Page 8 of A Cozy Holiday
The machine lurches forward, nearly sending me flying into a tree. I yank the brakes hard.
“Sorry! I’ll be more careful!” I yell to Jubs, but she has already fainted.
At least one of us won’t have to remember today.
Inhaling, I ease onto the gas, creeping forward at a blazing six miles per hour. I hate to admit it, but it’s lovely. The snow’s untouched, and the trees are heavy with frost. The sun breaks through the branches, making me squint.
I push my bangs out of my face, spotting the next flag. “Come on, Joy. You’ve wrangled feral cats. You can handle this.”
The universe immediately punishes my optimism by putting a bump in my way. I hit it hard enough that I nearly bite off my tongue as the snowmobile fishtails. I picture Jubs flying through the air, my suitcases bursting open, and my pinot noir shattering across the tundra.
Miraculously, everything stays intact. My teeth chatter, but I keep going,now fueled by pure resentment toward Jamie. He didn’t mention this delightful part of the journey in his emails. No warning. No hospitality.
What if I get eaten by a polar bear?
After what feels like an eternity, a clearing appears and three buildings come into view: a massive log home, a cabin, and a barn with a painted reindeer mural on its large wooden doors.
To the left of the barn, real-live reindeer with antlers and hooves stand in a gated, snow-filled pasture, staring at me.
I stare back.
I think I vastly oversold myself.
The only thing I know about reindeer is that they can be catty bitches if one of them looks a little different from the rest—and that my nose is probably as red as Rudolph’s.
Just because Craigslist was good a decade ago for finding cheap rent in college does not mean I should have turned to it in my hour of need.
This is one hundred percent a nefarious underground meatpacking situation. I’m vegetarian, for fuck’s sake. Staying here means abandoning my morals.
My resolve to leave hardens the moment I turn to inspect my cabin further. The blue window trim from the photos is actually raw, blackened wood, and the porch railing looks like a beaver had a great time gnawing on it.
This would be a perfect time to cry. I’m overwhelmed. I may die. Jubilee may die.
I squeeze my eyes tight, but nothing happens.
I’ll try again later.
I fumble for my phone, but it’s at two percent battery with no signal.
Fuck.
Maybe I can drive the snowmobile back to Portland. I laugh at the thought. Jubs and I would turn into popsicles.
Jubilee rustles in her carrier as if to second the motion.
All plans of escaping vanish when I turn the key, and the gas gauge blinks red.
Naturally, it’s empty.
Why did I trust a man after a few emails and obviously staged photos?
I went to Harvard. I graduated from the best vet school in the country. I read. I use hand sanitizer. I keep my shoes on during flights, and I meditate. How did all that land me here, abandoned in the woods?
“Jubs, I’ll be right back.”
If I am going to get murdered, I may as well put up a fight.
I stomp toward the main house with my fists clenched. I have a whole bunch of rage and just one person I want to take it out on.
