Saturday, my husband followed our GPS to a conference center bordering the inner city of St. Louis. He drove our four door, sandy colored Chevy. I sat on the passenger side, gripping an imaginary safety handle to make me feel more secure. The day was dull, cold and cloudless. Slight rain began to bubble on our windshield. My cell phone rang. “Hello,” I said. It was my forecaster son, calling to warn me of the freezing rain ahead. “Be careful,” he said.
