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God, he was so, so tired. He just wanted to close his eyes for a little bit. Even just a half hour. Just something. Briefly, he considered lying down with her on the bed. She’d be close to him, and maybe she’d like that more. But he didn’t trust himself not to . . . what? Roll over on her? That would be absolutely terrible.

People did it all the time, though, didn’t they? Cosleeping, it was called?

But he moved a lot when he slept, and he tended to be a heavy sleeper. That seemed like a recipe for disaster, and that was the last thing he needed.

Screwing his eyes shut, he continued to sway slightly, hoping maybe that would lull her into a deeper sleep and he’d eventually feel brave enough to try setting her down in the bassinet again.

Brendan (Thursday, December 9, 2021 – 6:54 a.m.): Yo, Cass! Get your ass out of bed and get down here! Bring your dad’s truck and the chains. It’s bad out here, man

Chapter Four

Cass

Grunting, Cass straightened up and stepped back away from the front of the small blue sedan, the snow crunching under his boots. Old Mrs. Willoughby sat in the driver’s seat, gripping her steering wheel tightly, and he gave her a reassuring smile as he jogged over to her half-open window. Why she’d decided she’d needed to venture out from her safe, warm house on a day like today—when the roads were dangerously slick with multiple layers of ice and snow from the major storm that had blasted through the region yesterday and last night—Cass had no idea. But he’d help her anyway, get her back on the road and hope she could make it the mile or so to her house.

Cass set a hand on the roof of her car and bent over slightly so it was easier to talk to her.

“Alright, Mrs. Willoughby, Brendan’s going to drive slowly. Make sure to keep your foot off the brake pedal until you see his brake lights, and do your best to steer straight, but don’t worry because his truck will pull you in the right direction, back onto the road. Okay?”

“Yes, yes, thank you so much,” the older woman said, shaking her head slightly. “I should have listened to the TV. They said it was bad. But I just needed to get Vincent his prescription. He ran out of his pills, you see. He’s going to be upset when I come back empty-handed.”

Cass frowned. “Mr. Pugliano?”

“Yes, that’s right. Vincent’s got hypertension, you know. And he can’t drive, so I always pick up his prescriptions for him from the Walgreens. But it’s just not safe out here, is it?”

“No, ma’am, it’s definitely not,” Cass replied, glancing over his shoulder in the direction Mrs. Willoughby had been headed. The Walgreens was down the road about a mile, in the direction opposite the older woman’s house.

“Oh, how am I going to tell him?”

She sounded legitimately upset, and Cass sighed inwardly. He was happy to help, really. But he was beyond exhausted. He and his buddy Brendan had spent the last three and a half hours driving around town, pulling people out of ditches and snow drifts. That had been taxing enough in itself without even considering how little sleep he’d gotten the night before, waiting and waiting and waiting for his dad to call or text or . . . something.

It had been just after two in the morning when his dad had finally gotten home, thanks to both the state of emergency the city was in and the poor road conditions. And by the time Cass had finally collapsed into bed, it had been almost 3:00 a.m.

“Tell you what, Mrs. Willoughby, after Brendan pulls you out here and you get back on the road, I’ll head down to the pharmacy for you and pick up Mr. Pugliano’s prescription. How’s that?”

That made the older woman smile. “Oh, dear, that would be wonderful of you. Thank you. I just know he’ll appreciate that as much as I do.”

Cass didn’t doubt that, though he knew Mr. Pugliano would have an interesting way of showing his appreciation. A scowl and a grumble and probably a door slammed in Cass’s face. But then a few days later, Cass would get a nice letter in the mail and some . . . odd trinket. Last time he’d done something for Mr. Pugliano—mowed his lawn, maybe?—the man had mailed him three rusty old coins and a silver heart-shaped locket with a photograph of a poodle on the inside.

With a nod, Cass reminded Mrs. Willoughby again about what to do, then stepped away from her car and glanced toward Brendan’s truck. He lifted his hand to signal that Brendan was safe to pull forward, and he stood by, tucking his hands under his arms to keep them warm, as he watched the towing strap tighten and the sedan slowly inch forward until it was no longer stuck in the snow alongside the road. When it was safely back on the road, now pointed in the correct direction, Brendan stopped, and Cass jogged up to unhook the towing strap.

Moments later, Mrs. Willoughby was on her way back home, and Cass leaned against the driver’s side door of Brendan’s pickup and shook his head.

“I’m freezing, man. What do you think? Things have slowed down enough?”

“Fuck, I hope so,” Brendan said, taking off his gloves and tossing them onto the seat next to him. “I mean, probably? I think we’ve done as much as we can. Hopefully everyone’s gotten the message to just stay the fuck home. Why the hell they opened up the freeway, I’ve got no clue. It can’t be safe.”

Cass nodded in agreement and pushed himself away from Brendan’s truck, frowning again. He hoped everything cleared up soon. There was no more snow in the immediate forecast, but the meteorologists had already been wrong about this storm several times, and so he really couldn’t make any predictions. Plus, the temperatures were expected to stay in the low-to-mid-twenties for the next couple of days, and there wouldn’t really be much chance for the layers of ice and snow to melt.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything this bad in years. Thanks for texting me, though. I’m glad we could help out like this.”

“Yeah, yeah, man. It’s good work we do. Even if I think these people are morons for trying to drive in this shit, they don’t deserve to wait hours for a tow truck,” Brendan said with a laugh. His phone chimed, and he groaned and grabbed it from the dashboard, swiping at the screen. “Ah, fuck. Laurie’s asking when I’ll be home. I’d better go. We still on for drinks tomorrow night, assuming the weather doesn’t take another turn?”

Although he tried a little more than halfheartedly, Cass was unable to hold back a grimace, and Brendan grinned.

“Yeah, okay, I deserve that look. We’ll go to someplace a little classier this time. That dump of a bar Jon suggested was pretty awful.”

“Pretty awful?” Cass raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I’m still trying to get the cigarette smell out of my clothes. And places like that are just . . . eh, not my jam, you know?”