12. Storm on the Horizon
Storm on the Horizon
Levi
The text came in at two-thirty on Thursday, just as Jason was finishing up an oil change on Mrs. Henderson's ancient Buick while I was using his air socket to tighten the lug nuts on Cassie’s truck.
Her back tire had been a little low yesterday.
If the storm was going to be as bad as everyone claimed, a low tire was the last thing she needed.
I was hoping to have it back before school was out.
Can't make dinner tonight. Rain check?
I stared at the screen for a long moment, wiping grease off my hands with a shop rag that had seen better days. Something was off. Had been since that job offer showed up in her email the other day.
I tapped out a quick response. Of course. Everything okay?
The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: Just tired. Long day with the kids.
It wasn't a lie, exactly. I knew her students had been wound up tighter than Janet's Christmas lights, all sugar-high excitement about the upcoming Christmas break and another big snow that had been threatening for days.
But it wasn't the whole truth either, and Cassie was terrible at hiding things from me.
I pocketed my phone while Jason finished buttoning up Mrs. Henderson's engine.
Through the garage's bay door windows, I could see the sky darkening prematurely, heavy clouds rolling in from the northwest like a gray wool blanket being pulled across the valley.
The air had that sharp, electric smell that came before a real storm—the storms that made old-timers like Will Jenkins start talking about the blizzard of '78 and stocking up on kerosene.
"Storm's coming in tomorrow," Jordan called from across the tractor, where he was putting chains on my old plow truck in case the county needed it again this year. "Weather service just upgraded it to a blizzard warning. Could dump three feet before it's done."
Three feet. In a place like Everwood, that meant the world would stop for a few days. No school, no mail delivery, just essential services and neighbors checking on neighbors. It also meant Cassie would be stuck in that little cottage of hers, alone, riding out her first Montana blizzard.
The thought sat heavy in my chest.
But it wasn't just the storm I was worried about. It was what she might decide while she was snowed in with nothing but time to think. About Miller's Pass. About whether Everwood was really where she wanted to build her life. About whether what we'd been building together was worth staying for.
Mrs. Henderson shuffled in just as Jason was lowering the Buick's hood, her walker clicking against the concrete floor. She was bundled up in enough layers to survive an Arctic expedition, but her eyes were bright and alert behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"How's she looking, Jason?" she asked, patting the car's fender like it was an old friend.
"Good as new, Mrs. H. Changed the oil, checked the battery, topped off the antifreeze. She'll get you through the winter just fine."
"Bless you, boy." She fumbled in her purse for her wallet, arthritic fingers struggling with the zipper. "What do I owe you?"
"Nothing this time," Jason said, holding up a hand when she started to protest. "Consider it a pre-storm courtesy check."
"Nonsense. I pay my way."
"And you will, next time. But right now, you need to get home before this weather turns ugly."
I glanced toward the darkening sky. "You got enough supplies? Flashlights? Batteries?"
Her face softened. "I'm fine, dear. Got enough canned soup to feed Sherman's army and batteries for every flashlight in the county. Though I appreciate you asking."
I helped her into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirrors, and made sure she could reach everything. "You call if you need anything, okay? Doesn't matter what time."
"I know, sweetheart. You're a good boy, Levi. Your mama raised you right." She patted my hand through the open window. "Speaking of which, how's that pretty teacher of yours doing? Haven't seen her around town much lately."
There it was again—that knot in my stomach.
"She's fine. Just busy with school."
Mrs. Henderson gave me a look that suggested she saw right through my casual tone. "Hmm. Well, you make sure she's prepared for this storm. City girls don't always know what they're in for out here."
After she drove away, I stood in the garage doorway watching the gray sky press down on the valley. No snow yet, but the air had that heavy, expectant quality that meant it was coming soon. The wind was picking up, making the power lines hum.
My phone buzzed. Text from Tim: You available to help with storm prep? Hardware stores got a list of folks who need supplies delivered before the weather hits tomorrow.
I fired back: On my way.
After swapping Cassie’s truck for mine, the next two hours blurred together in a montage of snow shovels and rock salt deliveries.
