The wind nearly pushed the door back against me.
I leaned into it and made my way toward the stranded car.
Snow reached above my ankles in places.
The hazard lights kept flashing, turning the white ground orange and then dark again.
I called out before I reached the vehicle.
An elderly man answered from somewhere below the road.
His voice was faint, but he was conscious.
I found him near the ditch, struggling to climb through the snow.
He had managed to get out of his car, but the slope was steep and slippery.
One hand was held close to his body.
Blood had run down from a cut on his forehead.
"Please don't try to climb any farther," I told him.
He looked up at me.
"I'm not doing a very good job of it, am I?"
His attempt at humor sounded strained.
I asked whether he could move his fingers.
He tried, then winced.
His wrist was badly injured.
I called 911 and gave the dispatcher our location as clearly as I could.
The wind kept stealing parts of my words.
I repeated the road name and explained that an older man had gone into a ditch and appeared to have a head injury and a possible broken wrist.
The dispatcher told me to remain with him if I could do so safely.
I put the phone in my pocket and looked down the slope.
The man was shivering.
His coat was wet, and snow had gathered around his shoulders.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Walt."
"I'm Kayla. We're going to get you somewhere warm."
He looked toward the road.
"I thought I could make it home."
"You don't need to worry about that right now."
I had spent enough time in a hospital to know how quickly a cold environment could become dangerous, especially for someone older who was injured and exhausted.
Walt tried to stand.
His knees buckled almost immediately.
I caught his arm and steadied him.
He was heavier than I expected, and the snow gave us almost nothing firm to stand on.
I told him to wait while I found a better way to help.
My Corolla was parked a short distance away.
I could get him to the car, but only if we moved slowly.
I returned to him and placed his uninjured arm over my shoulders.
"On three," I said.
He nodded.
We rose together.
He gasped when his injured wrist shifted, and I stopped until he could breathe normally again.
The slope was miserable.
Every step slid backward.
I kept my feet apart and leaned into him, trying to give him something steady to hold on to.
We moved a few inches at a time.
By the time we reached the road, I could feel sweat beneath my scrubs despite the bitter cold.
Walt was shaking harder.
I opened the passenger door and helped him sit down.
Then I went around to the driver's side and turned the heater up.
Warm air began to spill from the vents, though it took time to overcome the cold inside the car.
Walt closed his eyes.
I checked that he was still responding when I spoke to him.
His forehead needed attention, and his wrist had begun to swell.
I found some clean material in the car and used it to apply gentle pressure to the cut while we waited.
I didn't have proper medical supplies with me.
I did what I could without making his injuries worse.
Walt watched me work.
"You a nurse?"
"Yes."
"That explains why you don't seem frightened."
I almost laughed.
I was frightened.
I was cold, tired, and conscious of every minute passing.
I was also thinking about my father's locked door.
The thought made me feel guilty, which was ridiculous.
Walt was hurt.
I was there.
That was what mattered.
"What's your family going to say when you get home this late?" he asked.
I adjusted the material against his forehead.
"They'll be upset."
He looked at me for a moment.
"Because you stopped?"
I didn't answer right away.
Because the truth sounded too foolish when spoken aloud.
Because I was twenty-four, paid my bills, worked at a hospital, and still worried about whether my father would approve of a decision to help someone in danger.
"Because I was supposed to be home earlier," I said.
Walt gave a small nod.
He didn't ask anything else.
The ambulance took longer than either of us wanted.
The storm made travel difficult, and the dispatcher had warned me that emergency crews were moving carefully.
I kept talking to Walt.
I asked him about the pain, whether he felt dizzy, and whether he remembered what had happened.
He told me he had lost control when the road became slippery.
Then he mentioned that he used to drive county snowplows.
"Thirty-one years," he said.
I looked at him.
"Thirty-one?"
"Long enough to know better than to trust a road like this."
He gave a tired laugh.
"I used to clear this stretch myself."
I glanced through the windshield.
The snow continued to sweep across the pavement.
It was strange to imagine him out here years earlier, driving a heavy plow through weather that could bury a smaller vehicle.
Now he was sitting in my passenger seat, injured and shivering, while I tried to keep him warm.
"You probably saved a lot of people from getting stuck," I said.
"Some nights, I just moved snow from one place to another."
He smiled faintly.
"People don't always notice the difference."
I thought about that longer than I expected to.
The ambulance finally arrived.
Its lights washed across the snowbank, and two emergency responders approached the car.
I explained what had happened and told them about Walt's head injury and wrist.
They took over his care.
One of them examined his forehead while the other prepared to help him onto a stretcher.
Walt looked at me before they moved him.
"Thank you, Kayla."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know."
He held my gaze.
"That's why I'm doing it."
I didn't know what to say.
The responders settled him onto the stretcher and carried him toward the ambulance.
I watched until they had him safely inside.
Then I realized my coat was gone.
I had wrapped it around him earlier when his shivering became worse.
In the confusion of getting him into the ambulance, nobody had thought to hand it back.
I could have called after them.
I could have asked for it.
Instead, I watched the doors close.
The ambulance pulled away, its lights fading into the snow.
I stood beside my car for a moment in my scrubs.
The cold had already worked through the thin fabric.
My arms were bare beneath the short sleeves, and my fingers felt stiff.
I went back inside the Corolla and turned the heater higher.
My phone showed that it was past midnight.
I had no coat.
I had no idea whether Walt would be all right.
And I had a father who had already made it clear that he didn't care why I was late.
I sat there long enough for the windshield to fog again.
Then I wiped a clear patch in the glass and started driving.
I was exhausted enough to consider sleeping in the hospital parking lot.
But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
I wanted my bed.
I wanted the ordinary comfort of the house where I had grown up, even if I had to endure a lecture to get it.
I turned onto the road leading to my parents' neighborhood.
The snow was deeper now.
The trees beside the street bent under their white covering, and the houses seemed sealed behind dark windows.
When I reached our driveway, I slowed and looked at the garage.
It was closed.
The kitchen window glowed faintly.
I parked and took my keys from the ignition.
For a few seconds, I remained in the driver's seat with my hands resting in my lap.
I was afraid of what my father would say.
That was the truth.
I had just helped an injured stranger, called an ambulance, and stayed beside him in dangerous weather.
Yet I was still afraid to walk up to my own front door.
I got out of the car.
Snow crunched beneath my shoes as I crossed the driveway.
The porch light illuminated the door and the familiar brass lock.
I put my key into it.
It turned.
The door moved a few inches and stopped.
I pushed gently, thinking something might have fallen against it.
Then I saw the chain.
It stretched tight across the gap.
I stood with one hand on the knob, staring at it.
My father had locked me out.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Chain Was Only Inches Away, but the Message Behind It Was Clearer Than Anything My Father Had Ever Said
I Thought Following Every Rule Would Keep Me Safe Until the Night My Own Father Decided I Could Freeze Outside
Part 2 of 12
