I expected resistance, but she nodded and tucked her fingers between the belt and my back.
"The fishing huts," she said. "If we get back to the rink we can cut across the bay. We can wait out the blizzard there."
"Follow me." Before she could protest, I tucked my chin into the collar of my coat and broke the wind as I focused on the quickly fading tracks. It was a miserable march, and the dog was no lightweight.
After what felt like an hour, the lights from the rink materialized ahead of us.
"Thank God," I muttered.
"There!" Clara shouted in my ear and pointed to a faint square shape about a hundred feet from the rink.
We wrestled the door open. The wind caught it and nearly ripped it off its hinges. We tumbled inside in a flurry of snow. I slammed the door and latched it shut.
It was pitch black. The air inside was freezing, and stank like bait fish, but it wasn't moving at a million miles an hour.
"Do you have your phone?" Clara pulled off her gloves and cupped her hands in front of her lips.
I pulled mine out. "No service. You?"
"Dead battery."
I used my phone's flashlight to scan the hut. There was a bench on either side, a hole covered with a piece of plywood, and in the corner, next to some plastic bins stood a small wood-stove.
"Please tell me there's wood," I said.
Clara was already at the stove, opening the iron door. "Kindling and a lighter. Thank you, fisherman boy scout."
I watched her work. Within minutes, a small fire crackled, and with it, shadows danced against the walls. "There." I grabbed a kerosene lantern from the wall.
Clara pulled a lighter from her pocket, and through a joint effort, I operated the dial to let out the gas while she lit the mantle. The entire hut lit up like it was the middle of the day.
We collapsed onto the narrow bench, sitting on opposite ends. The dog curled up between us. Clara blew on her hands again and held onto his back paws. I took off my gloves and did the same with his front.
"How long is this storm supposed to last?" I asked.
"This wasn't in the forecast at all." Clara pulled her knees to her chest. “It’s Chance Rapids. It could be ten minutes, or two days…"
"I can make it to my car."
Clara raised her eyebrows. "The car that was already in the ditch once this month? There's already a foot of snow. No, atleast here we have a fire and…" She rummaged through a bin and held up some jerky. "Food."
We sat in silence for a long time, listening to the wind’s attempts to tear off the roof. The hut warmed up slowly. The wet wool smell from my coat mixed with the woodsmoke and instant coffee Clara found stashed with the jerky.
“Clara. Can we put the past behind us. I’m a different person now.”
She scoffed. “I know. You’re an even bigger asshole now.”
“I guess I deserve that, but there are things you don’t know.”
“Like what?”
I sighed. “I don’t know where to start.”
“How about you start with the part where you told me you’d outgrown the town, and me. Did you mean it?"
I sighed, staring at the rusty stovepipe. I hadn't planned on telling anyone. It didn't fit the narrative of Beckett Shepherd, successful developer, the poor kid who left town and made it big.
"You know what my dad was like, and as much as it was a blessing when that drunk died, my mom's life was hell. Being a success was the only way I could save her."
