"First Snow" was awarded second place in the second Pioneer Press Fiction Contest.

FIRST SNOW

Later, when Beth thought about that evening, the thing she would remember was that it was the first snow. It was halfway between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and people were getting lulled into a false sense of how winter really was, and would be. She had always loved those first snowflakes of winter. Even though they marked the passage of time – not necessarily a pleasant thought as she hurtled through middle age – there was still something pure and simple about that first snow that made her smile.

She had been smiling, she remembered, when she saw the first flakes drifting lazily down, from a twilight sky as gray and cold as metal. But her smile had thinned out as she watched her daughter navigate the turn onto Deerpath a little too quickly, the wheels sliding a bit, her daughter nervously laughing. Impossible that Victoria would have her license in a few short weeks.

Victoria straightened the wheel out (in the direction of the skid, Beth made a relieved mental note), and that was when Beth first saw the girl walking just slightly ahead on the sidewalk. Everything happened quickly after that; it was only upon reflection that Beth was able to remember details. She was surprised she could remember so much now; at the time, when the police had questioned her, she had told them she couldn’t recall anything. And it was true – right then, she couldn’t. All she saw in her mind’s eye was that the girl who was on the sidewalk suddenly wasn’t on the sidewalk. And there had been an awful sound, a muffled sort of thud, and then her daughter’s voice, saying, "Oh my God, Oh my God" over and over.

There were other events that happened quickly as well, almost as though the whole thing had been a movie set, and they were all actors running on to play their assigned parts. There was herself, of course, and Tori, getting out of the car, the snow falling more heavily now, her daughter’s hair instantly coated like fairy dust. There was the gray-coated bundle lying on its side, incredibly against the right front tire of their car. And there was the next realization that the front of the car, and thus the bundle itself were partway on the train tracks.

The other actors moved in to play their parts. There seemed to be a lot of people, which Beth was thankful for. They would know what to do; someone would have an idea or two. People were screaming to one another, and at her.

Don’t move her. We have to move her. What happened? When’s the next train? You have to back up the car. Here, let me…

She recognized a man who worked at the Walgreen’s on the corner, in the liquor department. He took charge of motioning the cars behind them to move back so that they could roll their car back off the tracks. And another man, familiar to her somehow also, actually got into her car and let it roll back ever so gently, out of harm’s way.

Six other people formed a sort-of human gurney, three of them on each side of the mystery girl, moving her away from the tracks as carefully as though she were a girl made of the finest, most breakable crystal.

All during the short time that this was happening, Beth felt like she was a spectator herself. A commuter hurrying home from her demanding job in the Loop, with lists of things to do for the holidays neatly arranged in her mind. Someone who just happened to stumble upon the scene of someone else’s misfortune, and who thought to herself, thank God it’s not me.

Of course, the reality of the situation caught up with her within a matter of minutes, and she was able to function. It was the sight of her daughter, standing over the hurt girl, both of them covered now in a fine layer of white, sparkling under the tree lights that shone up and down the streets around Market Square. She went to her daughter and put her arm around her, and together they looked down at the girl. She was young, maybe a college student, and she looked as though she were sleeping.

It had been a mercifully short trip to the hospital, Beth behind the wheel now, trembling from the cold and something else. The ambulance had gone ahead, and she and Tori had stayed behind to answer questions from the police. Now they were alone in the car, the car and accident scene having been photographed from every angle by a policeman, they were allowed to go on their way.

"It was an accident, Tori," Beth said, her words falling flat even to her own ears. "That’s why they’re called accidents, because no one is really at fault. It’s just an unfortunate matter of timing – you know, the wrong place at the wrong time. No one can explain why such things even happen. She must have slipped on the icy sidewalk just as you were coming out of your skid."

She glanced at Tori, who sat silently in the passenger seat, her fist clenched tight against her mouth. Beth would have a doctor look at her as soon as they got to the emergency room. Her daughter might be in shock.

The full, crushing weight of parenthood pressed in on her from all sides. There was no escaping it, Beth realized. When they were babies you could cut their grapes in half, plug all the electrical sockets and watch them while they slept. But eventually you couldn’t do that. They walked out the door without so much as a glance back. The thought nearly defeated her.

