"If it’s getting cooler, it’s not getting warmer," another one of the businessmen had said. "It can’t be both."
"As a matter of fact, it can," he’d said and launched into his explanation of how polar melting could lead to an increase in freshwater in the North Atlantic, which would float on top of the Gulf Stream, preventing its warm water from sinking and cooling, and effectively shutting the current down. "Europe would freeze," he’d said.
"Well, then, global warming would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?" yet another one had said. "Heat the place up."
He had patiently tried to explain how the world would grow both hotter and colder, with widespread droughts, flooding, and a sharp increase in severe weather. "And these changes may happen extremely quickly," he’d said. "Rather than temperatures gradually increasing and sea levels rising, there may be a sudden, unexpected event–a discontinuity. It may take the form of an abrupt, catastrophic temperature increase or a superhurricane or other form of megastorm, occurring without any warning. That’s why this project is so critical. By setting up a comprehensive climate data base, we’ll be able to create more accurate computer models, from which we’ll be able to–"
"Computer models!" one of them had snorted. "They’re wrong more often than they’re right!"
"Because they don’t include enough factors," Nathan said. "Climate is an incredibly complicated system, with literally thousands of factors interacting in intricate ways–weather patterns, clouds, precipitation, ocean currents, manmade activities, crops. Thus far computer models have only been able to chart a handful of factors. This project will chart over two hundred of them and will enable the models to be exponentially more accurate. We’ll be able to predict a discontinuity before it happens–"
It was at that point that his cell phone rang. It was his graduate assistant Chin Sung, from the lab. "Where are you?" Chin demanded.
"In a grant meeting," Nathan whispered. "Can I call you back in a few minutes?"
"Not if you still want the Nobel Prize," Chin said. "You know that hare-brained theory of yours about global warming producing a sudden discontinuity? Well, I think you’d better get over here. Today may be the day you turn out to be right."
"Why?" Nathan asked, gripping the phone excitedly. "What’s happened? Have the Gulf Stream temp readings dropped?"
"No, it’s not the currents. It’s what’s happening here."
"Which is what?"
Instead of answering, Chin asked, "Is it snowing where you are?"
Nathan looked out the conference room window. "Yes."
"I thought so. It’s snowing here, too."
"And that’s what you called me about?" Nathan whispered. "Because it’s snowing in Nebraska in December? In case you haven’t looked at a calendar lately, winter started three days ago. It’s supposed to be snowing."
"You don’t understand," Chin said. "It isn’t just snowing in Nebraska. It’s snowing everywhere."
"What do you mean, everywhere?"
"I mean everywhere. Seattle, Salt Lake City, Minneapolis, Providence, Chattanooga. All over Canada and the U.S. as far south as–" there was a pause and the sound of computer keys clicking, "Abilene and Shreveport and Savannah. No, wait, Tallahassee’s reporting light snow. As far south as Tallahassee."
The jet stream must have dipped radically south. "Where’s the center of the low pressure system?"
"That’s just it," Chin said. "There doesn’t seem to be one."
"I’ll be right there," Nathan said.
A mile from the highway snowboarders Kent Slakken and Bodine Cromps, unable to see the road in heavily falling snow, drove their car into a ditch. "Shit," Bodine said, and attempted to get out of it by revving the engine and then flooring it, a technique that only succeeded in digging them in to the point where they couldn’t open either car door.
It took Jim and Paula nearly two hours to pick up the evergreen garlands and get out to the church. The lacy flakes fell steadily faster and thicker, and it was so slick Jim had to crawl the last few miles. "I hope this doesn’t get any worse," he said worriedly, "or people are going to have a hard time getting out here."
But Stacey wasn’t worried at all. "Isn’t it beautiful? I wanted it to snow for my wedding more than anything," she said, meeting them at the door of the church. "Come here, Paula, you’ve got to see how the snow looks through the sanctuary windows. It’s going to be perfect."
Jim left immediately to go pick up Kindra and David, which Paula was grateful for. Being that close to him in the car had made her start entertaining the ridiculous hopes about him she’d had when they first met. And they were ridiculous. One look at Stacey had shown her that.
The bride-to-be looked beautiful even in a sweater and jeans, her makeup exquisite, her blonde hair upswept into glittery snowflake-sprinkled curls. Every time Paula had had her hair done to be in a wedding, she had come out looking like someone in a bad 1950’s movie. How does she do it? Paula wondered. You watch, the snow will stop and start up again just in time for the ceremony.
But it didn’t. It continued to come down steadily, and when the minister arrived for the rehearsal, she said, "I don’t know. It took me half an hour to get out of my driveway. You may want to think about canceling."
"Don’t be silly. We can’t cancel. It’s a Christmas Eve wedding," Stacey said, and made Paula start tying the evergreen garlands to the pews with white satin ribbon.
It was sprinkling in Santa Fe when Bev Carey arrived at her hotel, and by the time she’d checked in and ventured out into the plaza, it had turned into an icy, driving rain that went right through the light coat and thin gloves she’d brought with her. She had planned to spend the morning shopping, but the shops had signs on them saying "Closed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day," and the sidewalk in front of the Governor’s Palace, where, according to her guidebook, Zunis and Navajos sat to sell authentic silver-and-turquoise jewelry, was deserted.
But at least it’s not snowing, she told herself, trudging, shivering, back to the hotel. And the shop windows were decorated with ristras and lights in the shape of chili peppers, and the Christmas tree in the hotel lobby was decorated with kachina dolls.
Her friend Janice had already called and left a message with the hotel clerk. And if I don’t call her back, she’ll be convinced I’ve taken a bottle of sleeping pills, Bev thought, going up to her room. On the way to the airport, Janice had asked anxiously, "You haven’t been having suicidal thoughts, have you?" and when her friend Louise had found out what Bev was planning, she’d said, "I saw this piece on Dateline the other night about suicides at Christmas, and how people who’ve lost a spouse are especially vulnerable. You wouldn’t do anything like that, would you?"
They none of them understood that she was doing this to save her life, not end it, that it was Christmas at home, with its lighted trees and evergreen wreaths and candles, that would kill her. And its snow.
"I know you miss Howard," Janice had said, "and that with Christmas coming, you’re feeling sad."
Sad? She felt flayed, battered, beaten. Every memory, every thought of her husband, every use of the past tense even– "Howard liked . . ." "Howard knew . . ." "Howard was . . ."–was like a deadly blow. The grief-counseling books all talked about "the pain of losing a loved one," but she had had no idea the pain could be this bad. It was like being stabbed over and over, and her only hope had been to get away. She hadn’t "decided to go to Santa Fe for Christmas." She had run there like a victim fleeing a murderer.