Chapter 4 - The Nor'easter
The highway was a desolate ribbon of gray asphalt carving through bare winter woods. By the time I crossed the Rhode Island border into Massachusetts, the sky had turned the color of bruised iron. Huge, wet snowflakes began to splatter against the windshield, quickly turning into a blinding white curtain as the nor'easter slammed into the coastline hours ahead of schedule.
The radio issued continuous emergency alerts. State police were advising all non-essential vehicles to clear the interstate. Semi-trucks pulled off onto the shoulders, hazard lights flashing in the swirling gloom.
I pressed the gas pedal down, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. Every time the truck skidded slightly on an icy patch, my mind flashed back to the nursery, to the unfinished crib, to the words of my father echoing in the silence of my conscience: A good marriage isn't built on what you can give someone. It's built on what they can trust you not to take away.
I had taken everything from Claire. I had taken her peace of mind, her security, her joy in carrying her first child, and her dignity. I had turned her most vulnerable moment into a solitary nightmare while I chased the hollow flattery of another woman.
By seven in the evening, Route 127 heading toward Rockport was completely buried beneath six inches of fresh, unplowed powder. The coastal wind shrieked through the bare branches of the oak trees, tossing sea spray and frozen snow across the narrow roadway. Trees bent under the weight of the ice; branches cracked like rifle shots in the dark woods.
Two miles outside the town limits, my headlights caught a downed power line sparking violently in the snow. A local police cruiser was parked across the road, its blue emergency lights strobing against the whiteout.
A Massachusetts state trooper, wrapped in a heavy fluorescent parka, trudged up to my window as I rolled it down.
""Road's closed, buddy,"" the trooper yelled over the howling gale. ""Power lines are down all along the bluffs, and the wind is hitting sixty miles an hour. You need to turn back and shelter in Gloucester.""
""Officer, please,"" I said, my voice shaking with an urgency I had never felt in any boardroom negotiation. ""My wife is at a private cottage on Atlantic Avenue. She is thirty-two weeks pregnant with a critical fetal complication. She's scheduled for emergency surgery at Boston Children's on Monday, but she’s alone out there without power.""
The trooper squinted at me through the blizzard, shining his heavy tactical flashlight into the cab. He saw the ultrasound scans sitting on the passenger seat, the box of prenatal vitamins, and the look of sheer, unvarnished terror on my face.
""Atlantic Avenue is right on the water,"" the trooper said grimly. ""The storm surge is coming over the seawall. The municipal plows haven't been able to clear that ridge since four o'clock. Even with four-wheel drive, you'll get stuck in the drifts past the cove.""
""Then I'll walk,"" I said without hesitation. ""I don't care about the truck. I have to reach her.""
The officer stared at me for three long seconds. He sighed, turning his head to spit into the snow. ""Follow my tracks until the old fish pier. When you hit the dead end at the rocky ridge, pull your truck as far onto the high shoulder as you can. After that, it’s about a half-mile on foot along the cliff trail. Keep the ocean on your left. If you lose sight of the telephone poles, you'll walk straight off the granite rocks into forty-degree water.""
""Thank you,"" I breathed.
He backed his cruiser up just enough to let my truck squeeze past the barricade. ""Be careful out there, mister. Don't make me fish two bodies out of the rocks tomorrow morning.""
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I drove through the mounting drifts, the engine roaring as the tires fought for traction against the packed ice. At the edge of the fish pier, the road disappeared into an unbroken sea of white. The wind hit the truck with the force of a solid wall, rocking the heavy chassis on its springs.
I shut off the engine. I shoved the baby shoes and the medical scans into my inner coat pocket, zipped my collar up against the freezing gale, and stepped out into the teeth of the blizzard.
