Chapter 32

Jim didn't want to go into work. They'd stayed up and watched old movies and talked more than they had in months, maybe years. It felt like the times before Leigh had got sick the first time, when he didn't have to worry about her getting anxious or depressed.

Now he lay in bed beside the warmth of her body and delayed the inevitable.

"You're going to be late," Leigh said.

"Not me." Jim rolled out of bed and grabbed his clothes. Staff would probably have him cruising the back roads, so he put on his warmest pair of long johns. If he ended up riding a desk instead, they were easy enough to take off. He was out the door in record time.

The truck was buried under at least fifteen centimeters of snow. At least it was light and fluffy so brushing it off was quick. He jumped in the truck and started it up. The windshield wipers cleared the last of the snow except for a large smear where a piece of paper was stuck under the wiper blade.