She jumped out of the car. “You’re here! Thank God.”
It took half an hour for me to get her car out of the ditch. Then, I followed her home. I helped her pull her luggage out of the car. The snow was coming down fast. Big, fat flakes covered the ground, ensuring any plans I had this evening would be canceled.
One thing about living in Wellspring? The people here didn’t play about the snow. Downtown restaurants closed, schools dismissed early, and residents were content to stay indoors.
My phone buzzed. I read the new text message and was relieved to see that Mr. Mays had made it home. Dropping it back in my coat pocket, I grinned at Ronnie who was slowly inching her way toward me.
“You wore the wrong shoes,” I told her, looking down at her boots. They were for fashion, not for ice.
Ronnie rubbed her gloved hands together. “Looks like it’s going to get worse.”
“Yeah,” I grumbled, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“No dinner, huh?”
I shook my head. “Looks that way.” I took off my glove and brushed a snowflake from her cheek.
“Thanks for coming to get me.” She smirked. “I thought I was doing something taking the side roads. I thought it would be quicker, less traffic. I can drive in snow, but damn… this shit is not for me.”
“Do me a favor.” I picked up the suitcases. “Next time you get the urge to take a shortcut in a blizzard, don’t.” I stalked off to the door. I was right in front of the stairs when I felt a blast of wet, icy, snow against my neck. Dropping the suitcases, I whirled around.
With narrowed eyes on me and another snowball in hand, Ronnie said, “How about this? Next time you try to tell me what to do, remember this moment, and don’t.”
I ducked right before a ball of snow whizzed passed by my head and splattered on the side of the house. But I wasn’t quick enough for the second one, which hit me right on my forehead.
“Oh, you’re going to get it now.” I picked up a mound of snow, forming a snowball quickly.
She flung another one at me, barely missing me. “I’m not scared.” Then, she took off, running around the house into the backyard.”
I raced to catch up with her, throwing snow as I ran and dodging flying snow from her. Finally, I reached her, wrapping my arms around her waist and picking her up. She laughed, her head falling back as I twirled her around. But I’d forgotten one thing… wet snow was slippery. And before I could correct myself, I tumbled over, falling straight on my back.
Ouch. I winced as pain shot through my lower back. But she was still laughing, probably because she’d landed on me and not on the cold ground.
She looked at me, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…good.”
Ronnie rolled off of me onto her back. We stayed like that for a little while, just watching the snow fall on us.
“I love the snow,” she confessed. “Especially fresh snow.” I heard her shift and turned to find her staring at me. “When I was a kid, I made a snowman every year. And I loved making snow angels.” Smiling, she opened her mouth. “And it tastes so good.” She inhaled. “It smells good, too.”
Frowning, I said, “Does snow have a smell?”
“Of course, it does. If you really pay attention.”
I took a deep breath. It was subtle, but it did have a soft scent to it.Or maybe it’s her.
“My granny loved the snow, too.”
A familiar pang of sadness squeezed my heart. There wasn’t a day that passed that I didn’t think of her. The strongest woman I’d ever known. I don’t think I’d ever seen her shed a tear, not even when my mother—her only child—died of cancer before the age of thirty. Granny had simply planned the funeral, filed for legal guardianship, and went to work the next day.
Years later, I realized she’d drowned all of her sorrows in alcohol. A gin and tonic here, a martini there, a glass of wine with dinner. The first drink I’d ever made was a Tom Collins—Seagrams Gin, maple syrup, lemon juice, and soda water. It was her favorite and I was happy to oblige her because I didn’t know any better.
In my early twenties, I’d come home from college with a busted knee and a desire to open my own bar. The journey hadn’t been easy, but she’d cheered me on and made me promise never to give up. I made her promise to stop drinking if I ever made my dream a reality.
The day Brook’s Pub opened, we celebrated. The next morning, she went to her first AA meeting and eventually became one of Wellspring’s top AA sponsors. For the rest of her life, she’d spent her time helping others put the liquor down. Kind of ironic I’d built a career serving drinks to paying customers. But she’d always told me that not everyone carried the liquor cross, and it was important to let people make their own choices. She was the reason I stayed away from the hard stuff and never let my customers drink themselves into a stupor. I considered it my personal mission. For her.
“I wish I could have met her,” she said softly. “From what you’ve told me, she was a phenomenal woman.”
