It was March, and we’d thought the snow was past, had even unswaddled fruit trees, tilled up a few garden beds, prepared to plant peas. But that final snow came down wet and thick, burning coltsfoot blooms, turning redbud flowers brown. First thing in the morning, when the roads were still clear, I brought Aldi pancakes with pemmican spread on top. I went to pin a note to his door, knocked just on the off chance. No answer. A snowdrift had gathered against the undisturbed heap of food we’d left him. Now it was three days’ worth. No light behind the window curtains. I looked up at the chimney. No smoke.

At home, I found Rudy holed up in his wall tent, lounging in his long underwear, wool socks propped on the woodstove. He was eating chili out of a can.

“I’m just back from Aldi’s place,” I said. “You need to go over there with me.”

“Get off my back,” Rudy said.

“It doesn’t look good over there,” I said.

“It’s the winter. Aldi’s sleeping it off. It never looks good,” Rudy said.

“I don’t like it,” I said. “You said you were going to call him. You should have called him.”

“I called him,” Rudy said.

“No, you didn’t,” I said.

“I’ll call him now,” Rudy said.

He called. I paced. Rudy’s bling, dangling above the woodstove, grinned and grimaced at me. Rudy put his phone down. “No answer,” he said.

“We’re going over there,” I said. “Get up.”

“You can go if you want to, but I’m not going,” Rudy said.

“Rudy,” I said. “You told me not to be a bystander. Well, this is it. You either show the fuck up, or you check the fuck out.”

“I’m checking the fuck out,” Rudy said.

“I’m taking your truck,” I said.

“Snow’s getting worse,” Rudy said. “Don’t be a hero.”

“I’m not a hero,” I said. “But I’m going over there.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll call him again,” Rudy said, dialing. “This time, I’ll even leave the bastard a message on his answering machine.”

It didn’t make me feel better. I didn’t wait to hear what sort of message Rudy would leave. I slid and stumbled down the pipeline, barely able to see five feet in front of me. I pushed the snow off of Rudy’s windshield. I got in and turned the key. I backed up so fast the tires spun out, and I almost hit Rudy, who had followed me. He got a running start and vaulted himself into the bed of the truck as the tires found purchase. He turned his back firmly toward me, and we pulled out onto the snowbound road.