The blizzard dumped more than two feet of snow in Philadelphia and about the same from DC up to Boston. The East Coast had shut down. President Bush had to cancel dinner with the Latvian president. Students were ecstatic. So, too, were the meteorologists who dreamed about this kind of thing. In fact, everyone was thrilled—including the Latvian leader—except for the snow plowers, EMT workers, and the Honorable Helga Friedman.

She was a furious blast.

Puja had come to visit that weekend and was stuck. Amtrak and SEPTA had shut down. So had the airport. You couldn’t even walk outside, let alone drive. According to the local news, an elderly man had had a heart attack while shoveling his front steps near the Italian Market. Mayor Adams ordered the citizens of Philadelphia to stay at home. It made good sense, then, that the courthouse was closed. The clerks’ office had a recorded message to that effect. Nonetheless, I called the chambers repeatedly, just in case. Puja said I was crazy.

James had come upstairs to spend the snow day with us. “Even Friedman won’t make it in today,” he said, adding his two cents and looking out the window.

Redial redial redial. Nobody was there. It was after nine and still nobody. Matthew had already called to tell me his train had gotten stuck about twenty minutes outside of town. When I called Evan, he stated that he was in bed and planned to stay there for the remainder of the day, as “That woman has yet to acknowledge the death of my mother. She can screw herself.” It was remarkable that Evan hadn’t resumed the drugs.

I didn’t have Kate’s number and I had exhausted my resources. In any event, there was no plausible means to get to work. James and Puja staked out prime real estate on my couch, helping themselves to hot chocolate and Regis and Kelly. I stood in front of them, phone in hand. Alec Baldwin was the guest. Someone told me once that he wore a girdle. I leaned in two inches from the TV and swore that I could spot a panty line on his abdomen. Redial redial redial. Nobody. Not even Medieval Roy.

Just as I was negotiating a spot on the cramped couch, the phone rang. It was Matthew.

“Sheila. Kate just picked up. She just got to the office and said the judge had called to announce that she was on her way over. Kate says the judge is pissed we’re not there. I’m walking and—”

“You’re walking on the highway?”