"We’ll call Daddy as soon as we get home," Beth said. Neil was in Europe negotiating a very tricky contract. She hadn’t even talked to him in a few days.

"We shouldn’t. Isn’t he in London, anyway? Besides, what are you going to tell him? That I killed someone before I even got my license?"

"She’s not dead, Victoria. Don’t say that. She might not even be that badly hurt. We don’t know yet."

They would wait until the news was better, Beth decided. No reason to call him in a panic, when he was already under pressure.

She accelerated slightly, purposefully, noting through the swirling snow the eerily familiar shapes of the buildings on her left. The junior high school where Tori had gone, just yesterday it seemed. The police and fire station where they’d taken a field trip once for Girl Scouts. The canopy of trees that framed Deerpath. Nothing bad had ever really happened to her in her life.

Beth was reassured by the hospital. Everyone moved efficiently, the lights were bright and the floor shone as though it had been freshly waxed. Surely if anything at all could be done, it could be done by these doctors and nurses.

Tori was now inside a curtained examining room, and Beth could hear her daughter’s muffled voice explaining something to the doctor. She resisted the urge to go over and eavesdrop.

She had only been in this hospital twice, both times briefly, but both times she had been impressed by the excellent care she had received. Once Tori had been stung on her eyelid by a wasp, and another time Beth had driven herself to the hospital in the middle of the night with a severe earache, while Neil and Tori slept. They never even knew she had been gone.

When the doctor came out of the examining room, Beth stood up quickly, expectantly.

"Mrs. Woodward, it is extremely important for you to try and remember any details you can about what happened at the time of the accident."

"Why?" Beth asked. "Isn’t my daughter all right?"

"Victoria says that the girl stepped deliberately in front of your car. Is that possible?"

Beth paused, thinking. How easy it would be. She felt relief wash over her like a cloak. That was it then! Victoria hadn’t done anything wrong. Like she had originally explained to Tori – it was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Mrs. Woodward… It’s very important. Would your daughter lie about something like this?"

"No," Beth said firmly. "No, she wouldn’t."

"Then you saw the same thing?" asked the doctor.

"I don’t remember," Beth said. "But that’s how it must have happened. I wasn’t really paying attention to the details at the time."

And she saw her daughter standing in the doorway of the curtained cubicle, her shirt buttoned up wrong, like a little girl, looking at her with the saddest eyes.

"Do you believe, me, mom? Because I’m not sure if the doctor did." They were now home, having been assured by the doctor that there was nothing to be gained by anyone by their being there. And since the girl’s parents were on their way up from Chicago, maybe it would be best if they weren’t there when they arrived.

"I just don’t understand why you didn’t mention it to the police, honey. You know, at the time. It might have made a big difference."

"But, mom, it didn’t register right then. It was like a delayed reaction or something. I mean, I saw it right then, of course. I saw her turn toward me as I pulled out of the skid. And I thought she might be someone I knew, because I think she smiled at me. And then she deliberately flung herself under the wheel of the car. Or maybe it wasn’t really, like flinging. It was more like she placed herself there. But, quickly. Like she knew what she was doing."

"Well, then, we have to call the police. And her parents need to know. This takes all the blame off you, you know. But you have to be absolutely sure, Tori. This is a very serious statement you’re making about this girl. You are saying she tried to commit suicide."

"I think the police must already have figured it out, mom. Didn’t you see the way she was laying. On her right side, facing the wheel. If I had hit her from behind and knocked her down, wouldn’t she have been face down, or forward, or something like that?"

It all seemed logical to Beth. But all the same she couldn’t get a picture of it in her own head. She wanted to believe her daughter, but lately she had been so secretive, and Beth had actually caught her lying twice in recent months – once about where she was going to be spending the night, and another time about a party that had turned out to be unsupervised. Both times she had lied with all the confidence in the world. Beth hadn’t suspected a thing. She had completely trusted her. Now her confidence was shaken.

