19. Black Ice
nineteen
Black Ice
W alter’s truck smells of cigarettes, hard work, and home. He has it nice and toasty, but I feel so cold staring out the passenger window as we ride in silence.
What was that back there?
The cave, the closeness. I practically sat in Kourt’s lap and sang him a song.
Oh, God . And the look on his face when he got the call. He couldn’t wait to get away from me.
“Listen to the wind. It talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to your heart, it knows.” Walter says it as sage as he looks.
“I’m sorry, Walter. I shouldn’t have gone in the cave.”
“No, Erika, you shouldn’t have. The ceremony will take place outside of it, so it wasn’t necessary to put yourself in danger. Your heart however, that is a danger you cannot help.”
“Walter, I feel I never truly thanked you for doing this again for Blitzen. I think it will mean a lot to your wife and her memory.”
“The tree lot is not for my wife. The ceremony is. The trees are not for Blitzen as much as Kourt. I was talking about Kourt before.” Walter cuts his eyes from the road for a fleeting moment to scan mine. “You’re good for him, Erika. He needs you.”
“Pardon me?” I turn to look at the old man who must have his wires crossed between Christmas and an age-old native American adage, because that’s as far-fetched as an assessment can get.
“Listen. And follow what you hear inside. Kourt knows the loss I know. It took him one year to breathe steady again, another year to listen, and year three we got him back. Three years after she died, and now you are here.”
I turn in my seat, giving Walter my full attention, shock rocking through me like a tidal wave.
“Died? Oh my God Walter, who? Who died?” I can’t grasp what this man is referring to between his metaphors, and my stomach that just swallowed itself. I currently have no trouble listening to my heart per his suggestion. It’s beating so loud it’s deafening.
“His beloved. Kourt lost his wife as I lost my Sherry.”
“Wait. His wife ? Kourt was married?”
“Young. Right out of college. He came back here with his high school sweetheart to start their life together. He and Angie and young Helen grew up here together, you see. Angie’s parents own the hardware store.”
“Bob and Georgia.” I say robotically.
He clears his throat and nods, confirming.
“No. Walter, I don’t see. What on earth happened?”
“Black ice. An unexpected cold evening. The temperature had dropped faster than anyone realized. She left the house for something. Winded down the roads she’s driven her entire life, and she hit a patch. You don’t see black ice. Especially at night. It blends in with the highway.”
I have no idea what else Walter is saying. What could he possibly add to that? I tune out and stare out of the window until I see my familiar surroundings and know the ride will end soon.
The Christmas lights of town square come into view, and I see my car parked where I left it when Kourt picked me up. My stomach sinks again at the thought of Kourt picking me up—who I thought he was versus what I’ve learned of him. And I’m not sure what to think of him or me.
I wave bye to Walter without saying much more and turn the ignition to the VW that started this all.
I forget about Walter, the trees, Christmas in Blitzen.
What an unbelievable fool I’ve been.
The cassette player clicks on, and I wind through the roads back up to Josie’s when I hear ‘Oh Holy Night.’ The very words I sang to Kourt while nestled in his lap in the pitch-black cave. It felt ethereal singing that song, so connected to him.
How can this keep happening? Impossible.
“ Ugh! You’ve got to be kidding me!” I scream out loud and with one click of the eject button I silence the tape myself.
I yawn as I reach for the glass of red I slid under the coffee table, where I’ve been twirling the stem of the wine glass on the carpet. Thank God for a buzz and thank God for Archer.
“Wait. Explain better.” Archer requests as I blink at him through my computer’s camera.
“I told you when we met, I learned that he was Kourt with a K the same as I’m Erika with a K. At first, I thought that was a sign.”
“Uh-huh. A sign of what?” Archer lifts his head, tilting both ways, as if examining me.
“You know, sort of kismet, like a new meant-to-be friend in the town I landed in.”
“A friend ?”
“But I was way off. Maybe my stars just haven’t been aligned right since the pitch.”
“Yeah, Erika, about that…” Archer rubs his hands over his face and then through his hair.
“You saw me, Arch. You even berated me for it. I waltzed in there like my grand idea would save the account and look at where it got me. Now, I suppose, I’m doing the same thing here in Blitzen.
Helen, and my hopes for the holidays, are my enablers.
And Kourt is there to remind me I’m out of my league. ”
I drain another sip of wine from my glass.
“Kourt?”
