The Shuddering

like Sawyer had just traded a best friend in for a wife. “Don’t do that,” he told him.
    “Do what?” Ryan asked. “Finally stop being a dick and start being supportive? What else is there for me to do?”
    “You’ll always be a dick,” Sawyer assured him, staring down at the snow.
    “I should probably try to fix that, or I’ll end up turning into my dad.”
    “Probably.”
    “So, sorry for being a dick,” Ryan muttered. “Just give me a chance to get back into the country before you run off to Vegas or something, all right? I want to see Elvis marry you. I at least deserve that much.”
    “The Chapel of Love for the ceremony and a Barry Manilow concert as the honeymoon,” Sawyer agreed.
    They both went silent then, staring at the ground between them, shifting their weight from foot to foot as the cold bit at their cheeks. Finally, Sawyer moved in to give his best friend a parting hug. “Tell Jane I’m sorry, all right? It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
    “Yeah, I know.”
    “Hey, good luck with Lauren. Who knows, right?”
    Ryan smirked.
    Sawyer turned to walk the narrow tire trail toward the Jeep. The question of whether the Jeep would make it through the snow was irrelevant now. They had to make it, because Sawyer couldn’t go back inside that cabin again. Not after April’s announcement. Not after the way Jane had looked at him, wounded, betrayed.
    Slamming the car door shut, he clicked his seat belt into place, shifted into first, and released the parking break. April sat in the passenger seat, pissed off, not speaking—silence he was sure to miss a few minutes from now, when she’d grow tired of the silent treatment and launch into another tirade. Easing the Jeep forward, snow crunched beneath the tires. Ryan appeared in the side-view mirror, watching them descend the steep grade.
    The distance between them grew.
    When the Jeep slowed, Sawyer gave it some gas. It continued to ramble forward, but eventually had to stop. He put it in reverse, backing up to reveal a pile of snow he’d pushed forward with the bumper, a good two feet tall, compacted and barricading them from going any farther.
    Ryan was right. They were going to end up dead.
    April said nothing despite the wall of snow ahead of them, and for a moment Sawyer wondered whether she realized how unachievable this was. Maybe that was why she wasn’t saying anything—because she knew it was impossible. Maybe she was stewing in her own defeat, ready to tell him to forget it. ButSawyer wasn’t going to forget it—not after what she’d pulled back there. She wanted to go, so they’d go. Passive-aggressiveness had slithered into his bloodstream, infecting him like a disease.
    He shoved the Jeep into first, revving the engine. In the rearview mirror, Ryan put his hands on top of his head, his mouth moving. Sawyer couldn’t hear him, but he knew exactly what Ryan was saying. You’ve got to be kidding. But Sawyer wasn’t kidding.
    He floored it.
    April gasped.
    The Jeep hit the bank of snow and rolled through it, but more snow gathered in front of the car seconds later. They had advanced only a couple of feet before they were stuck again, and this time Sawyer couldn’t back up. With one pile of snow behind them and another one ahead, they were trapped.
    “Are you crazy?” April screeched.
    “This was your idea,” he reminded her, trying to stay calm.
    “Right,” she said. “This is all my fault, you bringing me here…”
    “Bringing you here? Are you serious?”
    “Go around it,” she demanded, motioning at the blockade of snow ahead of them.
    “You practically begged me to bring you.”
    “Yeah, well, big fucking mistake,” she said. “It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
    Sawyer bit his tongue, deciding to focus on how to get the Jeep down the road, but April refused to let up.
    “Like I want to hang out with your preppy-ass friends anyway.” She scowled. “It’s like spending a weekend with Donnie and fucking Marie.”
    Sawyer closed his eyes, trying to keep his cool.
    “It’s gross,” she told him.
    He blinked at her.
    “Gross that you associate with people like that.” Her bottom lip quivered and she looked away, as if ashamed of the judgment that had just dripped from her tongue. “I’m sorry that I’m not as perfect as Jane Adler,” she said softly, tears streaking her cheeks.
    Sawyer opened his mouth to speak, but her culpability robbed him of his fire. He looked straight ahead,