CHAPTER ONE
Zoe
I have THE most exciting news, my darling. Call me. xxx
I stared at the text message, then swiped it off my screen with a furious thrust of my thumb. My mother had exciting news? My stomach churned in dread. I leaned forward and thunked my forehead on the steering wheel of the old Jeep I’d been driving the past six weeks, trying to not imagine what it was. Or worse… what it had to do with me.
For most people, the triple x at the end of her message would probably be as sweet and innocent as multiple kisses. For me, it served as a reminder of something very different. More than that, I knew my dear mother had placed them there on purpose. Just another dig with the verbal blade she always carried.
In addition to that cryptic message, I also had eighteen missed calls from her. Thirty-one other text messages. Numerous FaceTime attempts. Facebook messages. Twitter DMs. Snapchats. All in the past six hours.
She was cycling. Manic. Compassion and worry broke through the frustration.
Why did I have to be the grown-up in our relationship?
I sighed and sat up. I’d call her, but first, I needed to call my agent and give her an update on my book. I was almost finished. About six more chapters to go and “Come Closer” would leave my hard drive to be churned through the editors and proofreaders before, hopefully, becoming a best seller. Maybe then I’d call myself an author and have a prayer’s chance of actually making a decent living writing about the pretend world I wished I lived in. A world where happy ever afters were a reality, not the fantasy I knew them to be.
Icy cold wind took my breath as I opened the Jeep’s door, and I tugged the woolen cap down over my ears. It was much colder today. It had been nearly sixty just yesterday with lots of sun to make it feel even warmer. Today, dark gray clouds billowed overhead, rolling across the sky as if racing to some unknown destination.
Icy drops kissed my face, and I looked up in wonder before catching a few of the fat flakes on my gloved hand. The intricate white designs melted quickly on the chocolate-colored wool, but more replaced them quickly enough.
Snow!
Raised in Southern California, I’d never seen real snow before now, and I lifted my face to let it fall onto my tongue. I’d seen that done in movies as a child and had always wanted to know the taste. There really wasn’t a flavor, but I laughed at how wonderful it was to feel the icy goodness melt in my mouth.
My teeth were chattering by the time I ran into Pop’s Diner and Grocery, the closest place to my temporary home with internet and a cell signal. The cost of groceries there was much higher than if I went farther down the mountain. But I didn’t want to go any farther. I loved the isolation. The beauty and views of my rustic hideaway. Maybe I could one day afford something like my little cabin getaway on my own, and seclude myself from the world forever.
“Afternoon, Miss Zoe,” Mrs. Pop said, the always present smile beaming from her sweet face. The fleshy parts of her cheeks rose to nearly cover her eyes. She was adorable. Her entire family was adorable. There was Mr. Pop, Mrs. Pop, Pop Junior, and Pop Junior Junior who all ran the store. The infamous Pop — the one the store was originally named after — had passed a long time ago, and the legacy had lived on through his children and theirs. I often wondered what they would have called a girl had they had one. Popette? I planned to feature the family in my next story, and I’d absolutely add a Popette, just for fun.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pop,” I called back and stuffed my gloves into a pocket. “Can you believe it’s already snowing?”
The smile slipped into a frown. “Honey… it’s about to do more than just snow. We’re about to get dumped on but good.” She came from around the register to take a look outside, her tongue making a tsk tsk sound. “Haven’t you been listening to the news?”
No, I hadn’t, actually.
The rustic one-bedroom cabin I’d been renting was lovely, and I was blessed to have electricity and plumbing, but that was where technology ended in the six-hundred-square-foot log structure. There was no cable, no internet, no phone, and no cell reception. I loved it. If I got desperate and needed to call someone or send an email, I hauled my trusty laptop and cell phone down to Pop’s. Otherwise, I wrote or read or just watched nature do its thing. I wasn’t bored yet. Not like I thought I’d be. It was nice getting away from… everything.
I stepped to the window beside the ruddy-cheeked woman, looking up at the clouds again. They suddenly seemed darker, even more menacing. “How bad is it supposed to get?”
