“Thanks. I will.” I walk to the door. I keep my promise to Mom. I don’t say good-bye. But I let myself look around for a second to memorize this place and Joe, just in case.

By the time I get back to the truck, I’m freezing again, and there are little flecks in the air, not really snow, just tiny whispers of it, like dust the wind kicks up. I climb into the back and turn on the portable heater before crawling into my sleeping bag fully clothed. I eat a package of Cheetos and drink some water. But the wind is blowing so hard off the lake, it’s making the truck canopy creak and grind, and I can’t settle. I try reading my old dog-eared copy of The Hunger Games, but it’s getting dark, and I don’t want to turn on a light in case it draws attention. Finally, I zip my sleeping bag all the way up and bury my head and try to sleep.

I’m dreaming of a farm, one we visited once in Kentucky. I’m little, four or five maybe, and wading through a sea of strawberries. The ground is soft, like sand. When it collapses under my sandals, I drop my bucket. The berries go rolling. I cry. Mom swoops in to hand me one. It’s perfect, red all the way around and warm from the sun. The juice runs down my chin and onto my T-shirt, and we laugh, sitting in the dirt in the middle of the Kentucky heat.

The buzzing sneaks up on me until it’s so loud, I jerk upright. It’s the alarm. 11:48 p.m. I’m late.

Mom’s about to get off her shift. The heater’s gone off, and I’m freezing in the pitch black. I can see my breath in the air, like I’m a ghost. I throw the suede jacket over my sweatshirt and pop the tailgate. The world is white. The storm came while I was sleeping.

I hop down, careful not to slip, and my feet crunch in the snow. In this light, it sparkles. I shiver and wipe my nose and let the glow of the moonlight on the water and the snow light my way to the truck’s cab. I climb in the driver’s-side door, grab the keys, and start the engine. I find an old towel on the floorboard and use it to wipe the snow from the windshield as best I can. I’m due to pick Mom up in fifteen minutes.