Page 8 of Clashing Moon

“How long do you think it’s been since it’s been used?”

“I’ve been up here recently, actually. One night, I hired someone to take care of my dad, and I headed up with my sleeping bag and a bunch of stuff I never let myself eat plus a bottle of vodka, some wine.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I must sound so pathetic, but I just had to get away from him and drown my sorrows and stuff myself with chips and ravioli.”

“Not pathetic at all. You’ve been dealing with a lot, and all on your own.”

Her shoulders rose and fell as she let out a breath. “Thanks. You don’t have to say it, but I appreciate it just the same.”

“I’m going to make us a fire, and then we can come up with a plan,” I said.

“Yeah, fine.”

While I found a pack of matches and some newspaper left in the bin next to the wood stove, she put together a cot that had been folded up and stacked against the wall.

One cot.

I really hoped we weren’t here all night.

She moved the books from the chest and opened it, pulling out a sleeping bag and an almost full bottle of vodka as well as bags of chips. “I know. I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not scared staying up here by yourself?” I asked.

Her forehead wrinkled. “Why would I feel scared?”

“I don’t know. Coyotes and bears, maybe?”

“But I’m inside where they aren’t invited in.”

I looked around the room. It didn’t seem terribly secure, what with the thin front door.

Hopefully, the storm would cease this afternoon, and we could walk out of here, but for now, I would make a fire and get us warm. I knelt near the woodstove, opening the chute and peering inside. There were a few charred bits that would be useful as kindling in combination with bark. I crumpled some newspaper and built a teepee with the bark and charred wood, then lit the paper on fire. Once I had that going, I placed a thin log on top, hoping it would catch. The flames fluttered and threatened to die out. I blew on them to get them going. Fortunately, it worked, and the log caught. It was helpful that the wood was so dry. “How long have these logs been in here?”

“I always bring some in before I leave in case the stack outside is covered with snow.”

“You really do come up here a lot?”

“Not lately. He’s been so bad. I haven’t wanted to leave him alone.”

I wanted to give my opinion on the subject, but I didn’t. She already felt bad. I didn’t need to pile on.

I waited for a minute or two before putting another couple of logs on. Soon, the fire was going strong. I shut the woodstove door and opened the vents to make sure the flames had enough air.

In the meantime, Arabella had spread the sleeping bag out over the cot and was now at the window, peering out at the storm.

“At this rate, we’ll be snowed in here for days,” she said.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. No signal. Not surprising. We had notoriously bad cell phone coverage even in town. Out here and with the storm, it was unlikely we’d have any.

I’d sent Mama a text when I got to Arabella’s. Maybe she would assume I stayed there to let the storm pass. “I hope Mama isn’t worried when she can’t reach us.”

“I know,” Arabella said. “I’m so mad at myself. I should never have left him alone.”

“It was only for a minute. Don’t beat yourself up.”

She turned from the door and crossed the room to sit at the table, tapping her fingers against her knees. “If he got caught in this…” She trailed off, clearly unable to bring herself to say out loud what we were both thinking.

“Maybe he returned to the house before it started. Or maybe he never left at all.” Even as I said it, I figured it was a long shot. Arabella knew her own house. If he’d remained inside, she’d have known. If he had indeed wandered off, he would have been as surprised by the blizzard as we were. It wasn’t often we had sudden storms. Maybe once a year, if that. Regardless, this one was the worst I’d ever seen. “I’ve never seen one come so fast, have you?”

“Not of this magnitude, no.”

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