She gave me a very concerned look. “They’re calling it the blizzard of the century, sweetie. We could get a dump of thirty or maybe even forty inches, at least. And that’s over the next twenty-four hours.”
I stared at her. I was five-six, which was sixty-six inches tall. Was she seriously saying that we could be getting snow up to my waist, or even my boobs? “You’re kidding,” I sputtered, although the child still living inside me was delighted at the idea. “It’s still October. Halloween isn’t for almost two weeks. How is this even possible?”
Mrs. Pop rested a kind hand on my shoulder. “This is backwoods Montana, Miss Zoe. On these mountains, snow like that this time of year isn’t unheard of.” She glanced out of the window again. “Maybe you should just hunker down with us.”
She was serious. I could see it in her eyes, but the snow was still barely falling. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I’d really like to get back. I’ll hurry and make my calls and get some extra supplies. I’ve got a generator and a fireplace with huge stacks of wood so I’ll be all right if the power goes out.”
Not that I had any idea how a generator worked. I’d just have to figure it out.
She looked about as unconvinced of my wilderness skills as I was. “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea, Miss Zoe. Not to seem mean or anything, but you’re not used to this kind of weather. Blizzards are dangerous. If you get turned around outside…” She shivered and wiped her hands up and down her beefy arms. “Well, things could get bad real quick. I know.” Her face went sad. “I lost my brother back in eighty-nine, and he knew these woods up and down.”
I took in a deep breath, feeling her urgency and unease pass over to me. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Her mouth tightened as the memory reflected all over her expression. “And that storm wasn’t nearly as bad as the one back in sixty-nine. God’s honest truth, the snow drifts were up to twenty feet tall. Temperature dropped from the low sixties to minus thirty in about twelve hours or so.”
Minus thirty degrees? My bones froze at the thought. I’d planned to spend two months in the cabin, thinking I’d be safe from bad weather in the high mountains until Halloween at least. Then I’d fly back to California to face real life again.
I glanced out the window, realizing my planning had been wrong, although it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be snowbound. The weather sites I’d looked at gave an average temperature in the high fifties for this month. Sure, it dropped to the thirties at night — I’d hoped I’d see a little snow. But this…
“Well, I guess I’d better hurry then.”
Mrs. Pop sighed and gave me a motherly pat. “All right, sweetie. You make your calls, and I’ll start gathering your usual supplies. Anything special you want me to add?”
I smiled, the backs of my eyes unexpectedly burning from her kindness. “Thank you, Mrs. Pop. I’ll just take the usual.” Back in L.A., the local grocers wouldn’t know my name and wouldn’t give a damn what I needed, let alone remember my preferences. Yeah… I liked it here. More than anyplace I’d ever been. Not that I’d been to many places, not really. Not enough to say I’d “been there.” I’d toured with Mom, skipping from one large city to the next. But I’d been taken more as decoration than anything. More as a temptation, I realized much later.
I shook my head, shaking away the depressing thought.
Stepping into the “computer room,” I smiled at the old Dell sitting on the heavy hand-hewn desk. I ignored it and pulled out the sturdy office chair, taking a seat, my eyes glued to the weather outside. Still only flurries. I’d be okay.
Swiping to my agent slash best friend’s number, I tapped the button to call.
“Zoe! How are you?” Leslie’s voice was like a warm cloak settling around my shoulders.
“Hi, yourself. I’m good. Getting some supplies before a big snowstorm heads my way.”
Her voice grew more concerned. “I saw that on the weather channel this morning. You going to be okay?”
I shook off Mrs. Pop’s warnings from only a moment before. “Of course. I’ve got the generator, and I’ll soon have plenty of food. It will be just me, my laptop, and a blanket of snow. I’m actually excited to throw my first snowball. From what they’re saying, I’ll get to make a snowman too.”
She laughed. Leslie was a Southern California girl too, but unlike me, had no yearning to leave the warm sun. “Take a picture and sent it the next time you’re in civilization.”
