A Not So Merry Rescue

1. Willa

1

willa

The flurries of the last hour swirl into bigger flakes, and the sky darkens as the setting sun creeps toward the horizon. Throughout the drive, the temperature’s been steadily dropping, hovering at a crisp thirty-one degrees. The wipers work overtime as I twist the knob to give them more power, attempting to combat the steadily falling snow.

A peek at the GPS reveals I still have over an hour left to drive. At this speed, it will be more like two or three. Which puts me at the cabin closer to midnight than I’d like. Had I not hit all the traffic along Route 89, I could have made it before the snow began. But that’s on me for leaving the packing to the last minute.

Then forgetting the car needed gas.

And of course, having to stop for road trip snacks.

The last one brings a stupid smile to my face. “You can’t go on a road trip without snacks,” his faraway voice echoes in my ear. A voice of another time.

Before.

Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. No more headspace for him tonight. Besides, it’s hard enough to see where I am without my eyes leaking .

Like a beacon, a Christmas tree farm sign catches my eye. A red truck with a fir tree in its bed emblazons the left corner. It reminds me of my cousins’ tree farm in Oregon. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken with them, even longer since I visited Murrtham’s Tree Farm.

Christmas trees. Another memory I immediately banish.

The road is devoid of people, the smart humans who listened to the weathermen and stayed at home, not braving the elements.

I didn’t think to check the weather where I was passing through. Only my starting point and my destination. I was too eager to get on the road, to get to the cabin, to worry about such trivial things as snow.

Chalk it up to growing up in a place where snow isn’t a thing. An adjustment I’m still making to snowy winters in Vermont. Which begin before December. Who knew?

A thump reverberates through the car, and the wheel jerks to the right. My heart thunders and waves of unease wash over me, the unfamiliar conditions winning a battle I didn’t realize I was fighting.

Panic tightens my chest in a viselike grip, my eyes widening as the car veers to the right. White-knuckling it, I spin the wheel to the left to overcorrect, but it’s too much.

It’s too late.

The tires don’t have traction on the snow-covered road, and the SUV swerves out of control. I close my eyes, speaking to a higher being to at least let me land safely. No matter the damage to the car, let me stay unharmed. The car is replaceable. I’m not.

The earlier tears spring to my eyes, my emotions all over the map. Praying I make it safely, as safe as can be, my car skids to the side of the road. As I brace for impact, there’s a heavy thud when the front passenger side hits a tree, the car lurching forward, the seat belt keeping me from slamming into the steering wheel. If I was traveling at twenty, it was fast, but running something over or blowing a tire—much as I can surmise the issue is—coupled with the snowy conditions, lends itself to a host of problems.

I don’t breathe until the car’s stopped. Tears track down my cheeks, twin lines of heightened fear making the situation more dire. My brain works double time at what to do first.

Do I get out and assess the damage?

Do I call for help?

Do I hope my guardian angel caught the incident and is sending help as I ponder what to do?

Of the three, calling for help seems to be the wisest. I don’t want to stand in the snow any longer than I have to. Let an expert assess the damage.

A chill runs through me. I blast the heat, but it’s not the frigid temperatures causing the iciness.

Flipping on the overhead light, I dig into the glove box, frantically searching for the roadside assistance card I’m certain is in there. I haven’t taken it out since the service guy put it in there when I bought the car a little over two years ago. I haven’t needed it, but man am I glad for it now.

A few minutes of digging through the papers later, the card’s been acquired. With fumbling fingers, I dial the number, holding my breath until a gruff, “Roadside assistance,” answers.

“Oh, uh, hi. I’m stuck.” I slap my head at the absurdity of my message. “I mean, I need some help. Please,” I tack on. The utterance is watery to my ears, my meltdown rising to the surface.

“City or town?”

“Um . . .” I scroll back to the map, pinching the screen to zoom out from the route, hoping to provide a clue about my whereabouts. “I’m not exactly sure. I’m on my way to Lake Champlain, but I think I hit an animal or a tire blew, and I lost control of the car and skidded into the side.” The more I ramble, the higher my voice pitches, anxiety having a field day on my nerves. “Is there any way I can send my location? Drop a pin or something? ”

Isn’t that what the kids say? “Drop me a pin of your location.”

“Hold on.” The man’s voice is anything but soothing. There’s a rustling on the line, the least bit reassuring as the seconds tick away and more time gets added to my destination.

