again.”

I wait patiently while he digs my wheels out. After a few minutes, he motions to me to try the car again.

This time, the wheels move forward. I cheer internally for about two seconds, then I’m stuck again. My wheels are spinning, but I’m not going anywhere. I push down harder on the gas, but it’s not enough.

“Damn it!” I cry.

Nick frowns. “I’m sorry, Kelly. I just don’t think it’s going to be possible for me to dig you a trail from here back to the main road. It’s pretty far.”

“I know,” I mumble.

“And like I said, the snow plows will be here this afternoon. I’ll make sure they plow around the restaurant so you can get out.”

There’s nothing I can do about it. We are snowed in until the plow comes. And God knows when that will be. He claims it will be in the afternoon, but when? How many hours am I going to sit around, a sitting duck in a motel room?

And that’s when the tears jump into my eyes.

“Kelly?” Nick bends down beside the window. “Are you okay?”

I do my best to wipe the tears away. But he knows what’s happening. “I’m okay. I just… I have to be somewhere.”

“I wish I could take you. But my Ford would do even worse than your car…”

I blink, unable to keep the tears from spilling over. It wouldn’t help if Nick drove me somewhere anyway. I can’t leave my car behind. I at least need it for a trade-in. “It’s fine.”

Nick is quiet for a moment, standing outside the car. He rifles around in his pocket, and I think he’s going for his phone, but then he pulls out a wad of tissues. He hands them to me. “They’re clean. I promise.”

I accept the tissues, wiping my eyes off and struggling to get myself back under control. I can’t let myself lose it. This isn’t that big a deal. If the roads are snowed in, hopefully the police won’t be looking for me too hard either. I’ve got a few hours. Maybe the plow will come early.

I get out of the car and we trudge back to the motel together. He’s still got the bucket set up on the floor in front of the main counter. I guess he never got around to fixing that leak in Room 201.

I notice now that the water dripping from the ceiling doesn’t look clear the way water usually does. It has a brownish tinge. Almost reddish. I wonder if that’s from rust. It makes sense that the pipes would be rusty here.

“I’m going to wait for a plumber,” Nick says when he sees me looking at the dripping water. “I gave it a go this morning and… well, I’m not having much luck. I think I need a professional, you know?”

I nod. I look at the water accumulating in the bucket. It definitely looks red. That’s so strange.

“I’m going up to my room,” I say. “I’m going to lie down a bit. All that shoveling made me tired.”

“Sure.” He goes behind the counter and sits down. “I’m going to catch up on some paperwork, but call me if you want me to make you lunch.”

I almost make a joke about big portions, but it dies on my tongue. I’m not in the mood for making jokes right now. I’m also not in the mood for eating.

“I’ll let the boots dry out on the radiator, then I’ll bring them down to you later,” I tell him.

He shrugs. “You may as well keep them. Like I said, Rosalie can’t walk anymore anyway. She doesn’t need them.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So she’s okay with you just giving them to me?”

He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything right away. “Yeah. You’re right. You should probably give them back.”

I feel guilty about the wet footprints I leave on the stairs as I tromp back up to my room. Maybe it’s the weight of the boots, but the stairs are even creakier this time around. I wouldn’t be surprised if they just collapsed in one gigantic pile of rubble.

As I walk back to my room, I pass room 201. I don’t know what it is, but every time I walk by this room, I get the chills. The door is closed, and there is a “DO NOT DISTURB” sign hanging from the door knob, even though the room is empty. I press my ear against the door. It’s silent inside.

I reach out my hand and brush my fingers against the door. On an impulse, I lower my hand onto the door knob.

And I try to turn it.