Page 49 of Falling

I turn back to the windshield just in time to see what he’s looking at. A huge deer is standing a few feet in front of the Rover. Its antlers stretch out from its head like a forest. I grab the door rest as we begin to slide. The SUV misses the buck by inches as we careen off the road.

We stop in the ditch, inches from a fence this time. My heart is pounding in my chest hard enough that I’m sure Peter can hear it. We’re lucky that all four wheels are still on the ground. It would have been easy to flip over as we slid.

“Are you okay?” Peter’s voice is frantic.

“I’m fine. Nothing hurt.”

“He came out of nowhere,” he says. “He stood higher than the hood. I didn’t want to hit him and take a chance on him coming through the windshield.”

“No, I agree.” We both sound slightly hysterical. I’m sure it’s just the adrenaline dump.

Peter nods and places the Rover back in drive. He presses the gas pedal. Nothing happens but the sound of wheels spinning. He fiddles with the instrument cluster before trying again. We get the same result.

“Mother—” He ends with a frustrated sigh. “Wait here, I’m going to see if I can figure out what the problem is.” He pulls on his coat and opens the door. The wind is blowing so hard, I’m hit by snow before he can slam the door closed.

I watch as he investigates the front of the car and then moves toward the back. I unhook my seat belt so I can kneel on the seat to follow him. He keeps shaking his head. That can’t be good.

“Is everything okay?” I ask the minute he drops back into the driver’s seat. He sits for a moment before answering me. My anxiety amps up a thousandfold.

“I think we’re stuck,” he finally says. “The ground must have already been muddy when the snow started. Between the ice and mud in the ruts, it can’t get any traction.”

“What do we do?”

“Do you have any service?” We both check our phones. I shake my head in answer. “Yeah, me either. Well, we’ll just hunker down here until someone comes along. We have plenty of warm clothes and sleeping bags.”

I don’t ask all the questions swirling through my head. What if no one comes and we freeze? What if the wrong person comes? What if he hurts us, or worse?

“Are your true crime podcasts getting in your head?” he asks.

“A little,” I admit.

“We’ll be fine. I promise.”

A weird thing happens. I actually believe him. Peter hasn’t let me down yet. If a mountain and a river couldn’t get me, a little snow isn’t going to either. He turns the engine off. Leaning over the front seat, he begins rummaging through our stuff.

“Here, slide into your sleeping bag.” He hands it to me. “It’s going to get cold fast. When we can’t stand it anymore, I’ll start the Rover up to get some heat. I don’t want to take a chance on running out of gas though.” He pulls out my gloves, hat, and scarf too. I dutifully pull them on before wiggling into the sleeping bag.

“Do you think we’ll be here long?” If we’re going to be here in this dim car for hours, I need to figure out how to stave off boredom. That and keep my mind off of random serial killers.

“I don’t know.”

“So—” I’m fishing for something, anything to talk about.

“So,” he says, reading my mind. “I’d like to hear more about this wedding between my dad and your brother.”

“You know it would be beautiful,” I say with a laugh.

“True. My dad cuts a decent silver fox in a tux.”

“And my brother looks like he could be on the cover ofGQ.”

“Yeah, if Joseph Randolph did nothing else, he did pass down some good genes.”

“David Winsloe didn’t do so bad himself. Do you think if we had kids, they’d look like Keats?”

“Are you offering to find out?” he teases. “Maybe he does look like Rand. I’d be good with the girls looking like you. Though, I’d have to keep a bat handy by the front door to beat the boys off.”

“But not to keep the girls at bay? You know they can be just as bad.”

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