Jack drove one of the limo service’s smaller cars, a black Crown Vic, and when he met the girl at the bus station, she said it looked like the cars cops drove.  Snow had started falling earlier that morning, and the wind was bad and so was the cold.  Places farther north had already gotten six inches.  She was skinny and wore her hair in a neat pony tail.  If she had been on a bus all night, she didn’t look it. 

They left Bluemound heading for Gary, a four hour drive if the weather held off.  She rode in the front passenger seat and, after a few minutes staring out the window, introduced herself as Billie.  She asked if he had waited long for her, if she was making him late for other clients.  He told her she was his only pick up that day.  She looked about fifteen or sixteen, and he thought she had a friendly smile. 

She wore mascara and eye shadow that drew attention to her alert eyes, which moved to take in the road and the dirty snow on the corn and soy fields.  A big winter coat and hiking pack were all she had with her.  He expected she was heading home and felt good about driving her in a car where she was safe and didn’t have to think about anything.  Her bus had broken down in Knoxville and again on the interstate.  She wished she would have taken sleeping pills and slept through.  Girls her age weren’t usually so talkative, but Jack didn’t mind listening to conversation. 

It hadn’t been a good week to travel.  The county roads were badly plowed and slushy.  As they drove around the outskirts of Linn, a pulp-mill town, they passed a semi truck that had jackknifed and been abandoned in the ditch.  Jack rolled down his window to clear the condensation, and for a moment they could smell the rotten, chemical stench of the mills.  She looked out at a big plant in the distance and wrinkled her nose. 

“That would make me crazy,” she said. 

She asked him if they could get the weather on the radio.  He tuned in a Christian news station he’d been listening to.  The news told about some missionaries in South America and then another man read the weather, more snow and dropping to ten below that night. 

He drove a two-lane twisting around fields and through unincorporated towns.  In the wind outside, snow weaved across the road and drifted in ditches and against fences.  She leaned her head against the door, using her sweater for a pillow.  When he glanced over, he could see her nipples pushing out underneath her T-shirt.  They passed through Stanton and Harris and Elm Grove, all the streets empty.  Jack looked out at the houses with TV’s going in living rooms and Christmas lights still hanging from the gutters.

He’d started going to church.  Four times he’d been to the cathedral downtown and sat in the back at mass.  His boss had invited him to his church, a Lutheran one, and people in the congregation had been friendly and welcoming.  In his apartment, Jack had a Bible sitting on the coffee table.  Every time he wanted to fix a drink, he’d read a page of scripture instead.  That was his plan.  He’d decided to tell his wife about it if she called that night, though he knew her call would be about the clock. 

Billie roused and straightened up in the seat.  She asked if they could hear some music. 

“That button switches to FM,” he said.  As he leaned over to adjust the volume, a pick-up coming around the bend blew its horn.  He looked up and saw its back end fishtail.  The pick-up began to spin as its driver tried to pull the wheel in the other direction.  For an instant, Jack met the man’s eyes, and his face was pale and expressionless.  Jack held down the horn and, from the corner of his vision, saw her flinch at the sound. 

He stepped on the accelerator and felt the tires slip for a second before catching.  He yanked the wheel to the right, toward the gravel shoulder, and the pick-up slid by them, turned 180 degrees and went into the ditch.  The Crown Vic hit the gravel, and Jack lost control.  But he clutched the wheel and didn’t brake.  The car jerked back onto the road, and he slowed to a stop. 

For a moment, he was disoriented and conscious only of the pumping of his blood.  He looked back through the rear window.  He shook his head and then shook it again.

“God damn it,” Billie said.  “I’m all right.”  He could hear her breathing in gasps. 

He opened his door and jogged across the road.  A tall, middle-aged man was walking up out of the ditch.

“You okay?” Jack said. 

The man stopped and hailed him.  “Looks like it,” he said.  “You?”

“Just rattled.  That was some close scrape.”  Jack was angry, and for a good reason.  “You’re going to need a tow I guess.  I’ve got a phone.”  He walked back across the road.  Billie was sitting on the back bumper of the car rubbing her hands together. 

“Did your life flash before your eyes?” she said.  She laughed, but the laugh sounded put on.

“No, but that car did.”  He tried to smile and felt awkward.

“I think I was thinking about my kids.”  She hugged her arms across her chest.  “That makes sense, I guess.” 

After the man called the tow service, the three of them sat in the Crown Vic waiting.  He had a thick mustache and wore tan coveralls and work boots.  He said little other than that he was sorry, he’d been rushing to work.  Jack told him not to beat himself up, though it didn’t seem he was.  The man made another call home to say he’d been in an accident.  Billie asked him where he worked, and he told her he was roofer.  Every few minutes he cleared his throat and blew his nose in a handkerchief he had bunched up in his hands.  Jack drummed his fingers impatiently on the dash.  He was growing angrier and had to be careful what he said to the man.  He was glad when the tow truck arrived. 

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