Page 1 of Please Send Snow
1
MADDIE
One look out the taxicab window, and my heart starts to pound with excitement as the trees rush past in the dark.
I’m almost home.
Elvis is crooning “Blue Christmas” across the crackling radio. It’s my favorite holiday song, and even with dodgy reception and the driver humming along off-key, it honestly still sounds amazing to me.
Everything’s coming up Maddie,I tell myself.At least, from here on it is.
“Here we are,” the cab driver says as he pulls down the gravel drive, headlights illuminating the space between the big pine trees. “Not much to look at, but they’re good folks here. They’ll take care of you.”
He’s right about that—both parts. It’s not fancy, but this place is the backdrop for some of my happiest memories growing up. I think of what my dad always used to tell me and I can’t help but smile.
Angel Mountain will always be your home.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell the driver.
“If you’rechecking inup there, I guess you’ve got tocheck outdown here,” he says, chuckling at his own goofy joke as he taps the meter.
The fare it displays makes my stomach drop more than the twists and turns on the mountain road.
But it’s okay. I made it to the lodge, and that’s what matters.
I take the last of the bills out of my pocket and hand them over.
Everything’s coming up Maddie,I reassure myself.
“Change for you, miss?” he asks me, clear that he doesn’t expect me to want any. There’s barely enough left over for a tip as it is.
It will leave me with nothing in my pocket, but my dad always said to choose an empty pocket over an empty heart, so I tell him to keep it, reminding myself to be grateful that at least I had enough to get here.
“My number,” he says, handing me a card. “In case you need a ride back down.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a smile, pretty sure I won’t be going anywhere soon.
I climb out with my backpack, expecting the cab to start rumbling back down the drive immediately. Instead it stays put, engine running, waiting for me to get inside.
I had forgotten how different people were out here, and how much they look out for each other.
A tendril of warmth wraps itself around my heart, just as a swirl of frigid wind wraps itself around my body.
Yikes. Was it always this cold up here, or was I usuallyjust too hyped up on hot chocolate and candy canes to notice?
I head for the lodge, glad to see that even in the dark, it still looks pretty much the same as the last time I was here, years ago—cedar shake shingles, avocado green trim, the wide porch I remember playing on. I can even picture the ancientWelcomemat by the front door.
The windows glow with warm light and I can practically taste the grilled cheese sandwich on homemade bread and the Soup of the Day I used to get for practically every meal back when we stayed here.
Dad would tease me for it, but I think he secretly enjoyed hearing me hum with enjoyment on every bite. Shirlene, the cook, would sometimes come out and declare me her favorite guest in front of everyone, and even when I was twelve I wasn’t embarrassed at all.
My stomach rumbles at the taste of the memory and I try not to think about how long it’s been since I’ve eaten anything real.
Job first, food later,I remind myself as I head up the steps, wondering if Shirlene might need help in the kitchen. I’m not a great cook, but I can follow directions. Worst case, I could wash dishes and scrub floors. I’m not picky. I’ll be glad to do anything at the lodge just for the employee meals and staff housing, no matter how tiny the paycheck.
The stairs creak and the wood feels a little soft. Up close, the cedar shakes are silvered and curling, like the west wind has been allowed to get the best of them over these last years.
A pang of worry twists my stomach. I’m counting onthis place not to have changed as much as the rest of my life has.
