Overnight, a winter blizzard had accumulated drifts and depths that the snowplows could not shunt aside, at least not quickly or efficiently. The main arteries were reduced to a single lane; the subways were running but the buses were not. Susan awoke to an absolute silence: the traffic outside the hotel had been utterly stilled. John was in the bathroom—she could hear the shower running. She went to the window. Outside, the streets were transformed The city was white, unsullied, and motionless. The snow had stopped falling but the sky was a uniform grey. Good, she thought. We can’t go anywhere today. It wasn’t a blizzard; it was a reprieve. She turned when she heard the water stop. John appeared a: the bathroom door in his Levis: skinny, pale, a little shaky…but his eyes were bright and lucid. “Get dressed,” he said. “We don’t have time to waste.” I should have expected this, Susan thought. There was no reprieve. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t afford one. He didn’t have the time.
