“Mom!” Arch’s voice seemed to be coming from far away. “Are you okay? What are you doing way over here?” When I could only groan, my son’s voice, nearer this time, said, “Wait. Let me call Tom on my cell. Is he here? Should I call 911? Hey, guys!” he cried. “Todd! Gus! Come help my mom!”
“Mrs. Schulz,” said Todd, “what are you doing in the snow? Should we turn you over?”
“Wait, Todd. Aunt Goldy?” This was Gus, using the moniker we’d devised for him. “I’m going to check for broken bones, all right?”
I said, “Mmf.”
As Gus gently, methodically, squeezed all my limbs, I heard Arch talking rapidly into his cell. “Yes, yes, she’s over here. Can’t you see us? Look, Todd will wave to you!” I caught a glimpse of Todd running up the slope, swinging his arms. My chest and throat were burning, and
