Page 3 of Once Upon A Snowfall
“How much snow is really falling?” she asks.
“I mean, it’s sort of hard to tell. It’s coming down pretty good, but I can’t see all that much from here. I’m looking out at the runway. Why? If you’ve got good—”
Madi blows out a deep breath. “Well, it appears the rental car places have already shut down.”
“Nooo. Please don’t tell me this.” Tears begin to pool in my eyes. “All of them? What if I walk over and check. Maybe I can catch one of them before they close.”
“You’re not listening, Annie. They’re all closed. As of ten o’clock this morning.”
“So what am I supposed to do now? Never mind. I’m going back to the ticket counter to see if I can get a flight back to Texas. I can’t be stranded at the airport. I just can’t.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t panicking right now.
“Take a deep breath,” my sister exclaims. “I’m trying to figure this out.”
That’s easy for her to say—she’s not the one stuck at an airport in the middle of a snowstorm nearly two thousand miles from home. The thought of being here for days, even through Christmas, concerns me even more. If the car rental places are shut down, what else will close? What will I do for food? A shower?
“I know it’s not your fault,” I manage to say.
“The operator I spoke with mentioned there’s a shuttle to Tahoe leaving in a half hour. If I can secure you a seat on the bus—”
“Yes!” I almost scream without hearing the rest of what she has to say. Other than school field trips, I can’t recall ever going anywhere on a bus, but it can’t be that bad, can it?
“There’s just one catch.”
“Oh?”
“A group of seniors is headed to one of the casinos in Tahoe. I get it, it’s not the most ideal situation, but the operator is almost positive she can get you a seat.”
“At this point, I really don’t care. I just can’t stay here.” Madi has no idea what it feels like being stranded…alone. “But wait, how would I get to the cabin from the casino?”
“That’s the part I’m still trying to figure out. Just bear with me, okay?”
Chapter Four
Brent
I’ve never been so cold in all my life. I lace my fingers together and blow into my gloved hands. Who, in their right mind, gets out in this kind of weather to drive a bunch of folks to the casino? Me, that’s who.
“Brent, how many you got?” my Uncle Barry calls out to me over the hum of the bus’s engine and the blustery wind.
“Hold on, let me count.” I pull the doors of the bus open and climb the two steps to get a view of all the passengers. A blast of warm air hits me in the face—the only part of my body that’s not covered.
I hold onto the back of the driver’s seat then stand on my tiptoes to do a head count. I learned a long time ago it was easier to count the empty seats rather than the ones that are occupied, since I know how many the bus will hold when it’s full. Most of the passengers take the first available seats they come to, but there’s always that five or six that will go all the way to the back.
I’m not ready to stand back out in the cold, but the sooner we know now many total passengers we have, the sooner we can be on our way.
On a normal day, the drive from Reno to Tahoe is less than an hour, but on days like today, we’ll be lucky if we make it in two. To be honest, I’m surprised they even have us on the road at all considering how quickly the weather is going downhill. This is the last group coming in, so once we make it to the casino, we’ll be safe and sound for the next five days. It still baffles me that people would rather spend their time at a casino during the holidays rather than with their friends and loved ones. To each their own, I guess, but Tahoeisa fabulous destination spot. Especially for those who like to ski.
I began working at the casino as a valet attendant when I was still in high school. Even after four years of college and a degree I wasn’t sure how to put to use, I found myself coming back to the one thing I was good at—interacting with people. I’m a lot like my father—I don’t meet a stranger.
He and my Uncle Barry drove the shuttle buses for the casino for years, carrying charter guests back and forth from the airport in Reno all the way down to the lake. It was the perfect job for my father—it paid decent, plus it got him out of the house several days a week.
Then, without any warning, he had a stroke and his days of transporting guests came to a sudden halt. Because I’d filled in on the days he or my uncle had needed off, I was the likely candidate to take his spot. I was a little hesitant at first—mostly that I’d get tired of driving the same route so many times a week—but I found that the people flying in on the chartered flights were just as nice as the ones who used the casino’s valet services. Plus, they were generous with the tips.
I take after my father with my sense of humor and quick, witty banter and the guests love the interaction I have with them. Especially the senior ladies. Their perfume is a bit overpowering at times—I swear, some of them freshen-up as soon as they get off the plane—but they love it when I tell themhow nice they look or I take their hand and assist them with getting on the bus.
I know it’s not the most ideal job—especially for someone with a college education—but I’m…content. Life could be better, but I’m not complaining.
For some crazy reason, my gaze lands on the guy sitting three quarters of the way back on the left-hand side and I lose count. Maybe it’s the full white beard he’s sporting—who needs a scarf when you have that much facial hair—or the red and white hat sitting crookedly on his head. I’m surprised I didn’t notice him when he got on, but I was probably busy sliding everyone’s suitcases into the storage compartment. He’d make a good Santa Claus, for sure.
