The Correspondent, page 8
part #1 of Emerson Pass Contemporaries, Book Four Series
“Is it time to start praying?” Stormi asked softly.
I didn’t dare take my eyes from the road to look at her, so I just nodded. “I can’t see crap.”
“Should we stop?”
“I think so. We have a long way to go.”
Where were we? It was such a white sheet that I couldn’t tell, even though I’d driven this road many, many times.
It was in the middle of that thought that we started slipping. I tried to correct by steering into the slide, but it didn’t work. We were out of control, a circle and another one until we were headed straight for a tree. I vaguely registered Stormi screaming. And then we were soaring off the side of the mountain. This was it. We were dead. There was no way to survive this. I’d seen it too many times in the news. Car headed over embankment. No survivors.
I must have blacked out from fright for a moment because when I opened my eyes, we were in water. We’d landed in the river or something. We were quickly sinking. I unbuckled my seat belt while shouting to Stormi, “Get out, get out now.”
She stared at me with wide eyes for only an instant before a violent jerk of the car seemed to wake her. She undid her seat belt and pushed the door open. I did the same on my side. The water was so cold it would put us into shock quickly.
“Swim. Do you hear me?” I shouted. But I’d lost her. She’d gotten out but I couldn’t see through the gush of water as the car continued to sink fast. I headed for the shore. As far as I could tell this was a skinny part of the river, not big in width but deep and bone-chillingly cold.
I dragged myself to shore and then turned back, frantic to see Stormi. And there she was, her dark head just above water. I plunged back into the water and grabbed her by the waist and dragged her to shore.
We fell onto the riverbank and lay there for a moment, breathing heavy. Then the shivering started. I pulled her onto my lap and held her close, hoping our combined body heat would help. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I think so.” Her teeth chattered.
Having been in the warm car, neither of us was wearing a coat. We both had on jeans, boots, and sweaters, now completely soaked with river water. If I didn’t find a warm, dry place for us soon, we would die of hypothermia. I scanned the slope again. It was steep and icy. Getting up would be impossible. We’d have to walk along the river’s edge and pray we found something.
She buried her face in my neck and clung to me, her slender frame pressed into mine. “What do we do now?”
I looked at the SUV, which was almost completely under water. Good God, if we hadn’t gotten out, we would have been goners. I looked around us, wild and nearly insane with fright and cold. The highway was above us. Way above us. Think, I told myself. You can figure out what to do next. I knew this stretch of river mostly from the view from the mountain road. However, one summer the guys and I had joined a friend at her grandfather’s fishing cabin somewhere. If I remembered correctly, we’d taken an exit off the two-lane highway up to Emerson Pass to a skinny country road that ran parallel to the river. Every mile or so there were driveways to fishing cabins, including the one where we’d stayed. They were impossible to get to during the winter months but once the snow melted, people spent summers in the vacation cabins. If we could find one of them and break-in, we could wait out the storm, warm and dry.
“We need to try to find someplace to shelter.” As if that weren’t obvious. I lifted my face to the sky. Snow fell in hard, bitter flakes that had already covered most of the terrain in two inches of snow. If it continued this way, we’d be looking at a foot of snow before the end of an hour.
My vehicle now sank without ceremony under the river water, our laptops, Stormi’s photography equipment, and cell phones with it.
“Do you have any idea where we are?” Stormi’s voice shook as much as the rest of her.
“I think so. The highway’s up there.” I pointed with my chin to the bank high above us. “But there’s a road that runs along the river around that bend there. Along that road, down the mountainside—if I’m right about where we are—there are summer cabins built right at the river’s edge. If we walk that way, we might find one. There’s no way we’re getting back up to the highway on foot.” I stammered out an explanation of what I remembered about the area as best I could, so cold I could barely think straight.
She scooted off my lap and nodded, obviously comprehending what I was saying despite my stammering. “Yes, okay. We can do it. Just one foot in front of the other until we find a cabin.”
