Chapter 58
CHAPTER 58
After a seven-hour connecting flight to Helena, Montana, I swore as I set the GPS in my rental car. How could I still be a five-hour drive away from my destination? I debated getting a hotel in Helena for the night, but I was anxious to get there. The sooner I could talk to Porter’s parents, the sooner I could find Porter.
Let me tell you about Montana. There’s a whole lot of distant, mountainous ranges and even more rolling green hills. It didn’t get any more beautiful, but I was bewildered by how wild the country seemed and how civilization seemed to have ended on the outskirts of Helena.
Things went from bad to worse when it started to rain. Not a sprinkle. Not a downpour. Sheets of rain cascaded down making the drive treacherous.
Five hours later, my GPS started to beep. I peered through the windshield. The only thing around was a lone wooden ranch gate.
I couldn’t see a house. For miles, there was nothing but wild ranch land. With trepidation, I drove the car over the bumpy cattle gate and started up the driveway that was more slippery clay than gravel .
How long was their driveway, anyways?
The rain pounded my crappy rental. Unlike my trusty Camry, it fishtailed on every greasy bend.
My windshield wipers frantically flapped, but still, my vision was limited. Out of nowhere, a suicidal squirrel, with a death wish, appeared in the middle of the road.
I honked as I drove towards it, but it stood there, beady-eyed and frozen.
“Get out of the way,” I yelled.
In a game of chicken, he bravely stood his ground.
I am not a squirrel killer.
With gritted teeth, at the last second, I twisted the wheel. The car slid off the road and bumped hard into the small ditch.
I watched the squirrel scamper away in my rearview mirror.
“I hope you’re happy,” I grumbled, putting the car in reverse.
It didn't budge. Reverse or forward, the car did nothing but spit gallons of mud high into the air behind me.
I’m from New York. In public, at any given time, there are dozens of people around. Here, there was no one. Not for miles. I felt like I should know what to do, but I was at a loss. I picked up my phone, but it had no cell service.
Holding a plastic bag over my head, I stepped out of the car. My Calvin Klein boots sunk ankle deep into the thick black mud. The back wheels were ground into the mud up to the rim. I knew enough that retrieving my car would require a tow truck.
And there was nothing but rolling grassy hills, the occasional tree and the winding driveway surrounding me.
In the middle of the downpour, I debated my options. I could sit in the car and hope someone drove by, but since I hadn’t actually seen another human being in the last two hours, that was unlikely. The other option was to walk, through the rain, sans umbrella and coat, to Porter’s parents’ house.
I cursed my stupidity. Instead of phoning them, out of an irrational fear that they wouldn’t talk to me, I had decided that showing up, unannounced, would give me the best chance to be heard. In my wildest imagination, I never imagined they lived on the edge of civilization. I thought I’d show up, have a quick chat and be back on my way to the airport.
Instead, I would show up on their doorstep, soaking wet, and without a vehicle. If they didn’t want to talk to me, it’d be extremely awkward.
Twenty minutes later, a huge house came into view. Drenched and chilled from the rain, with a wet thong that was rubbing my ass in all the wrong ways, I stopped and re-weighed my options.
I’d ask to speak to Porter’s mom. At the engagement party, she had exuded warmth and kindness. Even if she refused to tell me where Porter was, even if she didn’t want to speak to me, I was certain she’d call a tow truck for me.
My boots echoed on the wide, wooden veranda. I pushed my wet hair off my face.
I knocked.
And waited.
And waited.
It hadn’t crossed my mind that they wouldn’t be home.
I knocked again.
An older woman swung the door open wide.
We studied each other. She looked no-nonsense. There was a sturdiness to her, a strength in her stance. In her expression.
“Sorry to drop by without calling first, but is Mrs. Lyons home?”
She held the door opened even wider. I stepped into the massive foyer. The place felt majestic yet homey.
“Come,” she instructed and started to walk.
I pointed at my wet clothes and muddy boots. “I’m filthy. I can’t mess up your floors.”
“Floors can be washed.”
I wiped my boots off on the mat as best as I could, before following her down the long hallway. I could hear voices. Laughter. The sound of kids giggling. The woman stopped and pointed towards a door.
“You want me to go in there?”
She had to be joking.
“Do you think maybe you could see if Mrs. Lyons wants to come out and talk to me?”
She grabbed my arm and pushed me through the double french doors.