Page 1 of Love in the Storm

1

ASA

Wind pushed against the truck door as Asa stepped out into the swirling snow. Wrapping his arms around the overflowing bags, he shoved the door closed with his elbow and ran through the white night toward Mrs. Grant’s house. The freezing air pierced his eyes, causing them to sting as he bounded onto the small, covered porch.

Asa adjusted the bags in his arms to press the doorbell with his knuckle. The chime was barely audible over the gale-force winds. He rubbed one watery eye against his shoulder and then the other.

He hadn’t thought this through very well. Mrs. Grant was pushing ninety, and he might be standing there a while before she got up and made her way to the door to let him in.

“I’m coming. Hold your horses,” Mrs. Grant chided from inside.

“It’s me, Asa Scott.”

When she finally opened the door, her short, white hair was flat on one side and puffy on the other, and her glasses sat askew on the bridge of her nose.

“Mom didn’t want to be out in the storm tonight, so she sent me to deliver your dinner.” He lifted the bags under his arms, indicating the spread of food that would no doubt last this little old woman until next week.

“Come on in,” she said, scooting her walker out of the doorway.

Asa stepped into the warm cabin, and a shiver rocked his whole body. He wasn’t a stranger to harsh winter weather, but this blizzard was coming fast and strong.

“Just put it over there.” Mrs. Grant pointed a skeletal finger toward a round table in the kitchen covered in mail and magazines.

Asa put the bags on the table and started unpacking the food. His gaze drifted to the window every few seconds. The blizzard was only getting worse, and he wasn’t looking forward to that narrow mountain road that lay between here and home.

Mrs. Grant waved a withered hand. “You go on home. Tell your mama I said thanks for the food.She’s so good to come all the way out here every week.”

So good was an understatement. His mother made meals for quite a few elderly people in town. Betty Scott was in the running for sainthood for sure.

“I’ll make sure she knows. Anything I can do for you while I’m here?”

Mrs. Grant was already opening the food containers. “Not that I can think of, but I appreciate the offer.”

Asa snuck another glance out the window. “Then I’d better get going.” Even as he said the words, a tug-of-war started inside him. He didn’t like knowing Mrs. Grant was up on the mountain alone, but the stubborn woman refused to move closer to town.

Her resistance was somewhat understandable when the weather conditions weren’t dangerous. Mr. Grant had died over fifteen years ago, but his widow couldn’t let go of the memories.

Unfortunately, Asa didn’t have any room to talk about moving on. He’d been stuck in the same rut as Mrs. Grant for years with no sign of climbing out.

Mrs. Grant followed him toward the door, holding up her walker so it levitated off the floor instead of using it for stability. “Stop by again sometime. How’s that boy of yours doing?”

“He’s great. Growing like a weed.” Asa laid a hand on the doorknob, eager to get on his way. Hismom would rouse the entire police force if he didn’t check in with her soon.

“He’s a handsome one. I always thought he looked just like you with that dark hair. I know Danielle would be proud of him.”

Mrs. Grant’s shaky, wistful tone did nothing to quell the stabbing in Asa’s chest at the mention of his late wife. The old woman was right, Danielle would have loved watching their son grow up. The injustice never ceased to punch a hole in his gut.

“See you later, Mrs. Grant. Call me if you ever need anything.”

“I will. Be careful out there.”

Asa gave the old woman a small wave as he jogged out into the cold night. The icy wind pelted his face, and the air stabbed in his lungs. When he closed the truck door, the howling wind in the dark night had chills rushing down his spine.

He started the truck and focused on the little patch of road illuminated by the headlights. The narrow path was almost invisible under the snow. He had chains and four-wheel drive for a reason, but sometimes even the best preparations weren’t enough.

The ringing of his phone through the Bluetooth speakers jerked Asa’s focus from the road. His son’s name lit up on the dash screen, and he pressed the steering wheel button to answer the call.

“Hey, buddy. I can’t talk right now.”

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