First stop was old Mr. Garrett's place on Maple Street, where his arthritis had been acting up something fierce.
I helped him stack firewood on his covered porch and made sure his generator was working.
"Don't strain yourself out there!" he called from his front door as I tested the generator. "This old storm's got teeth. You can feel it in the air."
"I'll be careful, Mr. G. You've got my number if you need anything."
Next was the Hendersons' place—no relation to Mrs. Henderson from the garage, though they'd been feuding over that coincidence for twenty years. Mrs. Henderson Number Two (as Janet called her) was waiting on her porch with a thermos of cocoa and a worried expression.
"This is going to be a bad one, isn't it?" she asked, watching me carry bags of rock salt to her garage.
"Nothing we haven't handled before," I told her, though the truth was, this storm had a different feel to it. Meaner. More determined.
"That new teacher—Cassie, is it? She prepared for something like this?"
I paused in my salt-stacking. "What do you mean?"
"Well, she's from the city, isn't she? Might not know about keeping extra water on hand, making sure the pipes don't freeze. That cottage of Bob's can get mighty cold when the wind picks up."
The knot in my stomach tightened. "I'm sure she's fine."
But was I? When was the last time I checked on her place? Made sure she had enough firewood, that the weatherstripping around her windows was solid?
Mrs. Henderson Number Two must have seen something in my expression because she reached over and patted my shoulder. "You're a good man, Levi Marshall. Don't let that one get away."
The wind was getting stronger by the time I reached my last stop—the Everwood Inn.
The parking lot was nearly empty except for a few cars that belonged to the handful of guests staying during the off-season.
Most of them were probably truckers or traveling salesmen who had decided to hunker down somewhere warm before the storm hit.
I was halfway up the front steps when Mom pulled up to the curb and climbed out, arms full of what looked like enough emergency supplies to stock a fallout shelter.
"Levi! Perfect timing." She thrust a box of batteries into my hands. "Help me get this inside before the wind picks up anymore."
I followed her through the lobby, where Janet was busy arranging emergency candles on every available surface. The inn already had that cozy, battened-down feeling that came with preparing for a long winter siege.
"Generator's fueled up," Janet reported without looking up from her candle arrangement. "Got enough canned goods to last a week, and I moved the guests to rooms on the first floor in case we lose heat on the second."
"Good thinking," Mom said, starting to unload supplies onto the front desk. "I brought extra blankets, flashlights, and that battery-powered radio from Grandad's workshop."
I set the batteries down next to a growing pile of emergency gear. "You two act like this is the apocalypse."
"Better safe than sorry," Janet said, finally looking up. "Besides, it's not us I'm worried about."
She and Mom exchanged one of those looks that passed between mother and daughter when they were thinking the same thing but didn't want to say it out loud.
"What?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew.
"Cassie," Mom said simply. "She's been... distant lately. Canceling plans, keeping to herself. And now with this storm coming..."
"She's fine," I said, but it came out defensive.
Janet raised an eyebrow. "When's the last time you talked to her? Really talked, not just texted."
I tried to think. It had been days since we'd had an actual conversation—really talked, like Janet said. The realization hit me like a splash of cold water.
"She canceled dinner tonight," I admitted.
"Again?" Mom asked gently.
"Again."
They were both quiet for a moment, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in their heads. Finally, Janet spoke up.
"You know what I think? I think that job offer spooked her. Made her start second-guessing everything she's built here."
"She'll turn it down," I said quickly.
"Are you sure about that, son? Seems like she’s had a lot of time on her hands to do some pretty serious thinking."
The question hung in the air like smoke. Outside, the wind rattled the inn's old windows, making the trees sway.
"She wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I wasn't sure I believed them. With all the plans she’d canceled lately, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
Mom moved to the window, pulling back the lace curtain to peer out at the gathering gloom. "This is going to be a rough one. Three-day blow, minimum."
"She'll be okay," I said, more to convince myself than them. "The cottage is solid, and she's got my number if anything happens."
"Levi." Janet's voice was gentle but firm. "That cottage is three miles from town, down a road that won't see a plow until the storm passes.”
“And right next to me..."