Page 36 of Snowed In

“Anyway. You still heading out to Lake Buchanan for Christmas?” she asked, changing the subject. “You don’t have to do the holiday alone, you know.”

Ronnie could be a bit of a hard ass, but she was also the kind of person who held a “widows and orphans” Christmas dinner every year for those who didn’t have family. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I wouldn’t be some sad sack on Christmas, mourning my failed marriage. Instead, I was gonna get drunk as fuck and decide whether this was the life I still wanted for myself.

“Yep. I’ve already got my bag in the car.”

“Did you hear it might actually snow over the weekend?”

We looked at each other and cracked up. We had a good long laugh at that one because, well,Texas snowwas laughable.

Ronnie had moved here from Boston, and it baffled her how any hint of a flurry precipitated an apocalyptic run on the grocery stores down here. Lord help us if a whisper of ice hit the road. Sure, we had the occasional snowpocalypse, but we weren’t due another one of those for fifteen years, at least.

The real joke was the fact that the current weather was sixty-five and sunny.

“I’ll pack my snow tires,” I cracked.

“Tell you what, if you’ve already got all your paperwork done, then go ahead and take off now before the traffic makes everything miserable.”

I sent her a salute. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Two minutes later, my sleeves were rolled up and I was pulling out of the department parking lot, headed northwest toward the Highland Lakes. I still hit some traffic, but Ronnie had done me a solid, and soon enough I was hitting rural highway.

I made this drive about once a month and loved to let my mind wander. Today I thought about the fact that Grandma had passed just as her mountain laurel were blooming, and Grandpa had lovedher so much that he went just a few weeks later, right in time for the bluebonnets.

As I made my regular stop for supplies, I wondered if I’d ever find someone to love as much as they’d loved each other.

Done with that, I cranked up my favorite playlist and wound my way through the sun-bleached two lanes and over the dammed reservoirs to my grandpa’s handmade blink-and-you-miss-it driveway marker. I bumped down the old caliche path to the wooden cabin I’d grown up in.

I got out of my truck and took a moment to enjoy this little slice of land. The house shared a small inlet cove off Lake Buchanan with three other families, and those homes were rarely occupied outside of summer. It was lonely out here, but picturesque as hell.

A gust of wind interrupted my reverie, and I shivered in my cotton button-down and thin slacks. Checking my phone, I realized that in the time it took me to get out here, the temperature had gone from sixty-five to forty-five and was still falling. Hell, maybe the weatherman was right. We might get a dusting after all.

The sharp wind gave me goose bumps and got me moving. I quickly grabbed my duffel and the grocery bags, plus the handle of vodka I’d purchased at the liquor store on the way in. I was fully committed to my drunken weekend and, since it was fucking Russia out here with that wind chill, I congratulated myself for my sound decision-making.

I walked in and smiled. The familiar cedar-paneled cabin had two bedrooms, one tiny living room, a kitchenette, and a large back porch and pier. My old room had long ago been turned into Grandma’s craft room, and the main bedroom was where my grandparents had slept for fifty years.

After tossing my duffel onto the bed, I cranked up the ancient central heating, dripped the faucets, and put away the groceries. I then dug out my grandma’s old bucket of cleaning supplies and gave the place a once-over. Pleased with my productivity, I grabbed one of Grandpa’svintage Guinness pint glasses. Having decided that ice was a bad idea in this chilly weather, I poured the vodka till my wrist ached, then finished it off with a whiff of orange juice and called it a Christmas Screw.

Drink in hand, I finally made my way out to the porch-slash-pier in the back that stood over the water. After a few minutes, the wind cut through my summer-weight clothes like a knife, so I went to my duffel and pulled out a pair of sweats, a long tee, and the lined plaid overshirt I’d thrown in at the last minute. I was lucky I’d thought to bring it—it was the closest thing to a jacket I had out here.

I changed, topped off my festive drink, and was back out in time to see the sun do battle with the incoming clouds, producing a heady mix of magentas, oranges, and ominous grays. Everything went a little fuzzy around the edges as I looked out over the opaque water, listening to my grandfather’s old outboard bump against the pier.

As the last sliver of daylight winked out, something cold landed on my nose. I held out my hand, and damned if a flurry didn’t land on my palm. I snuggled into my too-light jacket and let the vodka warm me as the flurries danced around in the cold, dry air.

Within a few minutes, the flurries increased and, rather than melting, fell to the ground.

Huh. That was real snow.

Fuckin’ Texas weather.

I spun in place, then decided I’d rather enjoy it from the warmth of my living room.

Damn, did I already need another top off?

Why not.

Satisfied with my choices, I plopped down on the ancient brown sofa with my drink, scrolling social media as road closure notifications lit up my phone. I was watching a compilation of babies crying on Santa’s lap when the Wi-Fi went out. After the cellular service didn’t pick up the slack, I double-checked and that was down, too.

Fuck it. Who needed technology anyway? I set my phone face down on the coffee table and watched in drunken wonder as actualsnow fell over the lake, slowly at first, and then all at once, turning the familiar landscape white.

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