“I will.” I smiled, unable to keep the excitement from my tone. “I’ll sent it along with the rest of the book.”
She gasped. “Are you really almost finished? You still have another month before your deadline.”
I could almost see her entire face light up with happiness. A natural blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl next door, I met the pretty Leslie Wiseman my freshman year at USC, when I’d escaped Mom’s home and moved into the tiny dorm room. Unlike most girls who hated me on sight, Leslie had welcomed me warmly as her roomie, and we’d become immediate and fast friends. Even when I dropped out my junior year, we’d moved into a small apartment together. She finished college while I struggled through writing my first book.
Leslie worked hard, interning at the same publishing company through school. With four years of experience as their flunky, they hired her on as an assistant the moment she earned her degree. I became her first client and that debut novel did reasonably well, for a newbie at least. My second book did even better, my third better still. My fourth book was inches close to landing on the New York Times Best Sellers list. My best friend was certain “Come Closer” would send me into that stratosphere.
“Yep, I’m really almost done,” I promised her, unable to believe it myself. The words had just flowed, coming out of me with a fluidity I’d never experienced. “Then I need to go back through and spice up the sex scenes and make sure the characters feel real.”
She laughed. “I’m sure your sex scenes are amazing as currently written. I still don’t know how any woman still holding her v-card can write like that.”
I felt myself grow hot. I wasn’t a virgin, but only two other people on Earth knew that. I’d told no one else. Not even my best friend.
I kept my voice light, not wanting to go there. Not wanting to remember. “Why do you think my v-card hasn’t been punched? Sex is so good in my head that I’m sure no real man could ever match up.”
Images flashed in my mind. Sneering faces, groping hands, wet sloppy lips on my skin. My stomach curdled, and I leaned forward to keep the bile down, intent on keeping those memories suppressed in the deepest part of my mind.
“True that,” she said, still laughing, but it now sounded more forced. “My last date was about as romantic as a walk down the middle of the 405.”
I laughed. “Wow… I could use that in my next book.”
“Absolutely. His name is Richard and his Tinder profile was, let’s say, highly exaggerated. The moral of the story is to never date a Dick.”
I leaned back in the chair and pulled the wool cap off, scratching the place where the hat made my head itch before brushing out the tangles with my fingers. “Was he a fiction writer too? Or was he just an overly descriptive salesman?”
Leslie’s lips made a blubbering noise as she blew out a breath. “Maybe Grimm’s Fairy Tales. But seriously, I deleted my Tinder, Match, and eHarmony accounts and if I ever… ever… eeeever say I’m going to try online dating again, tie me down until I come to my senses.”
I pulled my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. “Sure thing. I still don’t see why you went that route anyway.”
She made a scoffing sound. “Well, if I looked like you and didn’t work sixteen hours a day, I’m sure my luck would be better.” The words didn’t hold an ounce of bitterness, but they still left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I didn’t want to look like me because that meant I looked like my mom. Exactly like her, everyone said. They weren’t wrong, which made them assume I acted like her too. In that arena, she and I couldn’t have been any more different.
I smiled into the phone, making sure Leslie heard the warmth in my voice. “You’re gorgeous inside and out, and when the timing is right, the perfect guy will come out of nowhere and sweep you off your feet as much as you sweep him off his.”
I felt her roll her eyes. “Yeah… in your book, maybe.”
I laughed. “Sure… but in my book, it will be a savage pirate sailing from afar to enslave you and make you his.”
“Will he rip my bodice?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure thing. And you can long for your captor’s kiss after he ravishes you endlessly.”
“Ya know…” I could almost see her wrinkle her nose. “All those historical romances gloss over one thing. The smell. Can you imagine a pirate, even a hunky, sexy one, getting off a ship after a three-month voyage and immediately wanting to ravish any part of you? Pee-yuck.”
God, I loved my friend.
“Well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about your smell either. Or shaving… anything.”
