"Please, can we go inside? I'm freezing."
I hopped from one foot to the other trying to pull circulation back onto my feet. The car sat at an awkward angle on the side of the driveway. It tipped dangerously toward the embankment.
Dad's face had the familiar glower that happened when something broke.
"I need you to hold the light, Carrie. If I don't extract the car, I don't work in the morning. If I don't work in the morning, we can't pay the rent. If I don't pay the rent, we have no place to live."
He spat out these sentences abruptly for punctuation between shovels of snow. Snow was beginning to cling to his facial hair, lending him a comical appearance. I hid a smile behind my glove for fear it would set Dad off again. He was visibly tired and I started to feel bad.
"Dad, can I help shovel?"
He stopped and looked at me, leaning on the shovel handle and a small smile pulled at the side of his mouth.
"No, Baby Girl. I'm about done here. Hop into the car and turn the engine over. Let it warm the car up a minute, and your toes. I'm sorry for being grouchy. I'm almost done and we'll head in to see Mom."
Mom was looking out the living room window with baby Jason.
I hopped in the car, turned the key and the old Chevy sputtered, then came to life. Dad stuck the shovel end in the snow drift he'd created shoveling and motioned for me to slide over to the passenger seat. As he backed the car out of her precarious position, he patted the car dash and winked at me.
"Let's pull her out, Baby Girl, I bet Mom has hot cocoa ready in there."
This is minute freewrite
using prompt can we go inside by @mariannewest
Thank you for reading 📚.