Fallout (Crank 3)

We crest the summit. The snowflakes

blossom, grow into half-dollar-sized

white petals, pirouetting to collect

on the ground. Despite its heavy

frame, the Cadillac begins to fishtail.

Trey pulls off the highway, behind

a collection of semis and other two-

wheel-drive automobiles. Time to

chain up, I guess. He gets out

to attempt the complex process.

I stay in the relative warmth

of the car. Close my eyes.

Hear Trey say, Small steps,

honey. Honey? Seriously?

And, in case he hasn’t noticed,

which no doubt he hasn’t, up

until the last week or so, I’ve

taken nothing but baby steps

my entire life. And even those

were mostly guided for me.

This trip was a giant step. I’ll

deal with what’s on the other

end the way I always do. Deep

and deeper breaths, gathering gold

flecks to keep from going insane.

Then there’s the monumental

step of having a baby. Bryce or

no Bryce, I will never put anyone

or anything ahead of my child.

Substances? No way. That includes