“Hmm… I guess that would be an advantage of living in the eighteenth century. The waxing bill would be drastically reduced.”
“Um… completely reduced. I think wax was only used for sealing letters and making candles back then. No toothpaste or any pesky toiletries either.”
She groaned. “Can you imagine only taking a bath once a week? I don’t know how those damsels in distress did it.”
“Well, I guess if everybody smelled bad, you just got used to it.”
“I guess so.”
Glancing outside again, I was a bit startled to see it snowing a little harder. “Les, I better go. Want to get back to the cabin before the storm hits. Be sure to tell Stanley how much I appreciate him letting me use it and the Jeep. It’s been a lifesaver.”
I heard the smile in her voice. “Uncle Stan was asking about you the other day. He’s happy you’re enjoying it so much.”
“I am. I might never leave. Talk to you again when all the snow melts.”
The concern was back. “How long will that take?”
I lifted a shoulder she couldn’t see as I gazed out the window. Surely it wouldn’t get as bad as Mrs. Pop said. “I have no idea.”
She sighed. “Love you, Z, and be safe. And remember…”
I knew what was coming next and reached up to touch the silver four-leaf clover pendant she gave me for Christmas two years ago. I never took it off the slim chain that hovered between my breasts.
Smiling, I said the mantra along with her. “We make our own luck. Own love. Own life. Own legacy.”
The words were like a warm hug. Leslie understood my insecurities and fears as much as I understood hers. When I got back to California, I was going to tell her the reason I so very desperately needed to get away.
I was beginning to understand that secrets grew like monsters when the closet they hid in remained forever closed. I trusted Leslie enough to open the door and maybe, just maybe, send them shrieking into the very back corner.
A punch of emotion hit me in the face, my sinuses and eyes burning with it. “Love you too, Les. Talk soon.”
Still holding the pendant between my fingers, I scrolled to my mom’s number, the happiness quietly fading away. I should have called Leslie afterwards so she would be the last voice I heard. Too late now. Inhaling deeply, I tapped the call icon.
“Darling!”
I closed my eyes as my mother’s high-pitched giggle vibrated in my head. “Hi, Cynthia. Sorry I missed all your messages. No cell reception where I am, remember?”
“Oh yes, that’s right. How is Colorado anyway?”
I didn’t even bother to remind her I was in Montana. “Very lovely and peaceful. I really—”
“I have the most exciting news,” she bulldozed over me, “I’m nearly bursting to share it with you. You’ll never guess what it is.”
She had a new boyfriend.
She had a new girlfriend.
She was getting married again.
Her newest lover had gifted her with some expensive trinket.
She was moving into the Playboy mansion.
Or a rich Arab’s harem.
I didn’t bother guessing out loud. The options were practically endless.
“I was cast in a new movie!”
My heart slammed into my toes. Of all the options, this was the least welcome. My stomach started to seriously churn, and I reached into my bag for an antacid. “Cynthia, please don’t—”
“It’s called ‘Cougar City’ and I’m the headliner. Just imagine, darling… me, Cyn Meadows, on the big screen again. Isn’t that exciting?”
No. Not at all.
And I didn’t need to remind her that the only big screen Cynthia Diane Meadows had ever been on was some dude’s PC monitor while he jacked off. I popped two antacids, the ulcers I’d developed as a teen reminding me of their presence.
Speaking quickly, she went on about the other “stars,” and how excited she was to work again. “There will be huge cross-country promotions, and Theo feels certain I’ll win another AVN award. You can come with me, darling. My fans haven’t seen you in years. They will absolutely adore you.”
I winced at the name. Theo Southerland, Mom’s smarmy agent. A man I loathed with every fiber of my being. I popped another antacid, thinking of the last time she dragged me to an Adult Video News award ceremony where she won best actress for “Beauty and the Dicks.” She’d also won an award for “Snow White and the Seven Cocks,” and “Little Red Ride My Face.” I didn’t think Walt Disney would approve.