“That’s right. There’s quite a few of them, I’m pretty sure. From that road, I remember seeing a lot of driveways.” Unsteady on the rocky, icy bank, I managed to get to my feet and offered both hands to help her up. If only we’d brought gloves. Her hands were as cold as the water we’d just come from. Not that it would have mattered, since our suitcases were now submerged under water. Regardless, I rubbed them between mine and then up and down her arms.
We trudged along for several minutes without speaking. I kept hold of her arm to keep her from falling. She seemed so small here on the riverbank. Snow continued to dump, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of us. We were both shivering hard; the activity didn’t seem to help us warm.
I don’t know how long we walked before we saw a small cabin. “There. Do you see it?”
“How will we get in?” Stormi asked, teeth chattering.
“I’ll break a window if I have to.” Please, God, let it have heat and hot water.
We sped up, stumbling on the icy rocks until we reached steps that led up to a patio that hung over the river. I trudged up the stairs, so cold I couldn’t feel my feet, and tried the sliding glass doors. Locked. “Wait here. I’m going to go around back.”
She didn’t say anything as she sank onto a crude bench to the left of the doors. I sprinted around to the back of the house. A shed full of firewood was about twenty feet from the cabin, I noted, as I tried the handle. Also locked. Of course it was. What did I expect? No one left a cabin unlocked, especially if they wouldn’t be back until the next summer. On either side of the door, two skinny, decorative windows could be broken with the right instrument. I looked through the glass to see a small foyer and a living room with a stone fireplace.
I grabbed a piece of hardwood from the woodshed, hoping it would smash through the glass without too much effort. Hopefully, these were cheap windows and not the weatherproof kind.
With a quick, violent move I smashed one end of the log into the glass. Boom, it broke through. I reached around, careful not to cut myself on the jagged remains of glass, and unlocked the door. “I’m in,” I shouted, but the wind stole my voice.
I ran through to the patio doors. Stormi was curled into a ball on the bench. She didn’t look up at me when I knelt to pick her up and carry her inside.
The place was small but well-decorated in that folksy way so popular with vacation cabins. A sign over the fireplace read “River House.” Photos on the mantel were of a couple around my parents’ age, as well as family pictures with young adults and grandchildren. The fireplace seemed to be the only source of heat. This was a summer cabin, I reminded myself. Rustic, but surely there would be a phone and heat? I went to a window to look out and saw that a driveway had been carved into the side of the mountain, steep and glassy with ice. There was no way I could get up there and flag someone down without freezing to death. We’d have to wait until the storm was over if we were to have a chance to find help. Thank God for all those camping trips Trapper’s dad had taken us on, I thought, as I deposited Stormi on a chair in the only bedroom. She opened her eyes and peered up at me with a glazed expression. “We need to get our clothes off,” I said to her. “I’m going to run a bath for you.”
She nodded and peeled her sweater over her head. I did the same. Tugging wet jeans off our nearly frozen skin proved harder, but we managed. I left her and headed into the bathroom. There was a claw-foot tub, very picturesque near a window that looked out to the water, but no shower. I turned on the water at the sink. It spurted and gasped before spraying dirty water into the porcelain bowl. After a few seconds, it ran clear. I put my hand under the stream until the water went from cold to room temperature to warm and finally hot. “Yes,” I said to myself, relief flooding through me.
Stormi appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket. She shook, causing the blanket to ripple like waves on a lake, and stared at me with glassy eyes as if she weren’t sure who I was. “There’s water?” Her teeth clanged together like a skeleton in a horror film.
“Yep, it’s hot, too.” I turned the water on in the tub. It did the sputtery thing before gushing brown water. “Give it just a minute. I want you to get in there when it’s ready, okay?”
“I will, yes.” She gazed at the floor, listless, then seemed to crumple.
I caught her before she hit the hard tiles and brought her back onto my lap. She really fit well there between my thighs, I thought, idly. I tucked her head against my chest. The blanket fell away, but I pulled it around her shoulders and hugged her tight. “Listen, we’re okay. We got out and we’re safe now.”
