@wxthin-wxthout /// continued from here.
It’s no secret that Jay Gatsby hates the cold. Spring had been so tantalizingly close, the little daffodils and crocuses popping up to signify the worst was behind them. The day temperature had been a steady 60° for most of the past month and he could almost tolerate that, though he still wasn’t finished with his seasonal period of threatening to move to Florida. The unexpected snowstorm had only strengthened his resolve to leave the miserable north.
The meteorologist report in the paper had warned about a nor’easter and though it was late in the year to get any significant snow, the prospect of the temperature going below freezing really put a damper on his mood. He’d begged Nick not to go to work but he had been hard to reason with. Bills to be payed, even if Jay begged to pay them. His company and space heating ability would be severely missed.
Jay had taken one step outside, made a face and canceled all his meetings. He spent most of the day on the phone and when the phone lines went out at noon, he propped himself up in the living room and began attempting to read the Iliad for what had to have been the 24th time. That pursuit grew futile and he eventually decided to take a nap, which was well-needed and lasted most of the afternoon.
When he woke up it was 6 and Nick wasn’t home. The power had gone out, the central heating was dead, the maid had decided to spend the night and the cat refused to leave the vicinity of the hearth. Nick wasn’t home. This fact in it’s self wasn’t alarming. It was too icy to drive home. Perhaps he stayed in the city overnight. Jay wouldn’t know, no one’s phone was working. This wasn’t particularly comforting in it’s self but it didn’t spell disaster.
The snow died down to flurries and Jay eventually made himself get out of bed and take a peak out the window. Still for the most part. Deep snow. His eyes can barely make out a funny sort of shape at the corner of the yard. Garbage? No. Maybe someone dropped a blanket. A little dark mass in the sea of white. He wasn’t curious enough to put his shoes on and check.
The eccentric old lady from down the road was using the lull in the storm to walk her poodle. The sight of her draped in her minks and pulling along the little dog was almost comical. Still, she slowed her pace when she got near the corner of his property and the shape in the snow. There’s silence. And then a scream. It’s a person. A goddamn person.
Jay doesn’t bother putting his shoes on and only manages to get his dressing gown halfway over his shoulders. He skitters down the stairs and out the front door and into the snow, every step burning and burning. No. That was Nick. He could recognize his sport coat. Nick. He’d told him not to go, not today, hell, he’d begged him. It was too cold outside to do anything. It was too cold outside to get home.
He crouches in the snow and frantically picks him up, dislodging ice from his face and desperately trying to get some sign of life.
