Page 1 of Single Mom's Mountain Men
CHAPTER 1
Patty
My heart beats like it’s going to pound out of my chest.
Probably courtesy of the now empty flask of coffee that I’ve been sipping for the last thirty miles. I raw-dogged the first half of the journey, on nothing but pure, fear-fueled adrenaline, but those last five hours I’ve needed the liquid encouragement, and thankfully, in my haste to get away from my ex-boyfriend, I managed to pack a thermos full of coffee.
But now I’m feeling the effects.
“Mommy.” A loud whine from the rear of the vehicle spikes my blood pressure, even though in the back of my mind, I know it’s only my daughter speaking. “Are we there yet? I’m tired.”
“No honey.” I try to keep my voice stable, to prevent alerting my four-year-old that anything is wrong. Still, my hands tremble against the wheel. “We’re not, but just hang in there, okay? We’ll be there soon.”
Maddie emits a sigh and a high-pitched grumble, her voice shaky and strained. She kicks the back of the passengerseat in protest, and I wait for it, the inevitable explosion of emotion. She’s been doing well so far, holding on. The first six hours she was excited about this impromptu road trip and looked forward to the surprise I promised her at the end of it. But now, ten hours later, after being cooped up in a car with infrequent naps, terrible radio music, and eating nothing but snacks and junk food, she is officially irritable.
And with a four-year-old, ‘irritable’ can quickly turn into ‘hysterical’.
In the rearview mirror, I glance at my other daughter, Katie, who is six. She’s silent but I can see the strain on her face, caused both from the impromptu trip and the stress of spending so much time with her far more extroverted and temperamental sister. Katie doesn’t do well with impromptu happenings. She prefers plans and routines and is more comfortable when we stick to her schedule for the most part. I know she has been looking forward to starting elementary school and is worried that this unarranged trip might derail her. I only got her to agree to it by telling her that she would be going to a much better school in the new place. Of course, in reality I have no clue if that’s true or not since I don’t know where we’re going.
But hopefully, I haven’t just lied to my daughter.
As Maddie kicks the back of the chair again, scuttling in her seat, Katie looks out the window and emits another loud sigh. I know Katie won’t throw a tantrum. She’s always been the mature one, and far too mature for her age, but I also hate that I’m putting her through this at such an early age.
Of course, it’s for their own good in the long run, I know. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier.
I shift my eyes away from my rear-view mirror and focus back on the road. We need to stop soon, for gas and to replenish our snack supply. And maybe for more coffee. Thismuch caffeine can’t be good, but I’ve been driving for sixteen hours now. I need something to keep me going.
I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. Ugh, I feel and probably smell disgusting. Thanks to the insufficient power of the AC our windows are down, and the oppressive heat of Montana in the summer is beating down on us, which is probably another reason why my girls are so irritated. But this old heap of rust and scrap heap-salvaged spare parts was all that that bastard would let me have.
The long stretches of road and barely changing scenery that Montana is so well known for continues to fly by the window. Eventually the kids drift off into restless slumbering. I start feeling the weight of my own eyelids get heavier, and the act of sitting in the driver’s seat for hours at a time in the same posture is beginning to feel like some kind of slow and painful torture technique.
Maddie wakes, and after a while she starts kicking the back of the passenger seat again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I tell myself it’s fine and to just ignore it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Maddie, stop that," I finally snap, my patience wearing thin.
“How much longer?” She whines, putting her little hands over her face. “I can’t take it anymore, Mommy.”
I spot a gas station in the distance and figure it’s as good an opportunity as any to stretch my legs and have my girls work off some of that excess energy.
“We’re stopping soon,” I tell Maddie. "But please stop kicking the seat okay? This car already has enough problems and the last thing we want is for it to break down in the middle of nowhere."
Maddie crosses her hands over her chest and her mouthsets into a pout. It’s not an agreement but it should keep her steady for the next few minutes at least.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” Katie finally speaks up quietly.
“I know baby, I’m hungry too. Look, there’s a gas station up ahead. We’ll get something good at the gas station, okay?”
“What if they don't have anything good?" This is from Maddie.
“They will. I’m sure they will.” However, once we pull off the asphalt and onto the concrete that comprises varying ages of dusty, gray slabs, interspersed with a wide range of weeds of varying sizes and shapes, I’m less sure.
The gas station shop, calledStop ‘n Shop, appears tiny, with aging and flyblown posters in rusting metal frames, chipped paint of varying hues on the ancient, splintered woodwork that tell secrets of previous times when the place had been better cared for, and at least one broken window that has been taped over with duct tape. The S of the word Shop is hanging off the sign, held on by a single wire. The roof sags a little under the weight of its cracked and weather-worn asphalt shingles. In short, the whole place looks like the best thing you could do with it would be to run a bulldozer through it and start over again.
