My uncle was a strong man, but he was struggling with breathing, the same way I had. He was older now,and I was stronger. Prison strong. And I was not going to fucking die in this water.
As he struggled and cursed, I closed the distance. Quiet as death, I wrapped my arm around his neck. He bucked violently, fighting me but weakening quickly from the lack of oxygen. My muscles burned. I needed more air, and still, I held his head under the water. He fought, but he was no match.
Too spent to cry, my throat creaked painfully as his body went limp. I released him, sucking in air as he sank in the cold water.
Painfully, slowly, I made my way to the shore. Snow flurries swirled around me. Hot liquid dripping down my face.
My father had put a hit out on me.
Fair, I suppose. I was about to put him in jail for the rest of his life.
One thing was certain. Between the weather and my family, I couldn’t stay out here much longer. And even if I knew how to get to it, that safe house was no longer safe.
There was only one place for me to go.
5
RAFFERTY
I walkedinto the cabin I’d grown up in, inhaled the scent of the cedar paneling, and smiled. Two bedrooms, one tiny bathroom, one smallish living room, a kitchenette, and a large back porch-slash-pier had been the entirety of my childhood, and I counted myself lucky. My old room had long ago been turned into Grandma’s craft room, and the primary bedroom was where my grandparents had slept for fifty years.
After tossing my duffel onto the bed, I cranked up the ancient central heating, dripped the faucets, wrapped the exposed exterior pipes, and put away the groceries, then dug out my grandma’s old bucket of cleaning supplies and gave the place a once-over. Pleased with my productivity, I grabbed one of Grandpa’s vintage Guinness pint glasses.Fuck ice, I thought, pouring the vodka till my wrist ached. I finished off my drink with a whiff of orange juice—because I’m classy like that—and called it a Christmas Screw.
Drinkin hand, I made my way out to the back, where my grandfather had built a deck on pilings so my grandmother could fish in the comfort of her muumuu and house slippers. After a few minutes of the wind cutting through my summer-weight clothes, though, I went to my duffel and pulled out a pair of sweats, a long-sleeve tee, and the lined plaid overshirt I’d thrown in at the last minute. I was lucky I’d thought to bring it—it was the closest thing to a jacket I had out here.
I changed, topped off my festive drink, and was back out in time to see the sun do battle with the incoming clouds, producing a heady mix of magentas, oranges, and ominous grays. Everything went a little fuzzy around the edges as I took in the opaque water, listening to my grandfather’s old outboard bump against the pier.
When the last sliver of daylight winked out, something cold landed on my nose. I held out my hand, and damned if a flurry didn’t land on my palm. I snuggled into my too-light jacket and let the vodka warm me as the flurries danced around in the frigid dry air.
Within a few minutes, the flurries increased and, rather than melting, fell to the ground.
Huh. That was real snow.
Fuckin’ Texas weather.
I spun in place, a little kid in a swirl of flurries. About thirty seconds into that, my adult self decided I’d rather enjoy the weather from the warmth of my living room.
Damn, did I already need another top off?
Why not.
Satisfied with my choices, I plopped down on the ancient brown sofa with my drink, scrolling social media as road closure notifications lit up my phone. I was watching a compilation of babies crying on Santa’s lap when the Wi-Fi went out. After the cellular service didn’t pick up the slack, I double-checked, and that was down too.
Fuck it. Who needed technology anyway? I set my phone face down on the coffee table and watched in drunken wonder as actual snow fell over the lake, slowly at first, and then all at once, turning the familiar landscape white.
The Texas Hill Country was going to have a white Christmas, and I probably should’ve packed warmer clothes.
Eh. That was tomorrow’s problem.
I sat for a long time, letting the general fucking disillusionment with my job wash over me. I’d long since moved past the sadness of losing my marriage, but now that my brain cells were soaked in vodka, the idea of a reboot took hold.
Hell. I had some kickin’ around money from my grandparents’ retirement funds. Maybe I didn’t have to stare down the worst parts of human existence every damned day. Maybe I could live out here and start over. Whatever I decided, something about this rare Texas snowstorm felt like a line in the sand. A distinct before and after.
With that thought in mind, I let myself drift off.
Just as my eyes grew heavy, however, a loud banging on the front door jarred me awake. It went quiet, and I blinked, not sure what I’d heard. The banging started up again, and I realized somebody was yelling to be let in.
Jesus, who was outside in this weather?
