Page 1 of Tributary

CHAPTER ONE

Diana

THE SHOP PHONE rings, startling me. I snap my head up from examining my plant specimen when I hear the shrill bell of the old landline. This is unusual. Any Oak Creek locals looking for me just barge into the store, and any of my business contacts call me on my cell. I frown, noting that my phone must have been on airplane mode in my pocket.

Sighing, I make my way up front to the antique rotary phone I keep on the counter, mostly for looks. “Houseplant Haven,” I say and then pull my head away from the handset as my mother’s voice bellows through the receiver.

“Diana Crawford! I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”

“Sorry, Ma. I guess I had my phone off. I’ve been splicing—”

“Diana, everything is amiss,” she huffs. “Our special guest is snowed in, and your brother’s been skiing on Main Street.”

I lean around the corner and peek out the shop window, and sure enough, I see my brother Archer decked out in his best cross country ski gear, shushing a loop around our little downtown.

“Yes, I see Archer now,” I tell her. I hadn’t paid much attention to the snow storm that rolled into town this morning. It looks like there’s half a foot of snow outside, and it’s still coming down. Most people around here walk everywhere, but I suppose even that’s hard if nobody has dug out the sidewalks. “What do you need, Ma?”

“I need you to come talk sense into your father,” she tells me. I hear her multitasking as she talks. My mother is the president of Oak Creek College and never stops hustling. She’s been hosting an investor at their house, in town to check up on some of the programs Ma convinced him to fund.

“What’s Dad up to?”

She huffs. “He’s trying to get me to my office on the lawn tractor.”

“You guys barely even have any grass,” I tell her, shrugging out of my apron and hanging it on a peg. “Why do you even have a tractor?”

I tell my mother I’ll make my way to their house as soon as I can and urge her to distract Dad before he gives himself a hernia. I pop up the stairs to my apartment above the shop to throw on thermals and snow gear. Glancing out the window again, I see Archer making another loop around town. I throw open the window to shout at him. “Arch,” I holler, feeling the sting of the cold on my cheeks. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting my cardio in,” he shouts without looking up. “Bill said he and the maintenance guys are doing sidewalks before streets. I got time!”

I shake my head and close the window, deciding I’m going to need a lot of gear to get to my parents’ house about a mile away. I start to rummage around for my snow boots. Deep in my closet, I find my warmest pair from back in graduate school…from before.

I look closer and estimate there’s about eight inches of snow on the ground, but it’s still coming down pretty fast. Seems like there’s some work to do here before I head to Casa Crawford. I grab a shovel and begin to clear off the walk outside my shop. The snow is heavy and wet, and the work feels good. I lose myself in the motions, stooping and digging, rising and hurling the snow. My muscles scream for awhile, but then as I start to dig out the walk of the Oak Creek Gazette office next to my shop—the ancient editor shouldn’t be out shoveling this stuff—I reach a sort of zen. My movements become a meditation, and I don’t hear it at all when a man approaches beside me. Too late, I hurl the entire shovel load right into his face.

“Aw, damn it! Shit!” He yells, and his eyes flash up at me, blue steel, cold as ice.

---