My stomach curls in like a fist. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but now? She was still skittish the last time I saw her. On the phone she seemed better, but I know her. I can’t stand here on Brecken’s phone talking her off the ledge for thirty minutes. I need her to be calm. And most of all I need her off the phone in five minutes flat.

Which means I can’t call my mother.

So, I call my dad. He doesn’t answer the first time, or the second, probably because he doesn’t recognize the number. But after the third try, he picks up. His voice makes my shoulders sag with relief. That single hello is an open window, allowing my real world to spill through like sunshine.

“Dad,” I say, exhaling in a rush.

“Mira,” he says, clearly alarmed. “What’s going on, kiddo? I’ve been trying to reach you since they grounded the flights. Are you okay?”

“Relatively speaking, yes.”

“So, fill me in,” he says. “Where are you?”

I sigh, relaxing further. “I don’t even know where to start.”

He chuckles. “Well, you’re calling from someone else’s phone. Start there.”

“There’s a lot that happened before that.” I fill him in on the weather delays and me taking a ride, and the disaster detour up to I-80. I don’t invent a family because Dad doesn’t hit the panic button easily. And he doesn’t now. He does a lot of uh-huhs and a few pauses that tell me he maybe doesn’t love my choices here.

Not that I blame him. I’m loving my choices less with each passing mile.

At some point, I start rambling about the I-80 pileup and then I’m all over the map. Talking about the rest stop and the weird guy in the hat. My lost phone. Kayla sleeping all the time. I trail off before I talk about Brecken stealing gas. Some things are just too much, even for Dad.

“So, where are you now?” he asks.

“I don’t know. We’re on some county road. It’s really awful. We’re driving through a ton of snow.”

“I’ve got to say, I’m not a big fan of this.”

“That makes two of us,” I say honestly.

“Why don’t you stop at a service station or a truck stop? Hunker down and call the police. They’ll take you to the station and you can stay warm and safe until the roads clear.”

“I can almost guarantee the police are wrapped up with all the accidents. Plus, we’re in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even see houses.”

“So, what’s the plan from here?”

“We’re trying to head west so that we can get back to I-80 where it’s open,” I say.

“Do you feel comfortable with that? Do you feel safe?”