Forcing my voice to stay calm, I raised my voice so she would hear me over her endless gushing. She was like this when she was manic. “Cynthia, are you taking your medication?”
The blessed silence lasted only a few seconds as she processed my question. “Darling, I don’t need medication.” Her voice went shrill. “Aren’t you listening? Cyn Meadows is working again! A role of a lifetime, really. How many adult entertainers get an opportunity like this? Can’t you be happy for me just this once?”
I hated her. I loved her. I felt so very very sorry for her.
I pressed my fist against my temple. Maybe I was bipolar too. “Just be careful. Okay?”
I could practically feel her eyes roll. “Of course, I’ll be careful. This isn’t my first starring role, you know.”
No, it wasn’t even her hundredth.
“Will you please go see Dr. Jackson?”
He was Mom’s psychiatrist, the man who attempted to keep her mid-way between the terrible depressive lows and manic highs she experienced. During one of her lows, she once confessed to how she used to heavily medicate herself before filming any scene she found distasteful. That an altered state supported her “acting abilities.” Dr. Jackson needed to know she would be working again and that she was off her medication. I would have to email him as soon as I was off this call.
She huffed out a breath. “There really is no need to bother that dear old man, darling. I’m feeling wonderfully energetic. I actually went to the gym and worked out for six hours to get ready for my reemergence.”
I sighed. She didn’t even see the manic frenzy behind that. I couldn’t help but wonder if cocaine or some other drug was helping to fuel it.
“And, darling…” This time, her voice shifted into a coaxing tone I knew too well. She wanted something from me. The hair bristled on the back of my neck, my skin tightening with gooseflesh. “Theo wanted me to let you know something—”
His name was like a spider under my skin. “I don’t care what that man wants, he—”
It was like she didn’t even hear me. “He said that he could make you rich too. Apparently, Mother-Daughter films are all the rage, and since we look so alike and could almost pass as twins, he thinks we could…”
I didn’t even hear the rest as the blood roared in my ears, drowning out the words. It wasn’t the first time it’d been suggested that I “work” with my mother.
“I know it would be awkward at first…”
Awkward? Having sex with my mother on camera would only be awkward?
“But we’ve always been so close, and it wouldn’t actually be anything other than acting.”
She had officially lost her mind.
“He’s thinking of the title, ‘Mommy, May I Cum?’ Not very original, in my opinion. I’m thinking a better title would be—”
She was still talking when I pressed the button to end the call. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t listen. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t anything at the moment. I just wanted to go back into seclusion and pretend the past two minutes hadn’t happened.
I’d done it to myself, calling her.
My phone vibrated in my hand as she called me back. I had known better than to respond to her messages. It was stupid of me to call, but the little girl inside me continued to hold onto a small sliver of hope that I wouldn’t have to mother my own mother, or be embarrassed to even walk with her down the street.
The reality was that Cyn Meadows would never change, and it was my fault for thinking things could be any different. She would always only be happy in the limelight, and if she failed at that, she would sink into a deep depression. Those were the two swings of her pendulum. Nothing was in between. Not even me.
“Your groceries are ready.”
I jumped at the voice. It was Pop Junior Junior standing in the door, two red dots on his cheeks as his big brown puppy dog eyes stared at me, just as they always did.
“Thank you so much.” Pushing myself from the seat, I was conscious of him watching my every move as I stuffed my long dark hair back under the wool cap and zipped the bulky parka to my chin.
The teen’s blush grew even redder as I passed by him. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, his voice breaking in places. “I’ll help you load the car.”
I considered telling him I’d just do it myself, but the snow was starting to fall harder and I really could use the help. I gave him a bright smile that caused his cheeks to almost glow in the dim light of the old store. “Thank you.”
Not even taking the time to check the bags, I paid for the groceries with cash, just like I always did. I didn’t want anyone on the mountain to know my full name, so avoided credit cards whenever possible. I wasn’t famous, but one Google search made people look at me different. They were either disgusted by my presence — after all, who wants their sweet offspring knowing a porn queen’s child? — or wanted to get to know me better. Those in the latter category always assumed I wanted their attention because of who my mother was. And most of them didn’t take no as an answer very well.
