Page 1 of Love Me Fierce

Chapter One

VIVIAN

Two years ago

The first snowflakes todance in my headlights are so tiny and I’m so focused on reaching our destination that I don’t realize I’m driving in snow until a thin layer of white coats the highway.

How can it be snowing in April? When we left the motel this morning for the second leg of our journey, it was beneath a pale blue sky.

I use my rearview mirror to check on Mateo, thankfully still snoozing in his booster seat, his little legs limp and his freckled cheeks relaxed. Maybe I should have stopped sooner, found us a motel? But when Matty drifted off, it seemed like a sign to keep going.

That was before I entered the mountains and these dark clouds closed in.

If I can just make it across this valley, we’ll be home free. New job, new place to live, new life.

The snowflakes coming at me have gotten bigger, flying out of the darkness like shooting stars. The highway is now coated with an inch of white snow, the lane markers barely visible. I’ve never drivenin snow before. How do I know when to stop and put on the chains I purchased for emergencies but never thought I’d use? At least I bought myself a warm jacket too. Why didn’t I also buy gloves? Snow boots?

Someone needs to write a how-to for reluctantly brave mothers who suddenly find themselves flying solo.Step 42 of 700: practice putting on snow chains.

The four-lane highway is deserted on this Tuesday night, with occasional cars coming from the opposite direction, their bright headlights muted by the falling snow. I passed a truck stop about an hour ago, and the next service station isn’t for another forty miles. But I’m now driving so slowly that covering that distance is going to take hours.

The snow is clumping on my windshield wipers, making a horrible scraping noise. I give the backseat a quick glance, but Matty hasn’t stirred. When he does wake up, he’ll have questions. And he’ll be hungry, and tired of being cooped up. I’ll want to hold him, reassure him.

I should have stopped. Because if he wakes up now, I won’t be able to do any of those things. Tightening my grip on the wheel, I turn my focus to the road ahead. If I drive slow enough, we’ll be okay. Uncomfortable, maybe, but it won’t last forever.

A green mileage sign, the top edge plastered with snow, appears out of the darkness.

FINN RIVER 56

MONTANA STATE LINE 71

We’re so close.

A car comes into view from behind me, headlights bright. I assess the distance between me and the guardrail along the right side of the highway, but I can’t risk getting any closer. When the truck races by, a curtain of snow and slush flies at my windshield with a loudsplat, blinding me for a terrifying second. I let off the gas pedal,but the sudden deceleration sends the back end of the car drifting. It quickly snaps back—so fast it’s like it never happened—but the reaction in my body is immediate. Gripping the wheel, breaths heaving, my face suddenly hot.

Why didn’t I stop at that cute little town two hours ago? The one with a four-way stoplight and a general store and a little park where Matty and I could have stretched our legs before finding a place to sleep for the night. Now I’m out here in this freak storm, putting us in danger. What if we crash or careen off the road?

Living in California my entire life hasn’t exactly prepared me for life-or-death weather emergencies. Earthquake drills and high surf warnings, I can handle. Surviving a night out in freezing temperatures while snow buries us is unfamiliar territory.

It makes me want to call my sister McKenna, if nothing else to hear her voice, but I’m afraid I might cry, and the last thing I want to do is worry her.

Once I’m settled, I’ll tell her the story, and we’ll probably laugh about it.

I focus on the mile markers, each one bringing us closer to the end of our journey that started the morning I filed for divorce almost a year ago.

Surviving this blizzard is the final hurdle.

FINN RIVER 44 MILES flashes out of the darkness. In the backseat, Matty shifts in his booster seat. I brace myself, but he sighs and drifts back to sleep.

My empty stomach gives a low growl, but the grocery bag of Trader Joe’s snacks sitting on the passenger side floor is too risky to reach for. I need both hands on the wheel and my eyes glued to the road ahead. My bladder is also starting to ache a little, but I’ll just have to hold it.

I’ve now completely lost the lane marker lines beneath the blanket of snow.

Lights from another vehicle behind me fill my entire rearview, making me squint. It emerges from the storm, a hulking thing with agiant plow-shaped shovel attached to the front. The plow is curved to spit snow sideways which is spraying in a giant arc into my lane. I brace myself as the snowplow approaches, its giant wheels bound with huge snow chains clanking and grinding. Does the driver even see me? The forceful spray of chewed up snow slaps the side of my car and covers my windshield.

I try to decelerate slowly this time, but I’m blinded for so long I’m worried of crashing into the guardrail. But worse than that is the clumped up, chunky snow deposited in the snowplow’s wake. My car jostles, and I have to slow down even more.

The left lane is scraped bare, but it looks icy. Should I try to switch over? My wipers struggle to clear the glass. There’s so much snow clumped on them now, they look like giant white caterpillars. I trigger my washer fluid but nothing changes. Is it frozen? Or is there too much snow blocking it?

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