Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
BILLIE
“ C ome on in, Abby,” Mom called, waving.
“Oh, Billie!” Abby said, smiling as she stepped inside. She had the same shiny, blonde, bob haircut I remembered from high school. She was tall, toned, and wearing a stylish, red wool coat with black fur trim. “It is SO good to see you. It’s been, what, ten years?”
“Yeah, it has,” I said, swallowing, arms crossed. I hated how awkward I felt and how much I wanted to leave my own kitchen. “It’s good to see you,” I lied. “Thanks for helping Mom.”
Abby wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you are still so sweet. Your mom has been a total doll. I am loving working with her.”
“That’s great,” I said, nodding like a bobblehead. “The keys, Mom? Do you have them?”
“They are right here, Billie,” Mom said. Opening a junk drawer, she pulled out the gold, shooting-star keychain I gave to both Gran and Mom for Mother’s Day years ago. Cubic zirconia diamonds covered the broken tail. At age ten, I thought it was the most beautiful gift in the world.
“Why do you need the keys?” Mom said, handing them to me .
“I figured out how to solve our storage problem,” I said. “I’m going to drive to Smoke River.”
“Wait. Where?” Abby asked, eyes dancing between Mom and me.
“Honey, I don’t get why,” Mom said.
“The house is empty. The barn is empty. We have a ton of boxes and furniture to store. The truck is ready to go. I can get up there tonight and be back by morning. It’s brilliant.”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “I don’t like it.”
“Are you sure you need to do this?” Abby asked, her perfectly manicured hands resting on her hips. She probably did yoga like stupid Hot Yoga Brenda. “It’s Friday night — ”
“Road are clear,” I said. “It will be fine.” I opened the back door and stepped out into the cold. Mom and Abby followed me onto the porch.
“— and you know that area is notorious for black ice,” Abby continued.
“Oh, gosh. Black ice,” Mom repeated, her fingers at her throat as if clutching invisible pearls.
“I’m not worried,” I said, feigning a smile. I picked up two small boxes and added them to the back of the pick-up. There wasn’t room for anything else.
“Also, there is construction by Golden,” Abby said, giving my mom a knowing look.
“Oh, gosh. Construction by Golden,” Mom repeated like a cockatoo.
“All good.” I held my phone up. “I’ll be sure to use my app.” I walked around the truck, pulling up the blue tarp and checking the tie-downs. I hoped my non-responsiveness would signal to them both that I was no longer seeking advice.
“That is so helpful, Abby,” I heard my mother murmur.
I tugged on the ratchet straps crisscrossing the blue tarp one-by-one. Abby chattered on about how growth in Golden was really pushing up home prices, and how much this would benefit Mom with her central location and level lot .
My stomach tightened. A level lot. Of course. That was the angle. I glanced up at Mom, eyebrows raised. I knew there was an angle. Abby wasn’t interested in pushing Mom to remodel the kitchen because our beautiful bungalow was being represented as a tear-down.
“You know, I always loved our location,” Mom said as I walked back around the truck. “When Billie was in eighth grade, her grandmother and I thought about moving out of town, since that would have been the time before high school — ”
“Mom, I’m ready to go,” I said, loud enough to interrupt. If I was going to make it to the cabin in time to unload before nightfall, I needed to leave now. Spending one more moment listening to Abby was just unbearable.
I’d talk with Mom about Abby when I was back tomorrow with a box of cinnamon rolls from the Buzz On In Bakery Cafe. Baked goods made every conversation easier. “I’ll call or text when I get to the cabin.”
“Well, fantastic,” Abby said, smiling, hands still on her perfectly toned hips. “Billie, if you need anything, call me.” She pulled a phone out of her yoga pants pocket. “What’s your cell? I’ll text you.”
“I’m good,” I said, putting up my hand. “I can call Mom if anything comes up.”
“You sure?” Abby shrugged, finger poised on the keypad and ready to dial.
“So very sure,” I said, walking past Abby to give Mom a hug.
“Don’t speed,” Mom said, gripping my arms with her tiny hands. “And Abby’s right about the black ice.”
“Mom, I’ve done this drive so many times.”
“But not with traffic in Golden.”
Fucking Golden.
I leaned down and kissed Mom on the cheek. As I walked past Abby, she stepped forward, arms outstretched. Holy shit. She was a hugger? I was not expecting a hug, which meant we collided, her arms half-patting me as I walked past.