“Safe,” she repeated. “We’re safe.”
“We can stay here as long as we need to. Right now, you need to get into the tub for me. Can you do that?”
I felt her nod against my neck. “I’m sorry I’m being such a baby.”
“You’re not,” I said. “You’re doing amazing. We’re just cold, that’s all.”
I set her gently on the floor and perched on the side of the bath with my hand under the water, which now ran clean and hot. I put the rubber plug into the drain and motioned for her to climb in. “It’s hot water now,” I said gently. “You’ll feel warmer soon.” I needed to keep everything simple and direct for now. She was still in shock. I’d witnessed it enough times overseas to recognize the glazed eyes and pale skin.
“Turn away,” she said.
I did so, hearing the blanket drop to the floor in a soft whoosh, as I put my hand under the water again. Too hot. It burned my frigid hands. I adjusted the knobs until I found the right temperature. “It’s good. Get in there.”
I kept my gaze on the faucet while she climbed into the tub. She yelped, causing me to jump.
Without looking at her, I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“It hurts my feet.”
“Give it a minute. Keep them in there.”
“You can look at me now,” Stormi said. “I’m hiding all the important parts.”
I turned to see her curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees. I dropped to my knees next to the tub. Her feet were red. A good sign. However, her fair skin was almost blue from the cold. Damp, muddy hair clung to her cheeks and neck. I’d never seen her without her bangs covering her forehead. A scar ran close to her hairline. Was that why she always wore the thick bangs?
“Can I rub your feet for you?” I asked.
She looked into my eyes, still with those eyes that seemed unsure about my identity. “Yes, you can.”
I kneaded the bottom of one of her feet with my thumb, careful not to put too much pressure on her toes. “Does that hurt?”
“No, it feels good.” She rested her forehead against her knees and took in a deep breath. “This is weird. Naked in a tub with Huck Clifton watching me.”
“I’m not looking at anything but your feet.”
“I know. You’re a gentleman.”
“Just making sure.” I massaged the other foot, noticing how long and narrow they were, like her arms and legs.
“How can you be so calm?” Stormi asked.
“Boy Scout training. You’re in good hands.”
“Welcome to Colorado,” Stormi said. “Land of Boy Scouts and blizzards in spring. And perfect gentlemen.”
The bathwater was about four inches deep by then. “I’ll find you some soap.” I once more averted my eyes away from her exposed skin by getting up and opening a few cabinets to search for soap. Instead, I found a jar of bath gel, which I poured into the water. Bubbles immediately rose up near the drain. Soon, they would cover her. Thank God. I didn’t know how long I could keep my eyes averted.
“I’m going to get the fire going and fix the window. Will you be all right?”
“Put the blanket around you,” she said. “Running around in your boxers isn’t a good idea.”
“Good point,” I said, picking up the discarded blanket and wrapping it around my own shoulders. “You stay in there while I build a fire. Don’t come out until you can feel your feet and hands.”
She nodded, seeming resigned to compliance. What other choice did either of us have? We were in this together.
I did a quick scan of the three-room cabin but found no indication of central heating. Fortunately, a pile of firewood was stacked in a basket next to the woodstove. A flannel-lined jacket hung on the rack by the sliding glass doors. Discarding the blanket, I slipped it on over my muddied, shivering shoulders. We were already invading the owner’s home. What was mud on the jacket but another thing to replace? I found some old newspaper stashed to the side as well as a couple of pieces of dry kindling.
In no time at all I had the fire going. With a cabin this size, it should heat fairly quickly, even with only the fireplace if I could get the hole in the window sealed up.
Outside, the blizzard raged, dumping snow. Wind howled through the trees. I searched the small kitchen for supplies. After a look through the drawers and pantry, I found painter’s tape and waxed paper. Would that work? I quickly dismissed the idea and went out to the mudroom and found a box and packing tape. There was a washer and dryer, I noted. This was good. We could at least get our clothes in there for a good washing and drying.
