Page 112 of Check & Chase
“There’s a service,” he explains patiently. “I can call them if cell service is working.”
We bundle up in layers of clothing, the cold hitting us when we step outside. But the sun shines brilliantly off the snow, creating a winter wonderland that’s undeniably beautiful despite the inconvenience.
“Damn,” Chase whistles, surveying his property. “That’s easily three feet.”
The driveway has disappeared entirely, along with most of the street. Only the distant rumble of snowplows reminds us that civilization still exists.
“Think that service of yours can handle this?” I ask doubtfully.
“For what I pay them, they better.” Chase pulls out his phone, checking for signal bars. “Should be enough.”
He’s in the middle of making the call when my phone buzzes with several missed messages. My stomach drops as I read Jackson’s increasingly urgent texts.
Jackson:Mom fell. Nothing serious, but she’s asking for you. Call when you can.
“Chase,” I interrupt his conversation, panic creeping into my voice. “We need to go. My mom fell.”
He ends the call immediately, concern replacing his relaxed expression. “Is she okay?”
“Jackson says it’s not serious, but she’s asking for me.” I’m already heading back inside, mind racing through logistics and worst-case scenarios. “We need to get to Calgary. That’s a four hour drive in good weather.”
“Whoa,” Chase follows as quickly as his crutch allows. “Slow down, Emma. Let’s think this through.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” I snap, irrationally angry at his calm response. “That’s my mom.”
“I know.” He catches my arm gently, forcing me to stop and look at him. “And we’ll get to her. But safely. Let me call the service back and have them prioritize clearing us out.”
The logic penetrates my panic. I take a deep breath, nodding as reason reasserts itself. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense.”
Chase makes the call, emphasizing the emergency nature of our situation. “They’ll be here within the hour,” he reports. “Said they’re already in the neighborhood.”
“Thank you.” I’m already gathering essentials, adrenaline taking over. “I’ll text you when I get there.”
“I’m coming with you.”
I pause in my frantic packing, turning to stare at him. “Your knee, your concussion…”
“Are both manageable enough for a car ride,” he finishes firmly, his jaw set in a way I recognize. “I’m not letting you drive alone in these conditions. Not when you’re this upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I protest automatically.
He just looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Your hands are shaking.”
I glance down to find he’s right. My fingers tremble slightly as they grip my overnight bag, betraying the anxiety I’m trying to control.
“Fine. But I’m driving. Your reaction time isn’t fully back yet.”
“Deal.”
The wait for the plow service feels interminable, though the clock shows it’s less than forty-five minutes. I use the time to call Jackson, confirming that our mother is stable—just a twisted ankle from a minor fall down her porch steps while checking the mail in the aftermath of their own storm.
“She’s fine, Em. Just wants to see you. Being dramatic, you know how she gets.”
“I know.” But the reassurance doesn’t fully stop the anxiety that’s gripped me since seeing his messages. In my mind, winter storms and family emergencies are permanently linked, echoes of a tragedy I was too young to remember but old enough to live with the consequences of.
The plow makes quick work of the driveway, and soon Chase’s SUV is accessible. We load up efficiently, me behind the wheel as agreed, Chase settling into the passenger seat with visible relief to be off his injured leg.
“Wait,” he says as I start the engine. “I need to take Max next door. Can’t leave him alone without heat.”
