Page 23 of Blind Prophet

Beneath the frown, there’s a hint of a smile. If I didn’t know him better, I’d miss it, given how quickly it passes.

“I’m the unannounced guest. You pick.”

“Would you care to drive?”

“What a gracious offer,” I say, smiling at the memory of us racing to the front seat.

I loved to drive, and he always said I was the worst driver he’d ever met. He didn’t mean it; it was just how he teased. He let me win most races when we found ourselves in separate carts. It was fun, but I’m not here for fun.

“It’s best an expert sits behind the wheel,” I say, slinging myself into the front passenger seat.

There’s a steel-gray Yeti with condensation beneath the clear lid in the cupholder.

“Looks like you already have coffee,” I say.

“But you don’t,” he says, flicking the key to start.

I inhale, breathing in cedar and balsam. I’ve purchased hundreds of candles seeking this scent, but I’ve yet to find one that matches the splendor of the woods.

“It’s unseasonably warm,” I comment.

Leaves scatter on the ground, and yes, there are bare tree limbs, but there’s still color and life dotting the landscape, and while the air is crisp, I don’t require a coat.

“It is,” he says.

“I imagine the holiday ski crowd’s getting concerned.”

“Holiday skiing is always dicey.”

That’s what he used to say when I’d comment on the lack of snow in the nearby ski resorts this time of year. Our exchange is too familiar.

“A cold front arrives tomorrow,” he says, seemingly oblivious that we just repeated a conversation we had years ago.

“First snow of the season?”

“Third.”

There’s a distinct absence of snow between the trees. If anything, the ground looks dry.

“It all melted,” he explains. “Wasn’t substantial. Maybe next week, as I’m sure you know, given your love for weather forecasts. Unless you’ve changed and there’s a winter coat crammed in your suitcase.”

“I don’t cram items into my suitcase.”

One corner of his lip turns up.

Yes, he’s biting back his response.

“It’s good to see you.”

Now that’s something I didn’t expect him to say. I shift to better see him, but he stares straight ahead.

“How have you been?”

He’s always been cordial. That was one of our problems.

“I'm good,” I say.

The incline increases, and my back flattens against the seat. I press my heels against the front of the cart and hold on to the handrail.

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