“If anything, I think it’s getting worse.”
Becky, my sister, was peering out the window of the cabin at snow that I had no doubt was falling in big, pillowy flakes, just as it had been for the past few hours.
“They’ll make it,” I said. “Mum will make dad drive through actual hell to get here. You know what she’s like. A little bit of snow isn’t going to stop her perfect Christmas from happening.”
Becky turned away from the window and walked back over to the couch across from the comfortable wingback armchair I was sitting in, glass of red in her hand.
“I hope so,” she said, dropping down into the seat. “But honestly, Jack, I’m not so sure. You can’t even see the road anymore. It’s completely white outside.”