I typed out the email to Dr. Jackson as Mrs. Pop made change, the concerned look on her face growing even deeper. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay here, Miss Zoe?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Pop Junior Junior’s head whip in my direction, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline.
That sealed the deal. The teen was harmless, but I couldn’t imagine having to endure those puppy dog eyes for hours on end, let alone a day or two. Besides, I’d left my laptop at the cabin. If I was going to be snowbound anywhere, I wanted it to be with it firmly on my lap.
“Thank you so much for the offer and the concern,” I told her, pulling on my gloves. I hefted a bag on my hip as her son grabbed two more. “You all stay safe and warm too. See you next week.”
Her smile looked forced. “It might be longer than that before they’re able to dig you out up there.”
Seriously?
“So, two weeks then?”
She nodded, but didn’t look certain. “Probably so, sweetie. Depends on how much ice we get with the snow. You be safe. Have you ever driven in this kind of weather before?”
Um, no.
I didn’t tell her that. “I promise to be careful,” I said instead. “And the Jeep has four-wheel drive.”
Which would probably come in handy if I knew how to use it.
I wisely kept my mouth shut about that too. After my supplies were loaded and a few more “be carefuls” along with a big hug that melted my heart, I was on my way, the road still a black ribbon before me.
“See, I can drive just fine in the snow,” I said to the angel hanging from the rearview mirror. I’d only met Leslie’s Uncle Stanley once and hadn’t pictured the big, burly man to be an angel kind of guy, but it was a comfort to have this cute silver one dangling in front of me. And I especially loved the Thoreau inscription…
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.
But as the miles passed and the climb got steeper, my confidence in my direction began to wane. Where only a few minutes ago I could see the road, it was now getting whiter and whiter. I had the defrost on high and the windshield wipers on as fast as they would go, but the fog on the glass wouldn’t dissipate. Neither would the ice building up around the edges.
I navigated a hairpin curve with a gradient that seemed to go straight up into nothing but whiteness, my fingers cramping as I held the steering wheel so tight. By the time I was halfway up the mountain, my jaw ached from clenching my teeth, and my shoulders were in knots, the muscles in my neck feeling like they were going to snap at any moment. When it got to the point where I could barely see past the hood of the Jeep, I knew I was in serious trouble.
I should have listened to Mrs. Pop, but things looked okay fifteen minutes ago. How had the universe changed so quickly?
Taking a deep breath, I belted out a Carrie Underwood song. Well, kinda. My version was more along the lines of Jesus taking the steering wheel and driving me out of this shit. “Sorry,” I muttered to the angel. “Now isn’t the time to curse and say Jesus in the same sentence.”
The Jeep slid.
“I said I was sorry,” I shouted as I turned the wheel in the other direction. I might not have driven in the snow before, but I’d navigated Los Angeles traffic in the rain plenty of times and turning into the slide was instinctual.
“Okay, I’ve got this,” I said to the angel, finding the sound of a voice — even my own voice — a comfort. Heart still hammering inside my ribcage, I pressed the gas, and the tires skidded before catching, and I inched up the mountain again. I blew out the breath I’d been holding, but my jaw went straight back into the gritting position as the back tires slipped left, sending me into a shallow ditch.
It was still officially daylight, but the world was as dim as late evening, which was odd considering that I was surrounded by white. “Keep it together, Super Z,” I told myself and turned on the inside light to look over the gears.
When I was little, I’d play in the back rooms of studios in which my mother “worked” and got really good at using my imagination to entertain myself. I’d pretend that I was one of the Disney princesses, but my favorite made-up character was Super Z. As this superhero, I’d fight off the bad guys, restore order to a tumultuous world. My superpower was the ability to transport to any destination I wished. Oh, how I wished I had that superpower now.