“Bye,” Abby sang, smiling through our awkward air hug. She stood beside Mom, smoothing down her arms as if brushing off invisible dirt.
“Bye,” I said, short and sweet. I felt for the keys in my pocket, slid inside the truck, and closed the door. I started up the engine. That’s when I noticed there were a lot more keys than I expected on the keychain. They were all different sizes. The cabin key was exactly as I remembered, dotted with red fingernail polish in the shape of a heart.
I rolled down the window. “Mom,” I said, interrupting her conversation with Abby, “what are all these other keys on Gran’s keychain?”
“I don’t know, honey,” Mom said. “You know Gran sometimes fed the neighbor’s cat, and she had keys to the church. I meant to go try them all and return them, but nobody’s called looking for them.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Bye, Mom.” I started to roll up the window and then stopped. “Bye, Abby,” I added.
Abby’s face lit up with a big smile. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll keep packing things up with your mom. By the time you come back, we’ll have this place emptied out and ready for the stagers.”
Staging a house to be torn down , I thought, swallowing my words.
“Abby, do you like tacos?” I heard my mother say as she and Abby turned into the house. I rolled up the window and backed out of the drive.
I hit traffic in Golden. With only one way out of town, I hadn’t bothered to check my traffic app. I resolved right then to never speak of the four lanes that reduced to two lanes, bringing traffic to a snail’s pace. I drove past row after row of new condo developments, all highlighting Golden’s desirable proximity to the ski slopes.
So, Abby was right. That didn’t mean a thing. I played with the pre-set radio buttons, looking for a station to take me into the mountains. There was no John Denver to be found, and I considered playing music off my phone when I realized I had no charger.
“Come on,” I whispered, fiddling with the cigarette lighter .
The truck was cigarette-lighter years old. I could have sworn that Mom kept an adapter in the car to keep her phone charged, but then I remembered she drove the Volvo now.
I exhaled slowly, realizing that not only was I doomed to surf through AM radio, but my phone was at twelve percent. My dying battery would not survive long, even in low-power mode. I thought for a moment about stopping at a store, but I didn’t want to slow down. I knew it was reckless, but I didn’t turn around.
The onramp to the freeway in Golden was a tunnel. As soon as I saw it, I prepared to hold my breath and make a wish on the other side. I did it out of habit and opportunity. It couldn’t hurt.
“I hope my phone doesn’t die and the Smoke River cabin is as cozy and wonderful as I remember.” It felt good to wish, even though I knew my request to save my battery was an energetically tall order.
The road climbed up into the mountains. Beyond Golden, the traffic vanished. As the mileposts flew by, my body relaxed, and muscle memory for the drive kicked in. I didn’t need to read the signs. I didn’t need a traffic app to guide me. I knew this road in the dark.
It had been over a year since I’d gone to the cabin, a fact that made me feel sad and a little stupid. How had I ever let my life get so busy that I’d forgotten how much I need to breath the mountain air? I craved the fresh smell of pine and the bite of bracing winter air dancing across my face. I wanted to hear the crunch of gravel as I drove up the drive and hear the squeak of the boards on the covered porch.
As each mile passed, my heart beat a little stronger with anticipation. Nerves and excitement raced through my body. Trees flew past the window in a comforting blur of darkening greens. I cracked the window, taking in a long, slow breath of the crisp, mountain air. I belonged here. I was going home.
As the road climbed, the first dusting of snow shimmered on the treetops. I pulled into the last rest stop before the turn-off to Smoke River. I needed to pee, and my legs ached. I parked next to a minivan and got out to stretch .
A woman stood by the minivan as kids filed out in a line like a clown car.
“Everybody pees,” the mother said, shuffling the kids forward in twos like a mom on Noah’s Ark.
“I don’t have to pee,” a little girl whined.
“Yes, you do. Everybody pees. Everybody tries,” the mom said. Our eyes met, and she shrugged as I gave her a sympathetic smile. Seeing her reminded me of making this drive with Gran and Mom. Once upon a time, I’d daydreamed about what it would be like to have kids of my own someday and bring them to Smoke River.
What was wrong with me? I couldn’t manage a successful relationship. The last thing I needed was to daydream about imaginary kids on an imaginary vacation with my imaginary family. I shoved my hands deep in my pockets and headed to the restroom.
