4. (On Good-Byes)

Two evenings before Audrey left for London, a six-foot blanket of snow fell upon the streets of New York City. She had worked that evening as the desk manager of a concert that was held in a club that her father owned. The two of them arrived early in the evening, at around eight o'clock, just as the first drifts of snow were beginning to form beneath their feet. "Do you think anyone will come?" she asked. "Because of the snow?"

At four in the morning, when they finally, and with a weary resolve, packed up the last of the sound equipment, counted the door money and walked out the back entrance of the club, West 53rd street was unrecognizable beneath the white sheets, bright enough that it might have been confused for daytime. Her father, a briefcase full of microphones and cables in one hand, took two steps from the door before he slipped and fell on his back. "I don't think we can take the subway," he said, from the ground where he lay.

One by one, six taxicabs scoffed and drove off when she called them over and said "we're going to Brooklyn," and the hotels in Times Square were all full. The two walked for close to an hour, his suit and her black skirt long since soaked by the snow that rose to their knees. They walked from hotel to hotel, without exchanging so much as a word, their arms growing tired and their wills being weakened by the cold. "Let's just go to a diner," suggested her father, "and eat breakfast."

The two sat, warming their hands on cups of coffee refills, and slowly chewed on eggs and bagels, staring mindlessly out the window. "You know," Audrey said, after some deliberation, "soon I'll be leaving for London."

"I know," he said. "Your mother and I will miss you."

"But this blizzard had to happen just now, just before I leave." She sighed, and took a sip of coffee. "As if it weren't scary enough to be going away, first I have to watch my home being buried in white."

"Well, the snow will all be gone in a few days," he said.

"Yeah, and so will I."