Page 15 of Better Watch Out

I’ve already decided to never speak to her again. My dad is a harder subject, since he’s the only blood family I have and he’s…my dad. But I’m still pissed as hell at him, which is why I won’t be calling him back until I can do something other than rant at him.

“You aren’t gonna die,” I tell myself as I carefully creep down the long driveway, punching the button forsnowmode and making my life infinitely easier in the nice car with its heated seats and steering wheel. I have to admit, Cheryl has good taste in vehicles. Driving this is much easier than my car in the snow, especially with the drive-assist.

Maybe I could get back to real civilization if I take her car.

The trip into town normally only takes about ten minutes, but today it takes over double that, due to the road conditions and my panic whenever the snow gets deep enough for me to drown in it. But finally I creep into the parking lot of the small store I visited two days ago and lean back in my seat to let out a sigh of relief. “You aren’t dead.” My voice is soft and tired in the enclosed space, and I look over at Sitka as I say it.

She looksthrilledwith every single development that’s happened. But she’s an optimist, not a realist. And as the pessimist between us, I’m the one grumbling and muttering as I kick open the door with my winter boot and wait for her to jump out into the parking lot.

Sitka wastes no time before diving into the nearest snow drift, rolling around like this is the absolute best day of her life. Though I suppose it is, since we never get this much snow in Illinois. For a few moments I stand there, head tilted to the side, and tiredly watch my favorite dog in the world have a good time in her element.

I really do love her to death, and she sort of saved my life while I was in a dark place.

And I wonder if they know about that, too. I wonder if they know about the prank, the humiliation, and how it had been briefly posted on my college’s facebook page for everyone to see. Thankfully one of the moderators had been quick to shut it down, but still. It didn’t matter, really.

Enough people saw. Enough peopleknew. And my three ‘friends’ who caused it certainly weren’t quiet about it.

Giving Sitka a few more minutes, I look down at the snow crunched under my feet, realizing it’s been years since I’ve had this kind of holiday season. While I’m not sure I approve of Boone’s new nickname for me in any way—and I want to punch him in the face every time he says it—snow bunnyis pretty apt for me if it’s not taken in the urban dictionary context. After all,I’m certainly not hanging out at a ski resort in cute clothes to take selfies and get guys.

In fact, I’ve never been to a ski resort in my life.

Finally, my steps take me back into the store, and Sitka zooms in after a moment’s consideration. I’m sure she remembers the attention she got here before, and when a small child sees her and yelps with excitement, I can tell she’s going to continue having a great day.

Maybe-George is at the counter again, and he smiles, his face lined in tired wrinkles, when he sees me. Some of them are smile lines, I realize, and it occurs to me he’s probably spent much of his life smiling. Good for him. I hope it continues that way.

“Hello there, Miss Ma’am,” he greets, rustling around in his drawer for his bag of dog treats. “I’m surprised to see you made it into town. Don’t tell me you drove that little car of your dad’s?”

“Nah, I took Cheryl’s Jeep,” I assure him, watching Sitka run from one person to the other in her quest for world domination through affection. “I, uh…I was hoping to see if you knew any special insider information about the weather. Like, when I should be able to leave? Do you think I could…” I trail off as he shakes his head, my heart sinking.

“It’ll be a good week or so until the roads from here are clear, I think. Sorry about that. I know your dad couldn’t make it up here, so I’m sure you’d rather go home.”

His words make me narrow my eyes, bemused as I try to remember when I said that to him. “Did I tell you that the other day?” I ask finally. “I think I have the memory of a frozen goldfish up here.”

“No, ma’am.” He rubs Sitka’s ears. “Fletcher came down early this morning for coffee. Around five or so. He said he was waitin’ on a pickup order and we talked for a bit. He’s lucky I get up that early when the weather’s this bad.” Maybe-Harrychuckles softly, still smiling and positive. “At least you’ve got your brothers, right? They’ll keep you from being too alone.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “That’s uh, yeah. Yep. I’m really thrilled they came up here.” It’s hard to inject false positivity into my tone, but I think I manage. Tiredly, I grab a plastic wrapped honey bun and a bottle of chocolate milk, putting it on Fletcher’s tab before I take it to one of the small tables near the front of the store where the elderly regulars like to hang out. Today it’s just me and a pair of old ladies loudly talking about their kids and how they haven’t come to visit them, but I tune them out.

This is way too much interaction, too early. Everything since four am has beentoo much, and I’m just exhausted. I’m still holding out hope that Maybe-George is wrong, that there’s a way for me to at least drive down to literally anywhere that has a hotel to get away from this place. Unfortunately, according to my social media scrolling and Googling, his weather senses had tingled correctly. The storms have the roads down the mountains blocked with no time for them to be safe.

Most of the roads are evenclosed, which I haven’t seen in forever. There are pictures of wrecks, of cars and semis along empty highways, and that only makes me groan and thump my forehead against the small, chipped table I sit at.

Sitka woofs, caring little for my problems, and I absently open up the plastic, giving her a chunk of honey bun before shoving the next piece into my mouth. Well, okay. So I’m stuck here for…a few days. Maybe a few more. But I don’t have to justsitaround at the house and wait for my stepbrothers to make my life hell. I can at least make it to town, obviously, and probably a few other places nearby with Cheryl’s Jeep.

At least that way I can create some space between us, and give myself the time to think about everything. Especially the part about Fletcher and Boone beingkillers.

Because no matter what else they’ve done, I’ve never taken them for killers. I never could’ve expected them to sink to that level, and a big part of me just wants to know why.Whymurder three random people on a mountain trail last year?Whytake pictures of it, unless they’re just for souvenirs?

Andwhyshow me, when there’s every possibility I’ll go to the police?

Somehow I end up back at the trailhead where the murders took place, though I have no idea how I’d driven here instead of literally anywhere else. But I don’t get out of the car right away. No matter how much Sitka protests and obviously wants me to do otherwise. I sit in the driver’s seat of the Jeep, tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel with the engine idling.

I shouldn’t get out.

Really I should, I don’t know, go stay with a friend for the week. Though I guess to do that, I’d have tomakea friend in this area first, and that seems almost as bad as dealing with Fletcher and Boone. The lengths I’ll go to in order to avoid social obligation are legendary, and if there was some kind of award for it, I’m sure I’d win. Or at least be in the top ten percent of participants.

“This is a bad idea. Clearly I have brain damage from this morning,” I tell Sitka, who really couldn’t care less. She’s looking out the window, her paws doing a little tippy-tap on the passenger seat under her. When she notices me looking at her, Sitka gives a smallwoofof disapproval, tongue hanging as she pants with excitement. “Okay, okay. But I really wish you’d learn to have better taste in people. You could’ve at least bitten Boone, instead of rolling over for his attention.”

I know she doesn’t actually know what I’m saying, but it still seems like she gives me a plaintive, unfriendly glare at my words. “Fine.” I sigh at last, opening up my door. I don’t even get to stand up before Sitka lunges over me, stomping on mybladder for good measure as she launches like a torpedo into the snow beyond the parking lot.

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