I’m chopping bell peppers, onions, and carrots into neat little chunks when the radio on my desk crackles to life.
“Dominic! Come in Dominic!”
The voice is feminine, haughty, and just a little raspy. It’s not any of the rangers from the national park or the boys from fire and rescue down in town. I’d recognize it anywhere.
“Abuela, this is for emergency personnel only,” I radio back.
“You didn’t answer your cell,” she replies in a short tone.
My eyes drift to the cell phone I haven’t bothered to charge in a week. It’s definitely dead. I’m not going to tell her though.
“Reception’s been spotty lately.”
“I’m sending someone up to meet you and I want you to be nice.”
The radio’s microphone only picks up voices, but I swear I hear my grandmother’s bracelets clinking as she talks with her hands.
“When?” I ask, already giving up on arguing with the stubborn woman. We’ve fought a hundred battles, and I’ve lost every single one.
“She’s already on her way.”
Polite agreeance goes straight out the window. I thought she was sending a man. Someone’s grandson who wants to learn how to track the elk or even a solar panel salesman. I didn’t think she was going to send a woman.
I thought she gave up on setting me up years ago.
“Have you looked outside recently?”
“Yes?”
“Abuela, there’s a blizzard brewing.”
“Oh, no. What a shame. Well, I would try to stop her but cell reception on the ridge is spotty at best.” My grandmother doesn’t sound remotely remorseful.
“This is the last time,” I growl into my mic.
“Yes,” she replies. “I think it will be.”
She says a curt goodbye after warning me once again to be nice. Too damn bad Abuela. I don’t do nice. Not for stranded hikers too dumb to read the trail markers. Not for hunters I catch poaching when the season is long over. And not for women that think they can waltz into my cabin and treat it and me like a fixer upper just because my grandmother wants a great-grandchild.
Hell no.
When the snow stops and the roads clear, this woman will be gone, and my life will be back to normal. I just have to suffer her presence until then. Completely manageable. I’ve survived worse in the army. How much trouble can one woman be anyway?
Rachel
Yesenia’s handwritten directions are overly detailed and under informative. Take a right by the split tree that looks like a hare? In this weather I can’t tell if I’m looking at a tree or an embankment. Snow covers the hood of my car, and no amount of heat will completely thaw my windshield. I’m convinced I made a wrong turn but then I see the mailbox with Barlowe painted in bright red letters.
I’ve made it.
“Oh, he’seccentric.”
There is no discernable driveway, just a blanket of even snow. There’s a gap in the tree line that should ostensibly be the path to take. My car’s engine whines as I commit to the gap.
Snow flies past my windows on both sides. I bounce in my seat as the car jolts forward. Miraculously the tires catch traction, and I sail up the mountain. A cabin comes into view, the windows glowing a warm yellow in comparison to the bright white of the snow collecting on the roof and window frames.
There’s an old truck sitting in the driveway, and my goal is to park beside it. But my car doesn’t stop when I press the brakes. It keeps sliding, the brake pedal doing nothing.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I scream as my car crashes into the porch. I slam forward, the seatbelt cutting into my chest and stomach as it stops me from hitting the steering wheel.
