A Trip to Remember by Meg Harding Page A

legs grew wet, his legs feeling like they were encased in ice. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so cold.
    His car was buried under the snow. He left his bag near the door and grabbed the shovel that he stored for just such occasions.
    Colin was grateful for the early hour, glad that none of his neighbors would be awake to witness the crazy man shoveling snow from his car in the middle of a horrible blizzard. Once he’d unburied his tires, he checked the snow chains, finding them in good condition and ready for use.
    He put the shovel back by his door and his suitcase in the passenger seat.
    He carefully pulled away from the curb, thinking to himself that this was a ridiculously stupid thing to do.
     
     
    C OLIN SOMETIMES dreamed about being able to drive without anyone else on the road. In his dreams the roads were deserted, and he was driving a Jaguar, going 150 kilometers an hour with the windows down and the sun shining as he sang along to the radio. This wasn’t like his dreams. It was more like a nightmare.
    There wasn’t one car out on the roads, but there was enough snow on the street to fill the tallest building in Toronto. He never got to go over fifteen kilometers an hour. He was so tense by the time he exited the city and made it into the countryside that he was worried he wouldn’t be able to turn his head soon.
    He was experimenting with rolling the crick out of his neck when he didn’t see the icy patch and drove right over it. His car went spinning, and his stomach dropped to somewhere around his feet. He was concerned his heart might burst. He tried to steer his car out of the spin, but there was too much ice and snow, and it just wasn’t happening.
    He careened off the side of the road, his car coming to a shuddering and jolting halt in the ditch. His airbag helpfully popped, slamming right into his face. He groaned as pain burst in his nose. He clasped his hands to the sore, bloody appendage and shoved the burst airbag out of his way.
    Blood was leaking down his face, slicking his hand. Tentatively, he examined his nose, trying to verify it wasn’t broken. He wasn’t entirely sure how he could tell, but if he was going by pain levels, it was a definite possibility. His eyes were watering fiercely, tears leaking from the corner to trail down his cheek.
    “Fuck,” he groaned. It came out nasally. He scowled as he tasted blood on his lips.
    Without much of a choice, he climbed from the car and tugged his suitcase out after him. The blood had made its way onto his shirt. He was pretty sure he looked a sight.
    It was unbelievably cold out, and he shook from it, his skin pebbling beneath his three layers. He already couldn’t feel his nose.
    “Not my day,” he muttered, slamming the car door shut behind him. The entire front end was dented, and his phone didn’t have signal, so he had one option. He left the car there.
    He could go back the way he came, walking for who knew how long, knowing there was absolutely nothing in that direction, or he could walk in the direction he’d been headed and hope there was something closer than a million kilometers away.
    He walked in the direction he’d been headed.
    As he walked he imagined the headlines. “Man Found Frozen on Road in Toronto.” “Human Icicle.” “Moron Walks in Blizzard.”
    After about five minutes, the teeth chattering got so bad that he bit his tongue. The taste of copper bloomed in his mouth. When he tried to mutter a curse, his lips were so numb it came out slurred.
    Colin was 99 percent sure that this was going to be how he died.
    An undeterminable amount of time later, when Colin couldn’t feel any part of his body and was ready to keel over in the snow, he found a driveway. It took everything in him not to collapse to his knees. He trudged up it, walking and walking and walking. Why did people have to make such long driveways?
    Eventually the house came into view. It was a huge country home, and he could see the frozen lake