Mick peered into the darkness as he slowed and brought the truck to a stop on the side of the two-lane road. The trees and underbrush that lined both sides of the road gave a feeling of both protection and loneliness in this remote area. A swath of grass between the road and the forest yielded barely enough room for the truck to be safely off the pavement. The headlights illuminated a mixture of snow, ice, and sleet falling from the sky and foretold of treacherous driving as the night progressed.

“Musta hit something.’” Mick put his beer in the cup holder between the seats.

“Maybe a coyote? They’re in the area.”

“Humph. You know so much.”

The windshield wipers pushed aside the wet, sloppy snowflakes as they began to fall in great numbers. The flakes were the size of a quarter, half snow, half water, as if they couldn’t decide which they wanted to be, and instead, clung together as they fell in a desperate attempt to be whole, only to be flung apart as they hit the windshield.

Mick looked around but could see nothing outside the truck windows except snow and darkness. “Sounded kinda like we hit an animal. Hope it didn’t dent the fender. I’ll check it out.”

“You’re drunk.” The statement hung in the air – a laden snowflake that refused to fall.

“I am NOT drunk.” Mick’s hypnotic blue eyes turned to ice as he focused his attention toward his accuser.

“You’re drunk. You’re driving. And now you’ve hit someth…”

Mick’s hand swung around the space in the cab and caught Loretta squarely on the side of her face. The pain was immediate. Loretta cried out and slouched down in the seat. She could usually block the full force of the blow, but she had been distracted thinking about what they might have hit. Her hands instinctively went up and touched the burning skin and throbbing jaw. She lapsed into silence.

“I’m just goin’ ta check the fender.” Mick turned off the heater, opened the driver’s door, picked up his beer, and got out. A frigid wind swept into the truck cab. Loretta shivered. The running motor kept the headlights on. The metronome of the windshield wipers kept time.

Loretta watched as Mick ran a loving hand along the curves of the fender, bumper, and hood of the car. Not a glance back down the road to see if a half-dead animal might need help. He took the last swig of beer from the can and headed for the bed of the truck where a fresh case was chilling in the rapidly falling temperature. He popped the can, and returned to the front of the truck to again inspect the damage.

Another caress of the fender told Loretta that there was damage sufficient to cause Mick concern. She remembered when those same hands had caressed her and the warmth of his kisses had aroused passion that made her blood run hot. She remembered words of love and commitment he had whispered. The words now sounded like a foreign language that she had once been able to speak in her youth. All gone. She stared out the windshield and wondered who the person standing there was, drinking a beer in the falling snow, showing loving attention to a truck. He stood about ten feet in front of the truck, staring back into the headlights, his attention focused on the passenger side fender.

Ten years. Had it really been that long? Loretta could not remember a distinct turning point. Just the gradual change. Proken promises. Small ones at first. Forgotten birthdays. Spending less time together. Intimacy denied. Sex that gave no pleasure. Loretta had made excuses in her mind for Mick. He was so busy. It was easy to forget things. She should try harder to be attractive to him. She should be able to anticipate his needs. She saw less of her friends and spent more time trying, unsuccessfully, to please Mick.

No more. All the disappointment, all the stress, all the anxiety of the last few years came into clear focus. She had to get away. Break free. Never go back. Whatever it took.

The temperature kept falling. The snowflakes became more formed, the water transformed into ice as the sound of the flakes hitting the windshield changed from a plop, plop to a tap, tap, tap. They came more rapidly and the wipers were unable to clear the windshield with one swish of the blade.

Whatever it took.

Mick continued to stand in the glare of the headlights and stare, mesmerized, at the fender as if he couldn’t believe what had happened or he didn’t know what to do about it.

Loretta stared at Mick. She touched her throbbing jaw. Her gaze did not veer as she swung her legs over the console and settled into the driver’s side. She adjusted the seat forward, put the transmission in gear, and pressed as hard as she could on the gas. The truck lunged forward inflicting even more damage on the front bumper and fender.

Whatever it took.

Mick lay on the ground not moving, beer flung to the side. Loretta put the truck in reverse and backed up a few feet. There was faint movement of Mick’s body. Heart pounding, she found first gear and inched forward. No thump this time. Just a crunch, not once, but twice as both sets of tires did their damage. Loretta stared in the rear view mirror as settling snow turned red on Mick’s body.

The pounding of her heart slowed down and she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She sat up tall and adjusted the heat to warm the frigid air. Turning her gaze forward, she steered the truck onto the road and drove away.

A lone coyote trotted across the roadway, the rest of the pack concealed nearby.

The snow continued to fall, now in compact frozen flakes, floating lazily to the ground and purifying all that it touched. Three to five inches were forecast. No one would notice a small mound by the side of the road. They would see nothing but snowy trees and underbrush. It promised to be a long cold winter. Spring thaw was months away. Loretta would be over the state line by morning.