Closing my eyes, I pinch my nose, delving deep for strength I don’t possess. If only I had waited until tomorrow morning to get on the road. But no, I had to leave tonight, to not waste a paid night at the cabin.

“You there?” The deep baritone brings me back to the current situation.

“Yep.” My attempt at peppiness falls flat. “Still here. Where here is, I don’t know.”

“You got an iPhone?”

“Yes.”

“K. Can you share your location with this number?” He rattles off a string of numbers, but it’s too fast to catch them.

“Wait. Too fast. I didn’t even get the area code.”

A heavy sigh tumbles over the line, ratcheting my panic. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

It takes a minute to catch on to what he means. Remembering I stashed it earlier, I snatch the pen from behind my ear and hold it over my palm. “Ready.”

Slowly, he gives me the ten digits. I make sure not to smudge them before I can get them inputted into my phone.

Once I’ve shared my location, he confirms, “Gotcha. You’re not far from the shop. Probably be like twenty minutes. Thirty at the most with the snow. Sit tight. Name’s Beckett.”

“I’ll be here. Trying not to freeze to death.”

The deep timbre of his chuckle radiates through me, bringing a sort of comfort unusual for the situation. And ironically, heat. “How much gas you got?”

I glance at the dash. “One hundred miles. Hope that means something to you. ”

“Keep it running. Not like you’ll be driving it away from the scene.”

I cringe, and a deep sigh expels. “Most likely not.”

“K. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Be safe.” The declaration falls from my lips uninhibited. But seriously. If he’s not safe, he won’t be able to rescue me.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.” The line goes dead.

At least he’s courteous.

From the back seat, I grab my winter coat, slipping my arms into the sleeves and zipping it closed. It’s confining and uncomfortable, two things I hate with a passion, but I’d rather be stifled than freezing.

With nothing but time to kill, I exit out of the Maps app and pull up the phone. My sister’s probably done putting the kids to bed.

She answers on the second ring. “Taking a break on your road trip?” she guesses.

“Something like that.” No doubt she’ll hear the defeat in my voice. She knows me too well. Hazard of being a twin.

“Why so glum, Willafred?”

“Well, Clementine, which part of the bad news do you want first?”

“The worst. Duh.”

Her words bring a grin to my lips. When you start with the worst, the top of the list never looks as dreary. I’m not sure it applies in this situation but can’t hurt to try.

“My front bumper is currently making out with a tree on the side of the road.”

“Eep. That’s bad. How’d that happen?”

I regale her with the tale, starting from getting a late start to the snow to the animal sacrificing its life to cross the road in a blizzard. When I finish, I feel marginally better.

“Oh shit. I was expecting maybe the rest stop didn’t have a vending machine or something. Do you have a plan? What can I do to help? ”

I laugh humorlessly. “What exactly are you going to do from one thousand miles away?”

“I can’t help my instinct to save you from your troubles. I can call AAA.”

“Beckett’s on his way.”

“ Beckett ?” she poses incredulously. “How are you already on a first-name basis with . . . whoever this Beckett character is?”

I blow out a breath. “He mentioned his name when I called roadside assistance. I don’t know him. He’s probably some creepy guy in his fifties.” I sit up straighter as the words come out. “Oh my gosh. What if he’s creepy? And he has my phone number. And my location.” Once I start, I can’t stop the illogical questions or the nonsense streaming out. “What should I do? Try to move the car? Try to drive away? He could be a serial killer.”

“Willa. Breathe,” comes across the line. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“But you can’t know for sure. It’s imperative you stay on the phone until he gets here to make sure I’m not abducted.”

Clem’s laugh resounds in my ear. “I thought you were going to dial back listening to the true crime podcasts.”

“Did I say that?”

“Several times. Glad I didn’t hold my breath. I’d be dead many times over by now.”

My mouth opens to refute her, but it closes quickly. It’s an obsession, one I’ve tried to curb over the years to no avail. I can’t help what my mind wants to listen to. The kind of information it craves. Because for a variety of reasons, I’m holding on to it with everything I have.

Bright lights shine on the opposite side of the road.

“I think the serial killer is here,” I whisper, as if I didn’t, he could hear me.

“You better go deal with him. Call me once you know your plan. I’ll have my phone next to me in case you need me.” Like before, the line goes dead without a goodbye.

Nerves dance through me. I’m about ninety-five percent sure he won’t be a serial killer, but it’s the pesky five percent worrying me the most.

I send up one last petition to the universe to keep me safe.

A week before Christmas is a bad time to kick the bucket.