After hover-peeing above an icy toilet seat, I washed my hands in cold water and warmed them in a howling air dryer. I walked across the darkened parking lot back to the truck. Overhead, a solid bank of clouds covered the stars. I did not like the look of those clouds. I shivered as a gust of icy wind raked through the parking lot. A wave of goosebumps crawled down my body. I raced to the truck. The weather was changing.
The minivan was gone, replaced by a bright yellow Jeep with a gleaming chrome grill. Its engine was running. As I unlocked my door, a woman strode toward the Jeep, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“You asshole!” she belted, hurling a fistful of dirt and pebbles at the Jeep.
Keys in hand, I froze as she scooped up another handful of ammunition and walked behind the Jeep, blocking us both in. The Jeep revved its engine, and the woman moved back and forth behind both our cars. What the hell was happening?
“You and your dumb-ass car! That’s right. I called it a car , you asshole!” she yelled, arms flailing. Hands empty, she darted back to the curb to reload with more dirt and pebbles.
The moment she was out of range, the Jeep backed up, tires squealing. The woman chased after it a few steps, hands balled in fists at her side.
“Drive away, motherfucker!” she yelled as the Jeep did a three-point turn and headed to the exit. “Take your big dick and all your stupid rules. You are going to miss my fine ass.” The woman teetered on tall, shiny, red boots. A gust of wind picked up leaves, spinning all around like her own personal tornado.
“Holy shit,” I whispered under my breath. What was I supposed to do? This definitely felt like a situation where someone needed to do something.
The woman exhaled, rolled back her shoulders, and turned away from the rest stop exit. The yellow Jeep was long gone.
As she walked, I caught a glimpse of the woman’s fancy dress beneath her long, brown fur coat. It was fitted, black, and short. I didn’t know people still wore fur coats, and I was certain this one was real, though it did remind me of a bear.
“Are you okay?” I asked, closing the door to the truck.
She looked at me as if she wasn’t aware there were other people watching. “What?”
“I asked if you are okay.”
“No,” she snorted. “I’m fucking not.”
“You need me to call someone? Or do you need a ride?” I did not want to delay my drive to Smoke River, but this woman was alone at a rest stop in emotional distress. Clearly, the man whose dick she once liked was now driving his big dick away.
“No, I don’t need a ride,” she said. Crossing her arms, she pulled her fur coat in tighter around her body. “I’m fine. And it’s none of your damn business anyway. Back off.” She turned on her fancy heels and walked away.
Well, shit , I thought. So much for helping a sister in need. I knew how bad it felt to be hurt by a man, even the wrong one. Maybe the big dick in the yellow Jeep had cheated on her like all my exes had cheated on me.
I climbed into the truck and started the engine to get the heat going. I didn’t like that darkening sky. Before I hit the road again, I decided to send a couple of texts in case I couldn’t get a good signal at the cabin.
My battery had dropped to ten percent just on low-power mode. I was going to have to turn the phone off for the rest of the drive after I texted Mom and my friends back in Seattle.
To Mom
All is well, almost there. At rest stop and phone battery low, will call in the am XO
I thought for a moment and sent one more message.
I’m sorry I didn’t eat the tacos
I love you
On the group text with my friends in Seattle:
Change of plans, driving to my mom’s cabin - in Smoke River. Need to store stuff. How are things?
I’d asked my friend, Callie, and her fiancé, Theo, to act as on-site managers while I was gone. They were both uber-responsible, but I was still nervous something might go wrong while I was away.
I saw three dots on the group text and wondered which of my friends would answer first. Probably Shea, I thought. She was definitely the most phone-addicted in our friend group. I knew I was wasting valuable battery, but Bear Coat had rattled me. Reaching out was worth a couple of percentages of power.
Shea:
Drive safe and send pics. Smoke River sounds beautiful!
I hearted her message and was about to power down my phone when it lit up with replies. My friends were going to kill my battery but every text felt like the long-distance hug I needed .
Shea:
Don’t worry Callie is doing a great job nothing has burned down
Callie:
Not funny
Odessa:
Stop stressing Billie out
Theo:
We’ve got it, not that there is anything to get. It’s fine. Ignore us.
Bella:
I don’t like being ignored. Tanti Baci XOXO
I laughed and decided one more message would not drain my phone.