"You don’t believe me, do you?" Tori’s face closed down. "Do you really think I could lie about something like this?" Then she turned and walked out of the room,

leaving Beth hollowed out, wanting to say the thing that would make it better, but not knowing what that thing was.

The girl’s name was Kim Layton. They found out she was a student at Lake Forest College, a freshman. The next day she had still not regained consciousness, although the doctor told them that all of her vital signs were stable, and that her only apparent serious injury was a fractured right arm, and a serious lump on the side of her head where she had fallen.

Beth had called Neil, and he had advised calling an attorney, just in case the parents decided to do anything. He was also firm about Tori calling the police and telling them that it was a suicide attempt. Their insurance company would need to know that – it would make a difference.

Beth knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door. She had told Tori she could stay home from school today, and had told her the news from the hospital. She hadn’t seen her the rest of the morning.

Tori sat on her bed, propped up with pillows, reading a book and listening to the radio. She hadn’t showered since yesterday, and her hair was frizzed like she hated it, but she seemed calmer.

"I agree with your father, Tori. We need to call the police and let them know what you said. If you are absolutely sure, then that’s that. Let them deal with it from there."

"But, Mom, what about you? Didn’t you see her too? You were right there."

"I’ve tried to remember, honey. Honestly I have, but all I can see are the lights, and the snow, and your face. Thinking about how pretty it was and how grown-up you are getting, and then nothing after that. I’m sorry."

"Well, I’ve decided maybe I shouldn’t say anything at all. What if I was wrong, mom? What if I said she did that, and she really didn’t; she did just slip, or whatever. Her life could be ruined if I accused her of that. If I didn’t say anything, maybe she could just get better, and she would be thankful she was alive, and grateful that no one would know."

"But then, that means you accept the blame, Tori. And if what you say happened is true, then she has to own up to that. You can’t interfere and try to fix her life."

"I can, Mom. Don’t you see? It will just be seen as an accident. She slid, and I skidded, and so what if I don’t get my license right away. You’ve always said you don’t think teenagers should get their license until they’re eighteen."

Beth felt the walls closing in on her. The decision didn’t have to be made right that minute, but her daughter needed to figure out what Beth already knew. That you can’t be responsible for another person’s life, not even your own child’s.

She turned and walked out of her daughter’s room.

All day, it was ungodly quiet in the house. Tori remained in her room, and Beth let her stay there. She didn’t have the will to argue with her, and just hoped that her daughter would come to see what was best on her own. If not, she would call the police herself, and they could investigate the whole situation further if they needed to.

It had kept snowing off and on all day, and Beth decided she would go out and shovel the front walk. All of this sitting around was making her crazy. She put on her parka and gloves and a hat, and went out into the cold. It felt good to her.

She was working on the driveway, when something caught her eye. It was a girl coming toward her on the sidewalk toward their house. She wore a dark gray coat, and seemed remarkably to look like Kim. In that instant, Beth saw the whole thing – Kim on the sidewalk, turning toward them, herself looking at Tori, expectantly as she came smoothly out of the skid. The lights twinkling, the crossing gates, the intersection ahead with the cars waiting there. The Walgreen’s sign, the people on the sidewalks, hunched into their coats as the snow began in earnest. The girl coming toward their car as though she needed something from them, as though she were falling to her knees praying. Then, the rest.

But this girl coming toward her wasn’t Kim. It was someone else, and she was standing in front of Beth with an envelope.

"Are you Mrs. Woodward?"

Beth nodded, as the snow began to fall again and the light went flat.

"This is a copy of the note Kim left. I’m her roommate from college. I gave the original to her parents. But I thought your daughter might want to read it.

By the way, I was just at the hospital. They think she’s going to be just fine. Physically, anyway. I guess I knew all along. I didn’t really know for sure, though. How do you know?"

The girl shook her head, and handed the envelope to Beth. Beth was careful not to open it in the snow.

"Thank you. Would you like to come in?"

"No, I’ve got exams to study for. Thanks, though. I just thought that maybe your daughter might feel better if she knew."

"She knew," said Beth, holding the note to her like a lifeline. "She knew all along."