Michael grunts. “Yes.”
“Are we nearly there?”
“Yes.”
I can barely see five feet out the window. I glance at Michael, worried. “Are you okay? Can you see?”
“Enough.”
“It’s a lot of snow,” I murmur, snuggling into my seat. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into. I’ve never been in so much snow and don’t know the first thing about it. I can’t even build a fire. I’ll probably freeze to death in his cabin and Michael will have to tell people how pathetic I was. I shiver at the thought.
“I thought it would pass,” he says, concentrating on the road. “But it seems to be getting worse.”
“Should we be driving in this?”
“You want to sleep in the car?” he snaps. “We’ll freeze to death.”
I shrink down in my seat. “Sorry.”
He glances at me, softening a little. “I hate driving in this weather. We’re nearly there.”
I try to figure out where we are, but I can hardly see anything beyond the white. Eventually, we pull up a driveway and through the frosty haze I can just make out a log cabin.
“Okay, stay here.”
“You want me to freeze to death?” I joke, but Michael doesn’t laugh.
“I’m going to clear some of the snow so we can get in.” He jumps out of the car and I see him battling with a shovel to clear the path to the doorway. After a few minutes he comes back to the car and grabs my bags, then comes back to grab some groceries we stopped for on the way. Finally, he opens my door and tells me to follow him. I step out into the snowy wonderland, my breath coming out in a cloud around me. It’s like a scene from a fairy tale: snow-flakes falling in front of a log cabin surrounded by trees.
Wow.
“Alex! Get in here!”
I walk carefully, my boots sinking into the snow as I make my way up the path. Michael closes the door behind me and I peel my coat off, taking in my surroundings. It’s a typical log cabin, with the big round log walls, high peaked ceilings, stone fireplace, and a big, worn sofa with two armchairs. To the right is a small kitchen with wooden cabinetry and simple wooden bench tops. Several doors lead off the living room.
“Okay, I’ll show you around and explain everything before I head off.”
I turn to Michael, concerned. “You’re going back out again, into that?” I gesture to the window and the white abyss beyond.
He shrugs, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. “I said you could have the place to yourself.”
“You also said you hate driving in this weather.”
He stares at the floor, quiet.
“I think you should stay, at least until the snow clears. It’s not safe to drive in this.”
He puffs out a frustrated breath. “Fine. I’ll go get my bags from the car and make sure the water and everything is working. Can you make a fire?”
I cast my gaze over the massive stone fireplace, the stack of logs and the box of kindling. I’ve never made a fire before, but I watched Dad do it a lot as a kid. How hard can it be? Besides, the last thing I want to do is make Michael any grumpier than he is. And I don’t want him to think I’m some useless woman who’s worried about chipping her nail polish, or something.
“Absolutely,” I say, striding towards the fireplace with confidence. He disappears out the door and I start stacking kindling like I’ve seen Dad do in the past. I find a box of matches on the mantle-piece and light the pile, waiting expectantly. Not much happens, so I heap on some more twigs and thin branches from the basket beside the fireplace. But all that does is make smoke pour into the living room.
Fuck.
This isn’t like the fireplace we had back home, which was a box where you could close the front door. This is wide open and the smoke is billowing into the room, up to the ceiling. Where are the damn flames?
I stand, glancing around in panic. I know putting logs on it won’t help, but if I try to put it out we might not get another one going.