Forgot my charger, about to drive. I TRUST YOU CALLIE AND THEO.
Miss you.
I saw a flurry of dots as they queued up replies, but I powered down before I got sucked down a cozy but battery-draining rabbit hole. I headed back onto the highway, feeling good in the knowledge that my friends were just a text away.
I tried to ignore the dark clouds overhead and focused on my one mission: Drive safely. The clouds looked menacing, but so far, not a single snowflake. I exited off the highway onto the old logging road that led to Smoke River .
Suddenly, headlights flashed in my rearview. My body tensed at the sound of a car approaching.
“Slow down, buddy,” I murmured without speeding up. The car behind me was coming on fast, and damn if I was going to let some agro driver scare me into an accident.
The headlights drew closer. “Sorry, but I promised my mom I wouldn’t speed,” I whispered, eyes darting into my rear-view mirror.
Behind me, the car drifted from side to side, as if debating passing me. I snorted. This was one of those winding roads that was all double lines. Passing was a non-starter.
As soon as I rounded a curve where the road straightened, the driver accelerated and passed me on the left going way too fast. The car shot by in a blur. I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel, but I could see it was the yellow Jeep from the rest stop.
Bear Coat’s ex.
“Holy shit. It’s you, you big dick!” I shouted at his taillights. As the yellow Jeep left me in the dust, a snowflake landed on my windshield.
“No,” I gasped. That tiny, light-as-air snowflake landed like a sucker punch to my gut. “No. No. No!” I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
The clouds overhead ignored my protests. A flurry of snowflakes followed. I turned on the wipers.
“No Snow. No Snow. No Snow,” I whispered in time with the sweeping blades. I was so close to Smoke River. No way was I turning back now. So it was snowing, I reasoned. Big deal. I’d be fine. I knew how to drive in the snow. The truck had four-wheel drive.
I distracted myself and fiddled with the radio. I toggled between a religious station and a Latin band that sounded tinny and distant, as if broadcasting from south of the border.
“Steel drums, it is,” I whispered, driving with my hands at ten and two on the wheel. It was officially snowing hard. I cursed the people who made the weather app that filled me with false confidence.
A layer of fresh white snow stuck to the cold road. I had good traction, as long as I didn’t need to stop. My nightmare was needing chains. I knew how to put them on, but they were buried under way too many boxes.
I just needed to get to the cabin.
Finally, I passed the wide-open, snow-covered fields of Four Clover Farm. This property sat on the outer boundary of the town of Smoke River right before the covered bridge that led into town. I blew through a stop sign and over that bridge without a thought. There was no one on the road.
I passed the dark windows of the Gold Digger Restaurant, OACA Bank, the post office, and Candle Books. There was no one on the road. There was a good chance the Buzz On In Bakery Cafe was still open, even at ten p.m., but I wasn’t putting one more minute between me and that cabin, not when the snow came down harder with every passing second. The owner Mason and his cinnamon rolls would wait until morning.
I drove up the sloping hill that led to our cabin. Snow crunched beneath the tires. Smoke River homes were not close together. Thick banks of forest ran between everyone’s property lines. I whooped and fist-pumped the air when I saw the mailbox to 8 Pine Joy Road marking the entrance to our drive.
Headlights flashing over the snow, I was surprised to see the drive was smooth. Piles of snow lined either side of the road. This wasn’t the first snow of the season. Someone had shoveled this drive and done it precisely. My first guess was Mason. Maybe Mom had asked him to keep an eye on the property and forgotten to tell me?
The log cabin sat on the edge of a sloping hillside that led to the woods and the river. I parked in front of the barn instead of driving around to the front door. I never used that entrance and was used to going in the back through the kitchen. The place looked more or less the same to me, but the fence posts stretching from the barn to the field looked sturdier and straighter than I remembered. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. I was very tired.
Slamming the driver’s door shut felt like an affront to the quiet night. I loved the silence that traveled hand-in-hand with a winter storm. A gust of wind cut across the yard, spraying my face with cold bits of snow. Shooting-star keychain in hand, I dashed through the snow to the back door of the cabin.
As I opened the kitchen door, I heard a rustling in the trees behind me. Before I could turn to look, a streak of black-and-white rushed past me, almost knocking me off my feet.
“What the hell?” I gasped, my heart racing.