“But then that damn mixtape rears its next song at just the right moment, as if it’s taunting me.”
“Wait.” Archer reaches for his scotch. “This local yokel made you a mixtape?”
“God, no. The one I bought at the Christmas flea market. At booth three . It’s broken. Or the tape deck is. It plays randomly and at uncannily significant moments. I almost can’t ignore it. Anyway. Sorry. I’m sure you tuned out twenty minutes ago.”
Archer coaxes one eyebrow higher than the other and glowers at me.
The frosted tips of his dark gelled hair pristinely manicured apart from one piece bouncing down to meet his temple and match his five o’clock shadow.
“Do I look like I’m not listening? Actually, I need to know, this came up once or twice this week. ”
“Yes, Archer. Something about your overall aura generally has anyone participating in conversation with you racing to get their point across before your eyes glaze over and drift down to sift through the latest dating app. So, yeah, before I lose you entirely… what was it you needed to tell me about work?”
A small pit forms in my stomach for the third time today, and I brace myself to hear more about how I embarrassed the team, and I may not, in fact, have a job waiting for me when I return.
Thus, whatever you do, don’t screw up drowning in a small Christmas town, because after upsetting widowers, Great Aunt Josie’s crazy carved-out pathway of life may be all you’ve got left.
Archer watches my face on his screen for a moment. It’s almost uncomfortable.
He tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. “Actually, I’d like to go back to this holiday Ouija board of a mixtape. I think I’m far more fascinated by your goings on in Blitzen than relaying the latest from our fickle bosses.”
He pours himself another night cap and swirls his peaty scotch in the glass like it’s his favorite part of the day.
“Speaking of big ideas on my part. Did I tell you that I got them to decorate the courthouse, and the entire town showed up to do it?”
“Wow. Sounds like Looney Tunes Josie had some pull with these people.”
“No. Arch. It was me. It was my plan, and it worked.”
“Okay. Calm down, Erika. Relax. Have another drink with me. It worked. Your work there is done and a huge success.” Archer facetiously toasts me through the screen.
“Are you kidding me? I haven’t even started yet, I have a list a thousand miles long, and there are multiple fundraisers going.
This entire project is a fundraiser, and not one cent has changed hands yet.
I haven’t even begun my work on Blitzen’s Christmas festivities and timing is crucial.
I just now found the cave, and I’ve got to get an ice skating rink, a—”
“An ice skating rink?” Archer looks baffled.
“You surprise me. Most people pause at the cave part.”
Archer sloshes his drink at me. He’s totally buzzed. “It’s just funny to me that you would need to find a rink when it’s cold as—what would one say in Kentucky? As cold as a well digger’s ass down there. Don’t ponds freeze or some shit?”
“Yeah. It is that cold, and great minds think alike. But unfortunately, we’re wrong. The issue is, they don’t always freeze, not solid anyway. Especially in town or down the mountain where the daytime brings more sun. This is what I’ve been learning.”
“Just buy one.” Archer’s eyes droop a little and he couldn’t look more Archer-esque if he tried.
“It’s a fundraiser, Arch. If they could afford to bring a rink in for a Christmas festival, they could afford to buy their fire truck.
And anyway. It doesn’t matter now. I’ve gone and acted like a fool in front of the town’s youngest widower.
It seems the infuriating Kourt with a K was actually quite nice to me under the circumstances. ”
I see Archer has already dozed off. I toast him with the last chug of my wine. “Then I go and ruin everything pushing him into a lake and leaving my bra and panties in his truck. How disrespectful of me.”
“I’m sorry. What did you just say about Kourt with a K and your bra and panties?” Archer sits at attention and reaches for another scotch. “Are you sleeping with a married man?”
“No. She’s dead.”
“Great Aunt Josie?”
“No. Well… I’m not entirely sure about that one yet, but I’m talking about the wife. His wife. She had a tragedy.” I’m feeling the bottle of wine I’ve accomplished, and I can barely hold my head up, much less make sense, but Archer is alive and invested.
“How old is he, and what happened to her?”
“Maybe your age or mine, and she was killed in some mountain car crash. Black ice driving is dangerous here, Arch.”
“Oh my god. Erika. What’s going on with you and the widower, and who’s married at our age? Oh, right. It’s Kentucky.”
“Shut up. He’s perfectly capable of having been married at our age. You and I are just hitched to our job.”
“Yeah, again. About that—”