The engine whines. The tires spin uselessly.
I blink, breathing fast. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. We’re fine.”
I put it in reverse.
The tires spin again, spraying snow.
I put it in drive.
More spinning.
I stare at the steering wheel, then at the snowy darkness ahead. “Darlene… sweetheart. Don’t do this to me.”
Darlene does not care about my feelings.
I grab my phone and immediately lose one bar of service.
Of course.
I try calling the cabin owner—Ruthie.
Straight to voicemail.
I try calling my mom out of sheer panic, then stop myself because she will drive here herself, and I do not need my mother meeting me in the mountains with a thermos and a list of my childhood mistakes.
I stare through the windshield, watching snow thicken.
The quiet here is… loud. Like the world is holding its breath.
I think about June’s bulletin board.
Call Haven 7. Don’t be stubborn.
I am not stubborn.
I’m just… independent. Self-sufficient. A woman who can carry her own groceries and open her own jars with a rubber grip and a dream.
But currently, my dream is very stuck.
I scroll until I find the number on the flyer photo I snapped inside the Mercantile—because yes, I did that, because I am secretly anxious and also organized.
I tap call.
It rings once, then twice, then?—
“Haven 7 Mountain Rescue.”
The voice is low, steady, all business. Like the person attached to it has held calm in his hands and refuses to drop it.
I exhale shakily. “Hi. Um. My name is Mila. I’m on Bluebird cabin road and I?—”
“Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No.”
