I nod, forcing a smile. “That’s okay. I’ll find something else.”
I don’t need a perfect tree to make this Christmas mine.
By the time I slide into the driver’s seat, the first flakes have started to fall. The sky’s gone the color of pewter. I glance at the clock, calculate the drive back up the ridge.
If I don’t dawdle, I’ll be home in half an hour. I picture the animals’ excitement when I arrive.
Being wanted.
Needed.
It’s a good feeling.
And that’s what I’m going to stay with.
6
Lila
The first half of the drive goes fine. The rental car’s tires grip the packed snow, the dark pines marking out the edges of the winding road.
But by the halfway point, the snow is coming down in sheets. I tighten my grip on the wheel and ease off the gas.
“Almost home,” I mutter.
The mountain doesn’t care. It just sits there—vast, silent, indifferent.
The snow thickens and thickens until the road blurs into white on white. My headlights catch only the next few yards; everything beyond that looks erased. I flick the wipers up a notch, but they can’t keep up.
It’s fine. I’ve driven this kind of road before. It’s fine.
Except—when the next bend comes, the tires skim a patch of ice I don’t see, and the car fishtails.
My stomach drops. I correct too fast—feel the backend slide.
“Come on, come on?—”
The world tilts.
Snow and trees flash past.
Oh, god.
Oh, god,
Oh, god.
Bump!
The car jerks to a stop with a crunch that knocks the breath out of me.
For a while, I just sit there, gripping the wheel, staring blankly at the falling snow. My heart’s thundering.
Guess I’m still alive?
I unpeel my fingers from the wheel and test my body—neck, shoulders, legs. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth—think I bit my tongue. Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken.
Outside, the storm muffles the world to nothing.
