Page 14 of Snowbound

I take a sharp breath, then listen to the voicemails.

The theme across all of them is the same.How dare you not pick up on the first ring. Where are you? Haven’t you landed by now? I need your opinion on whether the bridesmaids should wear fuchsia or hot pink. I need your opinion on the food. The venue. I need you to tell me that this is all going to be perfect, or else my big day is going to be ruined. I thought you were supposed to be the best in the business. It’s not very professional to ignore business calls.

Hands shaking, I delete them all and throw the phone onto the bed.

The responsible thing to do now would be to cancel the meeting altogether, to tell her straight that I’ve been having some issues with the weather, and I’m not going to make it. All the brides I deal with — and indeed, most of the grooms – are highly strung, high-maintenance pieces of work who think that other people are there to serve them.

I guess that’s the mentality you get when you’re rich and can afford to pay people to do whatever you want. And I suppose I am there to serve these people, but to be at their beck and call night and day… Well, I’m just supposed to be planning a wedding. Being their servant too is utterly exhausting.

I know for a fact that if I tell her that I have to cancel, especially if I just text it, she is going to hit the roof with rage. She needs me to be there with my PowerPoints and spreadsheets at once, or else her entire week is going to be ruined forever, maybe even the entire marriage.

It doesn’t seem like a very stable relationship to me if that’s the thing that’s going to ruin the entire marriage, but it’s none of my business. They pay me to sort things out. So, sort things out is what I’m going to do.

I just have to figure out how I’m going to do that.

Outside the door, I hear the floor creak and what I presume is Gabe’s bedroom door shut.

He’s obviously had a long day too and is retiring for the night. I can’t go bothering him again.

The seed of an idea starts to plant itself in my mind, and a sick rush of guilt overcomes me at the idea of it. I have to get to Grand Rapids tonight if I want to salvage my situation tomorrow, but without buses or cabs or trains or my own car, there’s only one vehicle I can think of I could access to get there.

I poke my head out of my room and peer out. The light is on inside Gabe’s room, and I can hear the faint murmuring of television from within. He chuckles occasionally, and I imagine him sitting there with a beer, watching some sports or variety show or something,

He told me to make myself welcome, so if he hears me sneaking around, he’ll probably assume I’m going to the kitchen for water or a snack. As quietly as I can, I rush down the stairs and head for the front door. There, shining in the bowl next to the coat rack, are his car keys.

This is a stupid idea.

He already thinks little enough of me without me stealing from him as well.

But if this bride spreads negativity over social media and cancels the job, I’ll have no money, and my reputation will be in tatters. This business is my livelihood. It’s my life. I can’t let one missed meeting spoil it.

I hook my finger through the key ring and take a deep breath.

Hopefully he’s listening to the TV loudly enough that he can’t hear the door opening or the way the frame rattles as I shut it again.

The snow is still coming down and wind strikes at my face, blowing my hair everywhere. I suck in a breath between my teeth, shivering, wishing I had brought a coat or was wearing anything better than just some old sweater. At least I don’t have to be outside for long.

I stomp my way through the snow to the truck, brush the flurry off the windscreen, and jump inside. It beeps when I unlock it, and I wince, hoping it hasn’t caught Gabe’s attention. I glance up at his window, waiting to see the curtains twitch, to see him looking out, but he doesn’t. If I’m really lucky, he’ll have fallen asleep in front of the TV and won’t even notice his truck starting and driving away.

I slide into the driver’s seat, stick the key into the ignition and turn it. The car splutters to life. I squeeze my eyes shut again, waiting at any second to get told off. I deserve to be yelled at for this, but I’ve committed to the plan now. I’ll make it up to him later. I’ll pay him whatever he wants. I’ll get on my hands and knees and apologize. I’ll explain everything, and maybe he’ll understand.

He’s not an irrational person. He’ll understand why I had to do this.

Won’t he?

Crouching forward as if that might make the sound of the truck driving away any quieter, I hit the gas and turn off onto the road. My phone is running out of battery, but I managed to put the GPS on, and if I can just hit the highway, I’ll be fine.

Driving a vehicle that isn’t yours is always weird, but I never drive something this big, and I wobble down the road, the dark consuming the surroundings, the snow blinding me as the lights bounce off it. As far as I know, I could be in the middle of nowhere. I feel like I am.

I’m just starting to get a little more confident about the drive when I turn onto another narrow country road. I’m terrified that I’m going to run into another car, and I barely blink as I stare at all of the three feet I can see ahead of me.

That’s when the ghost flies in front of me.

I scream as the truck hits a patch of ice and my eyes meet those of a terrified deer springing into the air. Its fur is bright white from the truck lights, and its thin legs tremble in fright. As it vanishes into the night, I spin off the road, my knuckles pale on the steering wheel as I grip it. The moment lasts forever, a dizzying spiral of shame and hubris that’s leading me to disaster.

When the truck grinds to a halt, the engine is still running, but I’m buried deep in a snowbank. I let out a sob and peel my hands off the wheel. I’m okay. I’m shaken, but I’m alive.

How could I have been so stupid?

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