Page 7 of Protecting Her Secrets

While I was getting directions, the weather turned and it’s suddenly snowing like crazy. Beyond my windshield, all I can see is a sheet of white. A new rush of nerves settles over me. Snow is something we rarely see in Bakersfield, so I don’t have a lot of experience driving in it.

I shake it off. How hard can it be? People drive through snow all the time. I can do this. I have to do this. Suddenly, I’m more than a little pissed off at Walker, because if he hadn’t run off like that, I could be on my way home now. Not that home is any better than driving through this winter hellscape; it’s much worse. But better the devil you know, I guess.

I’m about to drive off when Wilder flags me down. I sigh and roll my window down when he reaches me. He is a cop, after all.

“I wouldn’t recommend driving up that way today. This system moved in fast and we’re due a couple feet of snow before tomorrow. It’s not safe to be driving, especially not in this vehicle.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I only need a signature from him. I should be gone before it gets bad.”

“It’s bad now,” he says.

“Like I said, thanks for your concern. I’ll take it into consideration.”

“All right then. Good luck to you.”

“Thanks.” I roll up the window and pull out onto the road.

Almost immediately, I wish I’d heeded the cop’s warning because I can’t see more than a few feet ahead of me, not to mention the lines on the road.Just go slow. It’ll be okay. Earlier, when I was looking for Walker’s house, I noticed the roads were lined with these tall poles to gauge the depth of the snow. Using them as a guide, I make it out of town, hoping and praying I don’t run into anything.

My GPS alerts me to the upcoming turn, but once I’m on that road, I end my route, knowing it won’t do me any good. Almost immediately, the fairly flat road turns steep. It makes sense, since Rowan said Walker lives at the top of the mountain. I don’t make it a few feet before I lose traction and slide. Panic sets in as my tires try to grip the road again. Nothing about this feels like a good idea, but I need that divorce. I put this off for as long as possible.

Taking a steadying breath, I slow down even more, inching my way up the hill. Rowan said the turn-off was two miles up, so I keep track of my mileage before I start looking for the next road. According to him, it’s only one lane, and the trees and brush tend to disguise it.

There. It’s right there. At least, I hope this is it.

I pass by a yellow sign hung in a tree announcing this is private property. Beyond that is another sign, this one in red, warning there are no outlets, no access, no parking, and no trespassing.Paranoid much?But Walker wasn’t done because another sign comes into view that says, “Life is short. Don’t make it shorter by trespassing,” and above the lettering is a picture of a pistol that appears to be aimed right at me.Yikes. Since I am very much trespassing, these signs don’t give me the warm and fuzzies.

Here’s to hoping I’m not met with a gun when he answers the door.

I can tell the road has been recently plowed, but with the heavy snowfall, there’s at least four inches of new powder. When the hill turns impossibly steep, with a snow bank to my right and a drop-off to my left, my stomach turns. The guardrail consists of short wooden posts with a dinky-looking metal chain connecting them, so it’s clearly not meant to stop vehicles from going over the edge.

The fall would suck. I can imagine the few seconds before crashing would be terrifying, but after that, there’d be nothing. For just a second, I feel the urge to yank the steering wheel to the left. It would be a relief to not have to deal with the realities of my life right now. One sharp tug and it could be over. I’m lost to that thought when my tires lose traction again, only this time, they don’t catch.

I try to think back to what my driver’s ed teacher said about what to do in this situation. Do I turn into it or away? The car makes the decision for me, turning sideways and heading right for the drop-off. Now that death is a reality, I take everything back. I don’t want to die, not yet.

Fuck.

Trusting my instincts, I steer into the turn instead of trying to right myself, and instead of slamming on the brakes, I pull my foot off the accelerator. It doesn’t work, and once the car starts spinning, things happen too quickly for me to try and stop it. I scream as I veer closer and closer to the cliff. Not caring about what I learned in driver’s ed, I do whatever my brain says, cranking the wheel this way and that, pumping on the brakes in hopes I can slow down the spin.

This is it. This is how I’m going to die. Klutch will find out all my secrets, but thankfully, I won’t be around for him to take it out on me—though I wish I could see the look on his face when he learns I’m already married. That’ll fuck him up real good.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see the fall coming, but instead, there’s a crunching of plastic and metal, and not even a second later, I’m punched in the face by the airbag. My head smacks the headrest painfully, and then everything goes silent, minus the slight hum of the engine.

“What the fuck?” I moan, shoving at the pillow in front of my face. Powder fills the air my lungs reject, and a coughing fit hits me as I open the door and stumble out into the snow. I leanmy ass against the side of the car until I can breathe without hacking.

I quickly take stock of any potential injuries. Nothing hurts except my shoulder from the seatbelt locking and my face and head from the airbag. That’s good. My teeth chatter as I assess the car’s damage; whether from shock or the cold, I don’t know. Probably both.

In a stroke of luck, a tree stopped me from going over the edge, but just barely. The front right bumper is molded to the tree trunk, while the left is less than an inch from falling into the abyss. My heart pounds in my chest, seeing how close I came to death.

I don’t have time to dwell, though, because I still have to get to the top of the hill. In the distance, there’s a glowing light and smoke from a fireplace, and maybe it’s deceiving, but it doesn’t look that far away. Even if my rental is still drivable, I don’t feel good about tempting fate again.

I guess I’ll hoof it, then call the rental company once I get to Walker’s. Hopefully, they can dig it out or have the car towed if there’s too much damage.

“Glad I opted for the additional insurance. Sheesh,” I mutter as I reach inside the car for my jacket, purse, and phone.

At first, the walk is easy. My feet stay warm and dry thanks to my mid-calf motorcycle boots, but without gloves, my hands quickly turn to ice. I pull the sleeves of my coat over them, hoping to avoid frostbite. After about five minutes, my confidence wanes. It’s exhausting walking in the snow, and since nothing on me is waterproof, I’m soon chilled to the bone.

“What the hell am I doing?” I call out to no one.

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