Page 68 of About Last Christmas
Her expression falls, and I feel bad. I needed to say what was on my heart, but my execution could’ve been a little less emotional. “It’s unfair of me to dump all this on you, then bolt. But it’s really urgent, or else I’d stay.” I soften my voice. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you did. We need a long talk.”
“Yeah, it’s overdue.” She pulls in a breath. “I’m sorry about the bulbs. I’m sorry for a lot of things.” She glances out the window, reluctance marking her brow. “Do you really have to leave? It might snow.”
It’s Northern Ohio in December. The sky always looks like that. “Yeah. It’s important.” I give her a hug because, while Ihave questions, I’m an adult. I grab the tub, trying hard not to think about the damaged ornaments, and rush out the door. “Time is of the essence” sounds cliché-ish but totally accurate. Midge’s store is in Sugarvale, about two hours away.
I check the clock on the dash. It’s half past one. Since Midge’s store closes at five, I should get there with moments to spare. Problem is, with Midge, it’s first come, first served. If someone else knows about the nativity set, it’s a race. And I don’t intend to lose.
I punch the gas.
The sweet widow will get her Vallerton set.
After forty minutes on the road, I realize Mom missed her calling as a meteorologist. The skies unleash fluffy white stuff. I flick on my wipers to the level just above lazy and right below dramatic. As I drive, the weather gets worse. The whole “dashing through the snow” thing is great in theory, but it sucks on Rt. 11.
I’ve driven in snowy conditions since I was a teen. I can handle it. What I can’t handle? Ice. So I slow my speed because even four-wheel drive isn’t awesome on slippery roads. The freeway is eerily empty. Needing to fill the silence, I call Tilly over Bluetooth.
“I have all the things set for tonight” is how she answers.
I lean over the steering wheel as if it will help with visibility. “I might be late.”
“Where are you?”
“Heading toward Sugarvale.”
“Uh, why?”
“To get Leo’s nativity set. An antique shop has one, but it’ll go fast.” Might be gone now. There’s no way of knowing because I can’t get ahold of Midge. “It’s snowing hard, so I’m basically crawling.”
“Take your time.”
A deer darts onto the road.
“Oh crap! Move!” I squeal and swerve, so I don’t hit the stunned beast. I lose control and skid. A pump of the brakes. A jerk of the tires. No success. The car skids off the road into a snowbank. “No!” I slam my hands on the steering wheel.
“What happened?” Tilly screams into the phone. “Are you okay?”
“I’m stuck in a snowdrift on the side of the road.” I shift the gear into reverse. The engine growls with the spinning of tires. It’s obvious the car is on a slight incline—no doubt due to packed snow—but even gravity doesn’t want to help a girl out because I’m still stationary.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. Not at all. But I can’t get the car to move.” I put the car in park, roll down my window, and stick my head out to help assess the situation. Snow is pushing against my door, but I can easily open it. Question is, do I want to step into two feet of ice crystals to vainly tug on the bumper? No.
“What can I do?”
“I have roadside assistance.”
A pause. “That might take a while, since the roads are horrible.”
I check my fuel gauge. “I’m good on gas.” Pap once told me a car can idle for over sixteen hours on a full tank. Not that I want to test that theory. “And my phone’s at ninety percent. I should be fine.” But can I still get to Midge’s before five? “I better hang up and call.”
“Okay, keep me updated. Oh, and lock your doors! I heard a story on a true crime podcast about a woman?—”
“Maybe another time, Tilly.” I already have enough chaos cramming my brain, so irrational paranoia gets put on a waiting list. I say goodbye and disconnect.
After getting the number from my insurance app, I call roadside assistance and am promptly placed on hold for half anhour. It’s after two now. Time is wasting. I finally speak to a dispatcher, and the earliest a tow truck can reach me is around four. I’m currently about forty-five minutes from Midge’s door. That’s cutting things close, but what choice do I have?
I call Midge’s again. Busy. I check the radar on my weather app, and it seems like things are calming down. The snow has shifted from rapid bursts to gentle flurries. Hopefully the worst is past. Wanting to save my battery, just in case, I put my phone in the cup holder and try to occupy the time by mentally composing a list of who I’ve left to buy gifts for. The answer’s easy—everyone. I try not to think about my emotional exchange with Mom, but it’s useless. When she first walked through Pap’s door months ago, I knew this conversation was bound to happen. At the time, I was wallowing in my grief and didn’t have the energy to confront her. Then I felt bad. She was making an effort. So I piled on excuses, avoiding the issue. Deep down, though, I understood the true reason I never confronted her. Because I feared she’d leave again.
A car door slams from behind, and I flick the rear window wiper to clear the view. Thank you, Tilly, for placing true crime scenarios in my brain. Instead of a potential murderer, I spy a familiar truck.
