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