It is snowing again. It is gorgeous. Just like a fairyland. All white. And the snow is glistening in the sun. But the snow flakes are light, and as I glanced out the window, I have noticed that they melt the moment they hited the pavement so it could not be the weather which makes Andrew late getting home. "I think the traffic and the snow will hold him up," Sarah said. "If it is snowing in Connecticut, it can slow Andrew down, and everyone else who will come back to the city on Sunday night. There , is probably a backup of cars." "That's true, yes," I 155 said, seizing on this possibility, wanting to ease worry. But the fact is, Andrew was never late, and that was what troubled me now. Sarah knew it as well as I was, but neither of us voiced this thought at the moment.