“Maybe she is at the groundskeeper’s cabin. That’s the only place she can take shelter up there.”
I nod.
“Wait, let me call 911 or security, and they can help you.” Tillie moves to go inside.
I ignore Tillie and rush to the chair lift. The attendant stops me. “We are not allowing anyone on the slopes at the moment, sir.”
“I need to go up to slope three.” I watch as a lift chair passes by me.
“Sir, I can’t.”
I look down at the attendant’s name tag. “Doug, my father and I are co-owners of this resort. His daughter-in-law is stuck out there. Get me a goddamn chair lift.”
Dough nods, and within seconds, a chair is in front of me.
“Give me your flashlight.” I put my palm out as I wait for the attendant.
The chairlift squeaks and rocks in the wind. My hand trembles. She will be fine. I am not going to her because I care; I don’t want to be fucking sued.
The lift finally comes to slope three. I ignore the attendant and grab a snowboard.
“She is not my fucking problem. But she is definitely a problem,” I whisper. The wind feels like small razor blades hitting my face.
Pulling down my snow goggles, I glide effortlessly down the slope. She did this, and it’s utterly ridiculous, counter-fucking-productive. As I come to a stop, I remember the direction she went. Taking the board in my hand, I hustle through the snow. Everything about her is pure chaos, from our first meeting to the vase she hurdled at me and our first kiss. That kiss was…hot and full of lust. I felt greedy and needy. She makes me want to want things that I don’t need. I hear a small howl. Is that the wind or a wolf? Fuck!
I hope she is not hurt or some wild animal gets her. Suppose her foot is sprained and she is stuck in a fucking cave? My soul shudders at the thought of her being hurt.
I begin to walk faster, not caring about the wind, or how high I have to lift my legs. I need to find her and know that she was okay. I see a small grey fluff. I bend and pick it up.
“Noelle,” I whisper. My heart races, and I move quickly to through the snow. The groundskeeper’s cabin should be somewhere around here. Snow is covering everything and making it hard for me to see. But in the distance, I see a small structure. Relief floods my soul. She has to be in there. I would go crazy if she isn’t.
NOELLE
I am not meant for this survival life. I wipe the first tear with the back of my hand. Never in my life did I have to light a fire.You can see evidence of that with the unlit matchsticks that litter the ground. I have been trying to light this wooden stove, and it’s to no avail. It feels like I have been on my knees forever. My fingers feel cold since I took my gloves off to get a better hold of the matches.
My fingers tingle, and my palms are turning white. The sky is about to be dark in an hour or so.
I should just roll onto the bed and find a pose, so when the coroners find me, at least I would be looking cute. Cold and dead…but cute.
The wind is picking up, and I have three more matchsticks. The stupid lantern is broken. Maybe I can make a lamp out of a sardine tin. That is very MacGyver of me. I think of my dad and his favorite 80’s show of this man that never uses guns, but he can make and fix anything.
Just when I am about to do the impossible, I hear movement outside.
Jumping up to my feet, I grab the shovel and move behind the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew it was a serial killer cabin. Too much rope, duct tape, and sardines. The door opens, and I raise the shovel to my side and swing. I will knock him out before he can get to me.
“Noelle?” It was Roman. My heart leaps, but it is too late. My swing is already in motion, and the shovel is about to hit his head.
Roman, sensing danger, dodges the shovel but is still clipped on the shoulder. I drop it and run to him.
“My God, this fucking woman!” He screams and holds his shoulder.
With my outstretched hand, I try to touch his shoulder. “I am so sorry.”
“It’s nothing.” He stands up tall and stretches his head from left to right, moving his shoulders in a circle.
I stand in front of him, feeling like I am on the verge of falling apart. I step closer and press myself into his chest. My arms slip around him as I bury my face into his cologne-soaked sweater.
His arms wrap around me, and a small kiss touches my forehead. “Are you okay?”
