Page 53 of That Stranded Feeling

He looks baffled.

“They’ve left way too much behind,” I explain. “Either they were rushing to catch up, or maybe it was one of the faulty plows. Either way, the tires on that thing”—I nod toward his car—“won’t cope with it.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine.” He shakes his head dismissively. “I absolutely have to go. My meeting’s tonight. The party’s tonight. There’s no more time.”

He turns and heads back to the car. “Can I borrow a shovel to clear some of this hard stuff from around the wheels?”

I march up to him. “Look at those tires.”

“They’re fine,” he says, opening the trunk and tossing in his bag.

“Fine if you're in California. Life-threatening if you’re on a badly plowed road in New England in February.”

He walks around next to me. “Honestly, it’ll be fine. Could I please borrow a shovel?”

“No.”

He screws his face up at me. “What?”

I swing my arm to point at the lane. “You are not going out in this car, on that road.”

“Well, I have to. The clock’s run out. I have to get there to talk to Archie.”

“You’ll risk your life for a stupid deal and a stupid pile of stupid cash?”

He presses the heel of his hand against his forehead, screws up his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

The only way I can save him now is with a cold hard dose of reality.

“Do you not realize what you’ve done, Owen? You’ve overcorrected. You’ve spent so many years focused on escaping your parents’ casual attitude to money that you’ve taken it too far and lost all perspective.”

“I have to go. Elliot’s depending on me. The kids’ tech project depends on me getting the cash for it.”

The furrows on his brow are as deep as canyons. But there’s no way I’m going to let him out on snowy, slushy, icy roads in that ridiculous vehicle.

There’s only one solution. “I’ll take you.”

“What?”

“My truck will be totally safe.”

As much as I don’t like driving in these conditions, at least I know how. I thought it was funny when he told me he didn’t understand snow. But now it sounds like a death sentence. I have to do this. For his sake.

“No. You can’t. It’s not fair.” He looks at me like I’m the first person who’s ever offered to do him a favor.

“I am not letting you go in this. People die in this, Owen. My parents died in this. Remember?”

I swallow hard. I am not going to cry in front of him again. “It’ll take me a couple of hours to drive you there, then get back here. So I need to let Elsa out for a pee and grab my keys. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I walk toward the house and point at the garage. “Truck’s in there if you want to wait in it.”

“Summer.”

I keep walking. “You can call the rental company and throw some money at them to come pick up that death trap.”

“Summer,” he pleads.

I ignore him. I’m not listening to him tell me he’ll be fine again. Not when I know he’d be in a ditch before he got to the end of the lane.