I cut the box into the right shape for the window and taped it securely to the wall. The cardboard wouldn’t keep out the cold completely, but it was better than nothing. Then I gathered our clothes to put in the washer.
Did bras and panties go in with regular clothes? I held her bra in my hands, noting the pretty lace and the pink hue. I wouldn’t have thought she’d be the pink bra type. Her panties were a lacy thong, which seemed delicate and easily ruined by putting it in the wash cycle. In the end, I tossed underclothes into the wash with our sweaters but held off on the jeans. My mother had told me never to mix the two.
The place was actually cute as could be. Whoever owned it must love fishing and decorating equally. Perhaps the couple in the photograph had compromised. A fishing cabin but also a sanctuary for her. Dozens of books displayed on shelves ranged from knitting to fishing to detective novels and romances. In other circumstances, I would have loved to stay here.
Once I had the first load going, I returned to the kitchen to see about supplies. Please God, let there be canned goods. The small pantry built into the wall had more than I’d expected: pancake mix, cans of soup and chili, dry pasta, and spaghetti sauce in a jar. In the freezer, I found several frozen dinners, a pizza, and a full bottle of vodka. There were a dozen bottles of wine in the rack on the counter as well. Depending on how long we were stuck here, we would not go hungry or thirsty.
There were the usual condiments in the refrigerator that people leave at vacation homes but nothing else. I’d hoped for a carton of eggs, but they may not have been here recently. One more sweep of the cabin yielded no phones. Not even an outlet. It was all right, I told myself. We were safe and warm. Until the weather changed, we would be fine. Our loved ones, however, would be worried sick. I inwardly cringed at the thought of my poor mother pacing the floor of her kitchen waiting for news.
The bedroom was only big enough for the queen bed and one bureau. No television or internet. Not that it mattered. Without phones or laptops, Wi-Fi wouldn’t do us much good.
I looked at my watch, forgetting for a moment that it would be dead. The plunge into subzero water had been too much for the supposedly waterproof case. A clock in the kitchen told me it was nearing noon. A lot had happened since we had those breakfast sandwiches.
First, I’d find some clothes for us to change into and then make us something to eat next. Warm, dry clothes were essential. I said a silent apology to the owners of the cabin for the invasion of privacy. In the bedroom’s dresser, I found socks and underwear for both genders. I held up the pair of women’s panties and almost laughed. They were large cotton numbers that I had a feeling Stormi would not normally wear. The second drawer contained jeans and shorts and the third yielded T-shirts and sweatshirts.
I pulled out a pair of jeans big enough for two Stormis. Not that it mattered. This wasn’t a fashion show. These would at least keep her warm until her clothes were out of the dryer. In addition, two well-loved Colorado State University sweatshirts were nestled together in the bottom drawer. It’s amazing what you can discover about people you’ve never met by going through their drawers, I thought absently, as I grabbed them and headed back to Stormi. One thing at a time.
Next, I peeked in on Stormi. She was in a good foot of hot water, lying flat and staring at the ceiling. Bubbles covered the surface, hiding her.
She turned her head toward me when I entered. “Hey.”
“Good news.” I filled her in on what I’d found as well as assuring her that the fire would soon warm the cabin. “And I put our things in the washer.”
“Is there a phone?” She sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. She seemed so small and vulnerable. Any hint of her brashness had disappeared at the bottom of the river. The enormity of what had happened to us made my legs shake. If we hadn’t thought quickly, the water would have taken the car down with us in it. Never mind. I would think about that later. Right now I needed to focus on survival.
“I didn’t see one. Mostly people rely on cell phones these days. There must be service here. Not that it matters, since our phones are gone.”
“Even if we’d thought to grab them, they’d have been ruined from our unexpected swim,” Stormi said. “I’ve been thinking about that. You know, going over all the different scenarios in my head.”
