Page 21 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
I save my document frantically, then slam the laptop shut and grab my coat from where I'd thrown it over my desk chair. My keys are somewhere in my purse, which is somewhere in this disaster of a room that looks like a teenage tornado hit it.
Some things never change. It seems to be a recurring theme in this town.
"Come on, come on," I mutter, digging through the contents of my bag. Lip gloss, wallet, phone, breath mints, the romance novel I've been pretending to read for research. I find everything except my damn car keys.
Finally, my fingers close around the familiar weight of the key ring, and I race downstairs, yanking on my coat as I go. The front door slams behind me with enough force to rattle the windows, and I sprint to my little red sports car parked in the driveway.
Snow falls with a vengeance, snowflakes fat and sticky on the landscape. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t help my case. I pause, glancing around me at the brewing storm.
Shit. This isn’t just a cute little snowfall. This is a full-on Maine December storm. I hesitate for a few minutes. I grew up around these parts and I know full well the weather is liable to take a turn for the worse in a heartbeat.
Still, I can’t really stay home, can I? Shaking my head, I sit down behind the wheel and reason that I’m going to drive as slow as I can.
The engine turns over with a reluctant wheeze, and I back out onto the street faster than I probably should. The roads are slick with the snow that started falling while I was lost in my fictional world, and my tires slip slightly as I take the corner toward town.
I need a better car. This car isn’t made for Saltford Bay in the winter.
I should take the main road. It's longer but safer, and the snowplows have probably been through already. But the concert starts in twenty minutes, and traffic will be murder with all the parents converging on the elementary school.
Instead, I turn onto Maple Street, then cut through the residential neighborhoods toward the back road that will take me straight to the school. It's a shortcut I've used a hundred times, winding through the older part of town where the houses sit farther apart and the trees grow thick on either side of the narrow lane.
The snow is falling harder now, fat flakes that cling to my windshield and make it hard to see more than a few yards ahead. I lean forward, gripping the steering wheel tighter, and press my foot down on the accelerator.
Almost there. Just a few more miles and I'll make it with time to spare.
That's when the car hits the ice.
It happens so fast I don't have time to react. One second I'm driving in a straight line, and the next my little red car is spinning sideways, tires screaming against the asphalt as I fight to regain control. The steering wheel jerks in my hands, and my heart slams against my ribs as the world tilts and blurs outside my windows.
"No, no, no," I gasp, pumping the brakes and trying to remember everything my father taught me about driving in winter weather. Don't overcorrect. Turn into the skid. Stay calm.
But calm is the last thing I feel as my car slides off the road and plows nose-first into a massive snowbank with a muffled thump.
The impact throws me forward against my seat belt, and then everything goes silent except for the sound of my engine ticking as it cools and my own ragged breathing.
For a moment, I just sit there, hands shaking on the steering wheel, trying to process what just happened. Then the adrenaline fades and the anger hits.
"Fuck!" I scream, slamming my palm against the steering wheel hard enough to make my hand sting. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Through my windshield, I can see that the front end of my car is buried almost completely in the snowbank.
Shit. I'm not getting out of this one without help.
With shaking fingers, I dig my phone out of my purse and dial my father's number. It goes straight to voicemail. It’s not surprising. He's probably already at the school, wondering where I am. I try Mom next, with the same result. I have no better luck with Mateo and Mara.
The twins are going to think I forgot about them. That their aunt Lucia couldn't even be bothered to show up for their big moment.
Tears of frustration burn behind my eyes as I climb out of the car to survey the damage. The cold air hits me like a slap, and I wrap my coat tighter around myself as I trudge through the knee-deep snow to get a better look.
It's worse than I thought. The front of my car is completely buried and the entire thing tilts on an angle, the back wheels not even touching the ground. I would have to dig the entire car out to be able to get out of there.
I'm well and truly stuck.
That's when I look around and realize exactly where I am.
The narrow road I crashed on curves past a familiar stone wall, beyond which I can see the warm glow of windows through the bare branches of oak trees. A long driveway leads up to a house I know as well as my own childhood bedroom—solid stone construction with a slate roof and smoke rising from the chimney.
The Flintman house.