Next to the gear shifter was another small shifter labeled 4-H, N, and 4-L. I thought it safe to assume the 4s meant four-wheel drive, and since I was going up a high mountain, I further assumed H was what I needed.
“Let’s find out if I’m right.” I gripped the shifter and shoved it in the direction 4-H indicated. That was easy, except I couldn’t tell anything had happened.
Pressing the gas pedal, the tires slipped and skidded, spewing snow behind me. When the Jeep slid backwards, I yelped and hit the brake, my heart threatening to burst until the vehicle finally bumped to a halt. “Okay, let’s try 4-L.” Since my car gear had to be in neutral when I ran it through the car wash, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try shifting it into N before trying for low.
That was better. I was relieved to hear the hum of the engine go deeper, and the tires actually felt like they were more secure to the road as I continued to climb, although I dared not go more than five miles per hour. Visibility wasn’t my friend. I couldn’t see shit.
Inch by inch, I crawled up the mountain, using the wool hat to swipe at the windshield when the defrost couldn’t keep up. The snow had changed, the flakes coming down were nearly as big as my fist. The hood of the Jeep, the road, the trees, the entire world had grown white as I struggled to keep the tires away from the cliff that fell into a vast nothingness on my right.
When I reached the summit, I blew out a shaky breath and stopped the Jeep, squealing a bit as it kept moving forward a few feet on its own. In addition to my jaw and fingers, my sphincter was getting a pretty good workout today too. My entire body would be sore tomorrow, inside and out.
If I lived that long.
I shook off the morbid thought and attempted to look at the positive side of my situation. On the plus side, I was close to the cabin now. Just a couple hundred feet down the mountain, and I would come to the gravel road that would take me to its warm comfort. I looked around, peering at the place another gravel driveway had been before. It was now gone, covered by a thick layer of snow.
Inhaling deeply, I made my decision. I just needed to keep moving forward. I’d made it all the way up. Surely, I could make it a little way down. My fingers death-gripping the steering wheel again, I took my foot off the brake.
Don’t do it.
A snake of fear slithered up my spine as the words filled my head. I realized the words were smart, but what else was I supposed to do? Going back down would be as treacherous as going forward and would take much longer, even if I could turn around on this narrow road.
Tapping the brake again, I looked with longing at the place where my neighbor’s driveway should be. I didn’t even know if anyone actually lived there or how far the house was from this point. If I was able to find it, would I be able to break in and seek shelter if no one was home? I didn’t know. And it seemed too risky to find out.
A third option was to just stay right here and ride it out, but the thought of doing that brought instant panic. I could already imagine the feeling of claustrophobia that would take hold as the snow slowly blanketed the Jeep. How long would it take for me to be buried alive? And how long would I have to stay in my four-wheeled coffin until I could dig my way out? Would I run out of gas and freeze to death? Die of carbon monoxide poisoning long before that?
I shuddered. No.
I had to keep going. I had to try to get home.
Home.
When had I begun thinking of this mountain as home?
“We can do this,” I said to the angel and lifted the tiny four-leaf clover up to my lips, giving my good luck/love/life/legacy charm a kiss. “We’re close now.”
I was close, but in this new icy wilderness, I was beginning to realize that close meant nothing. The snowflakes were still huge, and the brutal wind was now making them come down nearly sideways. It reminded me of watching Star Trek, and the USS Enterprise taking off at warp speed.
Humming the theme song, I slowly pressed the gas and inched forward. But as the nose of the Jeep dipped downward, dread became a living thing inside me. I hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards and I already knew coming up the mountain was better than going down.
As the first curve appeared before me, I tapped the brake. Nothing. I stomped on it. Still nothing. I pulled up the e-brake but the Jeep continued to slide forward, heading straight for the edge.
I screamed, yanking at the steering wheel, but it didn’t make a difference. Both my feet were on the brake, but it didn’t matter. The Jeep went sideways, then tilted up on two wheels, tossing me hard to the right.
I reached for the door handle, preparing to jump out. But I was too late. I was falling into the abyss.