Page 77 of Fa-La La-La Land
“I didn’t get the generator out before the storm started.” That’s all I need to say for Zach to give me a disapproving look, but at least that’s all I get from him.
Until Rhys comes up behind me. Then Zach screws his face into an accusation. “Just the two of you here?”
“Just us,” I answer cheerfully. He knows Mom and Seb are stuck in Florence. Anything beyond that is none of his business. “You need some help? Seb’s snowmobile is in the garage.”
Zach looks from Rhys back to me, doubt replacing accusation. “You remember how to drive it?”
I roll my eyes. “Do I remember? Give me some credit, Zach.”
“What’s happening now?” Rhys asks, clearly nervous.
I shrug off my quilt and hand it to him. “We’re checking onneighbors.”
“So, I’ll wait here for you and Zach?” He nods toward Zach and folds my blanket over his arm.
I let out a laugh. “No. You’re coming with us. I’ll dig out Seb’s snow gear for you.”
“We need all the help we can get.” Zach slaps him on the back. “You can put it on your socials.”
“That’s a ripper idea,” Rhys says dryly. “Nothing says privacy like broadcasting a rescue mission.”
“That’s a great idea!” I ignore Rhys’s head shake and run for my phone.
“I’m not keen on doing a good deed just for views and likes,” Rhys says when I come back.
I nod. I agree with him, but we also have to be prepared. “Think of it as damage control if we need it—which we won’t,” I quickly assure him. “But better to be prepared.”
Rhys lets out a reluctant sigh. “Righto. Lead the way then.”
He follows me to the mudroom where I pull out Seb’s old snow gear and hand it to him. He stares at it like he’s never seen anything like it, which, to be fair, he probably hasn’t. So, I help him get dressed while Zach makes coffee and packs water and snacks for us to deliver.
After downing some coffee to steel ourselves against the cold, we go outside. The snow’s stopped for now, but the sky is still gray. The storm system isn’t done yet, and the wind has blown snow across the roads in deep drifts that make it impossible for anything but snowmobiles to get through.
Rhys climbs on the back of mine, and we follow Zach to the fire department, where we meet up with the rest of the volunteer rescue team. Adam’s got the generator at the Garden of Eatin’ going, plus a big pot of soup and hot coffee for anyone who doesn’t have heat at their place. That’s who we’re looking for—starting with the oldest and most vulnerable people in town—when we’re sent out with toboggans and addresses.
Rhys and I are assigned to go to Lynette’s—a local woman with some mental illness who collects squirrels and believes in aliens. But I believe in Santa, so I’ve got no room to talk. When we get to her house, all the lights are out, and there’s no smoke coming from her chimney or any sounds of a generator. I knock, hoping she’s staying somewhere else, but she cracks open the door and peeks around it, wearing a thin bathrobe and the tinfoil hat she believes keeps her safe from aliens. Her breath is visible inside the house.
“What do you want?” she demands.
“Hi, Lynette, it’s Stella Sparks.” I peel off my balaclava so she can see my face, and Rhys does the same, but she’s still wary. “Everyone’s meeting up at the Garden. Can I take you there?”
She looks at the sky and shakes her head. “It’s not safe right now. But I’ll come over when it is.”
“Looks like you need a new hat. Adam is at the Garden. He could help you,” I say gently.
Lynette and my cousin have a special relationship. He’s the one person she trusts to make her new hats when the others tear or wear out. I cross my fingers that will be enough to get her out of her freezing house.
“That’s why I can’t leave. My hat’s not working. Adam will have to come to me.” She tries to close the door on us, but Rhys gently presses against it, forcing it wider open.
“We’d really like you to come with us now, ma’am. We’ve got a helmet for you we can wrap in tinfoil—top-notch protection, promise,” he says with a soft grin.
“Who are you?” Lynette’s gaze shifts from me to Rhys. Her slippers give me a glimpse of her toes, mottled blue from the cold.
“This is Rhys James, Lynette. You probably know some of his songs.” My panicky cheerfulness doesn’t soothe her, so Istep aside to give her a better look at Rhys and hopefully recognize him.
“I don’t know him.” Shivering, she pulls her robe closer. The open door lets in the colder air from outside.
Rhys glances at me, only hesitating a moment before he clears his throat and says, “You might know this one,” before launching into the first line of “Fa-La La-La Land.”
