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tore at the ice with the scraper until the green plastic began to whiten with wear. I realized that for the first time in days I wasn’t chilled to the bone. My body was heated through, back clammy with sweat underneath my thick coat.
    â€œI’ll do it myself, like I’ll be doing everything myself!”
    Bangs and rips to the ice-choked car.
    â€œBut it’s not about what I’ll be doing, Brendan—”
    The scraper snapped in half in my fist and I started to use my hands, snatching up broken slices of ice, and swiping at the leftover film until the car was finally clear enough to see.
    â€œIt’s about what I’ll miss,” I said hoarsely. My throat was raw.
    But not thick, threatening to cut off breath.
    My chest heaved in my down jacket. I had torn the tips off six fingers on my gloves.
    I tossed the broken pieces of scraper onto the lawn and dashed back to the garage for a canister of de-icer. Then I swept my bag up from the ground. As a glow of yellow lights began to light the houses of my neighbors, I threw myself onto the front seat, ground the clutch into reverse, and fishtailed out toward the highway.
    I didn’t see the whipping red lights, carnival-bright against all the whiteness around me, or hear a wail until the police car was beside me. Then I jerked the steering wheel to the right, and skidded onto the shoulder of the Northway.
    I’d been married to a policeman; I knew that if a police car drove up next to you, the cop had been trying to pull you over for a while. I put my head down on the steering wheel, letting the window down blindly. A flurry blew across my bare face. It had started to snow without my realizing it.
    â€œWant to look up at me, ma’am?”
    I tilted my head to one side.
    â€œOh, Nora. Honey, I didn’t see it was you. Your license plates are covered with snow.”
    â€œSorry about that, Vern,” I said. “Chief.”
    A big, meaty arm penetrated the window and the police chief lifted my face. His own was covered by a gray ski mask, which produced a particularly alien effect. “Fact is, you were driving mighty fast. Sliding a bit, too.”
    â€œWas I?”
    â€œDidn’t you hear me behind you?”
    â€œNo. I’m sorry. My head was … somewhere else.”
    The Chief peeled off his mask and peered in at me. “That wasn’t why I pulled you over.”
    I was staring at Vern’s gray-swathed chest, the familiar row of silver buttons, a sheen on his badge that I knew took work to maintain.
    The Chief rested both hammy fists on my window bed, where a lip of snow had already gathered. “One of your taillights is out. Can’t afford that in this weather.”
    â€œOh, right,” I replied. “I’ll have to replace the bulb.”
    â€œWhere you headed now? Away from Jean’s house, I can see.”
    The desolate thought that it would never be my house washed over me. It wasn’t even Brendan’s. “To the pharmacy,” I said.
    â€œYou having some kind of medical problem?”
    â€œNo,” I said, a small smile creeping up on me. I could refer to something goopy, female, and the Chief would surely back off. Then I wondered why I wanted him to. Vern stood there, his breath emerging in steady, white plumes.
    â€œI found some medication,” I went on after a moment. “It’s—it was—Brendan’s, but I don’t recognize the prescription.”
    I left out the fact that Brendan had drugged me with this particular pill.
    â€œYou’re looking for ‘how comes’ and there aren’t any here,” the police chief told me gruffly. “Brendan died and I’m mad as hell, like you, but no good comes from wondering why.”
    I squinted through the snow-strewn air at the Chief’s fleshy face. Died. Not killed himself. Was the Chief trying to tell me something? Or did he just want to spare me?
    â€œI need