Snow days are always good, right? Nobody cries on snow days. So, I won’t cry tomorrow.
Chapter 16
There’s a crash that jars me awake.
“Sorry!” Dave calls out.
He’s in the bathroom off my room.
“I like this shower better than the one upstairs, and I knocked over a bottle of shampoo. Scared the shit out of your cat, apparently, and he ran out.”
My arm throbs, but I get up. “It’s okay. I’ll find him.”
It takes twenty minutes, but I eventually locate Whiska behind the washing machine, which is in a small room off the kitchen. I have no idea how he crammed himself behind there, but he’s there. I snag another book from Dave’s shelf and read to him about a bear, a mouse, and a giant strawberry.
“Lovey, don’t stay there for too long. And I’ll be back soon. You’re okay.”
When I finally wander into the kitchen, Dave pushes a coffee across the counter. “Does this help make up for it?”
Before I even take a sip, I know by the smell and the frothy froth. “Did you get me a Nespresso maker?”
“Maybe.”
“Aiming for hero status, I see.”
“Also, maybe.”
He already won, but this takes him over the top.
The sound of a plow echoes throughout. There’s something so reassuring about that rumbling. Like we’re being taken care of.
“Sounds like we can drive now. Should we go check out your house?” I ask tentatively.
Dave hesitates. “Sure. The roads are probably fine.”
As we drive, the compressed snow from the plows make the tires emit crunches and creaky noises. While I hadn’t seen his house before, I see it now. It’s so cute, such a darling cabin.
But one with a seriously large oak tree that’s now cut his house in half.
Dave balks. “That was a really nice tree.”
I touch his arm. “A really nice tree that also really smashed up your really nice house.” I put my hand on his. “I’m so sorry.”
He walks up the front steps, and I follow. After he pushes in the front door, he shudders. I take a peek and see the devastation. Whatever living room he had is gone. Pretty sure that tree crushed a bit of the kitchen. The stairway to the second floor is smashed. Lord knows what else is destroyed upstairs.
God, this is really, really bad.
Dave starts to step in, but I pull him back.
“This is all structurally unstable. Very much so. I watch enough TV to know we need to back off. This could all collapse on us. Like, now.” My voice is oddly calm.
“Okay.” He’s enough stunned that he lets me guide him away, down to the road.
I put an arm around him and pull him against me. “I think this is a 911 moment? Because of the tree situation and whatnot?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he says with a sigh.
After I make a panicked call, it’s only minutes before various emergency vehicles show up with their lights and sirens. This was not an unfamiliar address. They know Dave, and they take care of their own.
