Chapter 1
The Holiday Post Sample
[Saint]
Fuck! I was lost. Late and lost.
And one not built for snow.
About an hour ago, the wind picked up and the snow swirled, and I’d hiked my baby girl into high gear, like I could outrun the weather.
I have, on occasion, but that’s a different story for a different time.
My GPS went out around the time the weather kicked in, the snow changing from pretty, dancing flakes, like the inside of a snow globe, to vengeful crystals of ice, angrily pelting my car.
My subscription radio service went out at roughly the same time, and I switched to a regular FM station, hoping for a local weather update.
No such luck.
Certain I’d made a wrong turn because the road grew narrower and curvier, I could hardly make out the blacktop that should have been in front of me.
Instead, it was snow, snow, and more snow, obscuring my windshield, blanketing the road, and weighing heavily on the thick trees surrounding my highway path.
Yep, definitely lost.
Eventually, I break through the trees, and a vague emptiness appears on my right, as if nothing exists over there.
“Am I on a cliff?” Squinting to better see through the barrage of flakes and the dark night reflected back at me by the sports car’s headlights, my breath catches.
“Is that the fucking ocean?”
I’d been crossing through Maine on my way to Bangor, the final destination of a three-month cross-country road trip.
I could have ended the trip in Chicago, where I’d been visiting my brother Nick, or grabbed a flight from New York, but I’d wanted to continue the journey in my beautiful green machine until the last possible minute, and the last minute meant from Bangor to a private plane in Nova Scotia to take me home.
North. The place was waiting for me.
Only, I don’t appear to be anywhere near Bangor, possibly not headed north, nor south, as I’d hit the edge of the Atlantic Ocean.
Trees tower to my left, water is somewhere to my right, and I pray I don’t end up in it.
Neither myself nor my car desire a winter dip in that certain-to-be freezing water.
With brief thoughts of icebergs and polar bears and the state of the polar cap, I mutter aloud another thought. “Do not let me die in snow.”
My entire life I’ve battled frozen temperatures and frigid nights, and I’ve survived fifty years of the wintery mix Jack Frost tosses into the air.
“Snow will not be the end of me,” I vow, again to no one as I am alone in my green machine.
Always without a partner at my side in this adventure called life. Been that way for fifty years as well. There’d been plenty of women in my life, but not the woman. The right woman. The one who would understand what I do. Believe in me. Accept me.
With my chest pressed to the steering wheel, my hands are covered in leather driving gloves and perfectly placed at midnight. Narrowing my eyes, I’m certain I’ve seen something dash into the road.
Blinking rapidly, I pray out loud again, “Don’t be a deer.” Or worse, a reindeer. Those beasts can cause some serious damage to a vehicle. I don’t want to think about what they’d do to a human inside a low-to-the-ground sports car. Then again, caribou are not common in Maine.
With my thoughts scrambling once again, two bright eyes flicker to life in my headlights, blinding me like an old-fashioned camera bulb.
The level of the pair is too low for a deer.
Plus, the dark, furry patches around each eye, outlined by white fur on a large, round head suggest that this four-legged creature is a Saint Bernard.
In the middle of the road.
Instinctively, I swerve left, hopeful the big dog goes right, but as my car starts to tailspin, I’m worried it isn’t going to matter which way the dog runs, if he even ran.
Why the fuck was he sitting in the middle of the road during a godawful snowstorm?
All these thoughts continue to whirl in my head in the blink of an eye as my car spins in a circle at high speed, while feeling like slow motion, until I come to an abrupt stop, jolting me side to side inside the Martin.
The thud on the right side of the car means impact with something solid and sturdy.
Closing my eyes as the air bag deploys, punching me in the face, I hold my breath, wincing at the sting in my nose and the burn in my eyes at the swift release of protection. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I keep my eyes closed.
Please let the dog be safe.
As the airbag deflates, I slowly crane my neck to the right. The front side of my car is pressed up against something circular and firm. A tree, perhaps.
Oh fuck, not my car. Not my sweet baby girl green machine.
Reaching for my phone, I notice there is no reception. Probably due to the storm. And now I have no way to call for roadside assistance, not that anyone would find me in this blizzardy mess right now anyway.
Squinting into the darkness, my headlights are the only illumination.
Tilting my head forward, I correct my assessment about a tree, deciding instead that I might have hit a utility pole.
Great, just great . . .
Only as I narrow my gaze, resting my forearms on the steering wheel, over the burst airbag, I see that I’ve hit a pole of some sort. A mile marker, maybe.
Either way, I’m off the road a bit, and now, I’m not only late and lost, I’m stuck.
And the dog.
Quickly, I glance out the front windshield, slanting my eyes.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I glower.
With a heavy press against the driver’s side door, I force the opening into the fierce wind. Bracing myself for the cold, I slowly stand, using my gloved hand as eye protection and the door as a shield as I holler over the top of the window.
“What the hell are you thinking?” I shout at the giant Saint Bernard, who looks at me with a puppy dog gaze despite his grown size. The expression suggests I’m the stupid one.
Not to mention, he appears to be in the exact same spot he was sitting only moments ago, having shifted his body to face my new direction. Not a scrape or scratch on him, thankfully. Also, apparently, not a single care that a blizzard rages around us.
“Come here,” I call out to him, stepping to the side of the open door and waving toward the warmth of the car, which will quickly be lost the longer it takes this beast to hop inside.
He’s lucky I didn’t hit him. He might not be so lucky a second round, especially as he continues to stare back at me with those large, melancholy eyes like I’m the one he feels sorry for.
With a quick, sharp whistle, one that demands he follow my command and works on other animals in my care when I want their attention, I motion toward the car again.
This gentle giant, however, does not move.
He turns his large head slowly, like he’s heard someone call him. He pauses a second as if listening, then lazily lugs the lower half of his large body upward and sluggishly runs off, back toward the trees.
Having no idea where I am, I lean into the wicked wind, stepping forward as best I can to both assess the damage to my car and hope the post my baby girl is now wrapped around will give a hint to my location.
First, I glance at the way my front right tire bends in the wrong direction and the front fender panel kisses the post, offering it a hug I’d prefer it not give. Next, I glance up at a sign attached to the post and narrow my eyes once again against the blinding wind and bitter cold to read it.
Welcome to Hideaway Harbor.
“Well, this certainly has been quite the greeting.”
Continue reading THE HOLIDAY POST.