We’re mostly empty, with a few regulars sitting at the bar, and Sleepy. On a Tuesday night in a small town, I manage my expectations. Waylon’s is, for sure, the local dive. We don’t even have any food, just liquor and beer. I stock what the regulars order, nothing more, nothing less. The atmosphere sucks; it’s dark and smoky, with a few neon lights over the pool tables and lining the walls. No honky tonk line dances or whatever passes for a good time in the larger cities. I love Waylon’s like it’s my child, and they may have to bury me out back.
A loud tone shrills from my cell behind the counter, the emergency alert going off. Heading over, I pick it up to see a weather alert. Turning the TV back on, I click to the weather channel.
“Breaking News out of the Bozeman Weather Center. A sudden late spring snowstorm has developed over the mountains and is moving rapidly across western and central Montana. This storm has caught residents and travelers alike unaware, and we will likely see damages in the coming days.
“An urgent Winter Storm Warning has been issued from Belt to Inspiration and down to Billings until twelve pm Wednesday. Please be advised: road travel will be treacherous and to proceed with caution. We are expecting a period of power loss. Snow accumulation totals near twenty inches. Seasonal weather is expected to return on Friday.” The broadcast concludes before starting over again, replaying the same message.
Walking toward the front door, I call out to my patrons, “Last call, guys, let’s get home before this turns ugly.” I can hear the wind gusting through the closed door. Pushing it open, I see the trees bending under the strain and snowflakes already starting to coat the grass.
Dropping their bills on the counter, the men start filing out.
“See ya, Duke,” Jim says.
“You going to be open tomorrow?”
“Not sure, Sam. Give me a call if it looks bad. If I answer, I’m here.” He chuckles at my response.
“Night, Duke.” Sleepy gives me a wave as he heads out. Slamming the door shut behind them, I lock it and flip the exterior sign off. Grabbing my cash and stuffing it in the register, I rinse the barware quickly, shut everything down, and head out the back door.
My old truck is already half covered, and the snow is coming down so fast, I can barely see. Sudden storm is right. I can’t remember the last time we had a storm this late into April.
Heading toward my house in town, I find cars with their hazards on stranded everywhere along my drive. Emergency responders, and trucks, make their way down the streets, helping drivers, and taking them to safety to wait out the storm. Straight ahead of me, I see a small two-door sedan spin-out from the traffic signal, turning in a full circle before landing themselves in a ditch.
Pulling onto the shoulder, I climb out of the cab, grab my jacket off the seat and flip the bench forward to grab my old flannel blanket, before making my way down into the ditch. The little red BMW 3-series sits sideways in the grass, mud and snow covering everything. I tap on the fogged-up window. It slowly descends, and inside, I find a stunning woman with bright green teary eyes and blonde hair seated behind the wheel. The look of surprise, and horror, on her face is almost comical.
“Hey, you okay? I saw you go down into the ditch.”
Tears immediately begin running down her cheeks, and great, hitching sobs come out of her. “I–I–I’m not sure.” Sob. “What.” Hiccough. “Happened.” More sobbing.
“You spun out.” Leaning back, I see her tires have had better days. “You can’t park here. Your tires suck, your car isn’tmade for this weather, and you don’t seem to know how to drive in it.”
Her mouth drops open, and her sobs cease momentarily. “Wow, you’re an asshole.” A half-choked laugh-sob erupts from her.
“I do what I can. Look, I brought you a blanket. Emergency services will be along soon. Turn your hazards on. They’ll take you home, or,” I wave my hand generally toward town, “wherever you need to go tonight.”
Who are you?
Climbing back up the hill, I get in my cab just as Tommy in his truck, yellow spinning light on top, pulls up behind me. Throwing him a wave, I pull away.
She called me an asshole. I am. But she took the blanket, so I win.
Chapter 4
To Build a Home
Callie
The next morning, sitting in the comfiest bed I’ve ever laid in, I peer out the windows. It looks like the entire town has been covered in a giant white blanket. No tire tracks indicate where the road is, and the whole place is silent and restful. The snow falls in wispy flakes, blowing peacefully around. For the first time in an incredibly long time, I feel a sense of calm in my chest. A sense of rightness.
Is this what I’ve been looking for?
Throwing on an oversized t-shirt, a pair of leggings, and mismatched socks, I get ready to head downstairs where I was promised breakfast. Sweeping my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head, I walk into the hallway.
I follow the scent of coffee and bread down the stairs and find a kind-looking older woman setting out a breakfast spread consisting of fresh bread, jams and jellies, fruit, yogurt, and delicious, rich-smelling coffee. Orange juice and milk round out the options.
“Good morning, dear, I’m Mrs. Cox. I believe you met my husband last night.” She smiles openly, and something about her makes me want to tell her everything about myself. “I heard you had a bit of an accident. That happens when the snow comes on like this. You’re from North Carolina? I’ve never been myself, but I hear it’s lovely.” She speaks animatedly, her short, rotund body moving easily around the space, a floral-patterned apron tied around her middle. Her gray hair is pulled into a plait at the nape of her neck and her blue eyes are bright behind the giant glasses covering half her face.
She finally takes a breath and leaves an opening for me to speak. Laughing a little awkwardly, I reply, “Ah yeah, I got caught up, I guess. Apparently, my tires aren’t great, or at least, that’s what the very gruff man who gave me a blanket told me.”
