Page 30 of Keeping It Professional

“There is,” said Miles. “If it wasn’t snowing, you’d see it.”

“I’m not from here, as if you can’t tell. Looking for my in-laws’, and I hit that black ice. You think you could drive me to the gas station? I can Uber from there.”

I laughed. “Not out here, you can’t. But you can call your in-laws.”

Miles got out of the bus, and I got out with him. I guided the driver around to the back.

“Were you alone in that car?”

“Uh-huh, just me.”

“And are you hurt anywhere? Any dizziness? Headache?”

“No, I’m all right. I was going slow. Looking for my turnoff, and that’s when I skidded.”

“All right, step up here. We’ll get you somewhere safe.” I helped him into the back and Miles checked him over, but it was as he’d said: he was fine. Not a scratch. We drove him up to the gas station and let him out, and called dispatch to let them know we were going.

“Lucky guy,” Miles said, as we drove away. “These backroads in winter, no lights, it’s bad.”

“I didn’t know anyone lived way out here.”

“Yeah, there’s some cabins out in the woods. Well, ‘cabins’ — McMansions with a backwood flair. We should’ve got coffee back at that gas station.”

I yawned. “Yeah, we should. We could always loop back.”

“I would, but?—”

“Shit!”

We swerved without warning, our back end fishtailing. Miles steered into the skid, but we spun like a top, tires squealing, brakes grinding, bags sliding in back. Miles yelledhold on, and I grabbed my headrest. I caught flashes of tree trunks and snow whirling by, then black, empty sky, then a bent-up mile marker. A branch struck the windshield in front of my face, and I shrieked as the glass starred and buckled in.

“Miles!”

“Just hold on!”

I shut my eyes tight. Visions flashed through my head, warnings from training —ambulances are like turtles. They want to be on their backs.We swayed and I screamed, and I knew we were flipping. Rolling over the guardrail and down the scarp, the roof caving in, the doors, the windshield. Our whole back end folding accordion style. We’d be crushed with it. They’d spray us out with a hose.

“Reeves!”

We hit with a bump. I felt us go flying. I curled in on myself. I didn’t want to die.

“Reeves.”

The whole bus was shaking. Rattling apart. Spinning and spinning?—

“Open your eyes.”

I pressed my palms to my face, but my panic was fading.Weweren’t spinning, just my head. I was dizzy and shaken, but sitting still. Sitting still, breathing, and right way up. We’d never gone flying, never tumbled or rolled. Miles was shaking me gently. Gripping my arm.

“I’m okay?” I said.

“Move your hands. Let me look.”

I dropped my hands and all I saw was white, my airbag draped over me and snow outside.

“We hit a snowbank,” said Miles. “Probably saved our lives. But I think we’re stuck. Can you move your arm?”

I blinked. “My arm?”

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