Snow Falling on Bluegrass (5 page)

And that was answered when our downstairs neighbor, Loud-Sex Shelley, appeared in my doorway and asked Darrell if he had any more boxes to move. We'd made fun of LSS and her late-night moan-and-groan performances for years. He claimed it was gross and off-putting that Shelley was so active and vocal. Darrell had stopped in to talk to her about the problem several times, which led to Shelley asking for Darrell's help on various projects around her apartment: lightbulbs that needed changing, hinges that needed WD-40—all the stuff he didn't have the time or the energy for at our place. Darrell assured me that he wasn't interested in her, that she wasn't even that attractive. But wouldn't you know it, she seemed attractive and interesting enough for him to move in with. So now I got to see him in the Mayfair's laundry room making out with his new girlfriend. Oh, and hear him through the floorboards on occasion.

The only thing that made this breakup bearable was my Lost Boys down the hall, knowing that they didn't judge, that they didn't feel sorry for me, that they were slowly but surely adding Darrell to every existing junk mail list in the continental United States. And some in Guam. They watched my apartment to make sure Darrell didn't break in to “retrieve his stuff.” They would watch my back there. I only wished they were here to watch me now.

This had to stop, I told myself. I had to stop letting some stupid sense of rebellion and twisted obligation control my decisions. And I couldn't rely on some man's opinion to gauge how I felt about myself. I needed to either be alone for a while or date as many men as possible to work Darrell and Charlie out of my system and make my expectations normal.

My eyes drifted closed to the ominous popping noises of tree limbs creaking under the weight of building ice. It sounded like a giant was standing at the window cracking his neck.

Everything would look better in the morning, I promised myself as I tucked the blankets tighter around my head. The lights would come back on. I would take a shower without worrying about stepping into a cold, dark room and eat my metric weight in the applewood-smoked bacon advertised in the lodge's brochure. I would stop imagining scary possessed coeds lurking outside my window. Everything would be better.

It couldn't get worse, right?

The power was most definitely not back on the next morning.

I woke up with a start, shivering into my blanket cocoon. Thin gray morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, allowing me to see my breath rising in wispy puffs. My head rang faintly and my sinuses felt all strained and tight. I could hear whispering and shuffling footsteps in the hallway, and outside, the echo of tree limbs breaking and falling to the ground.

I blinked, rubbing at my eyes and reaching for my phone. The “Low charge” screen was flashing frantically, but I could see that I had a boatload of texts from Darrell and Mother. I doubted very much that Darrell or dear old Mom were aware or concerned that I was iced in at Lockwood. Darrell probably wanted to add a few more bills to the stack I needed to pay. And if there was some real emergency, my dad would overcome his tech phobia and send me a message. Until that happened, I would assume everybody was breathing.

My phone screen died with a barely audible
blip
.

And that was the moment when I remembered that I'd unleashed Protocol: Icarus on Darrell. He was in for several levels of emotional, financial, digital, and possibly dermatological pain. I knew that Darrell had been just awful to me, but did he really deserve that level of vengeance? Did anyone deserve that level of vengeance?

There was a certain amount of welcome helplessness in knowing that I had no way to call Aaron and cancel it. The decision was out of my hands now. I was settled comfortably under the umbrella of plausible emotional deniability.

I rolled out from under the blankets and gasped at the change in temperature. The residual heat had gone the way of Elvis and left the building. I shrugged into my jacket and went to the window to see the damage for myself. Pulling back the curtains, I had to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun reflected against a brilliant backdrop of snow. As far as I could see, the ground was smooth and perfect, an endless carpet of velvety white.

It took me a few seconds to realize that the snowdrifts reached up to the third windowpane, nearly to my knees. The basin of the fountain I'd admired the night before was now completely full, meaning the snow had to be at least eighteen inches deep. Eighteen inches of snow on top of all that ice.

I'd lived in Kentucky my whole life and I'd never seen this much snow on the ground. We rarely got more than two to three inches, and six inches was a real traffic-stopper. Eighteen inches was the snowpocalypse.

In the distance, the surface of the lake had frozen over, tufts of snow swirling across the gray ice like drifting sand. Icicles as long as my arm hung from every stationary object, indicating just how long the freezing rain had continued through the night. The trees were treated to a crystal candy coating of ice, sparkling in the sun like something out of a fairy tale. But a good number of those trees were now split down the middle and resting in the snow or surrounded by the splintered remains of their limbs. Any that weren't already shattered bent dramatically under the weight of ice. We were living in the middle of the Erectile Dysfunction Forest.

“All trees, no wood,” I said with a snicker, looking around for someone to laugh. Oh, right. My fellow survivors were shuffling down the hallways toward the lobby, where they were probably getting emergency rations and snowpocalypse-issue crossbows for hunting small game . . . or each other, depending on how long this new ice age lasted.

Yep, I needed caffeine. These were not normal thoughts.

I was not willing to shower under these conditions. Wet hair and frigid temperatures were not a good combination. The others were just going to have to deal with second-day-jeans Kelsey. I did, however, change shirts and put on a second layer of deodorant, because I was a lady.

The hallway was cold enough that I needed to keep my jacket on to walk down to the lobby. I was sure I was supposed to head straight for the roaring fireplace, where Luke stood talking with Sadie and Josh. But I was too distracted by the enormous glass panels overlooking the lake. I felt like I should memorize every detail of the alien, snowy landscape, because it was doubtful that weather like this would occur again in my lifetime. And I should want to tell my kids—assuming I had some—where I was and what I was doing when the “big one” hit. But all I wanted to do was snuggle up in my flannel jammies with a cup of cocoa and wait for my boys to drag me outside to do something insanely fun, like build an army of snow Daleks.

“I kind of want to go out and play in it,” I murmured, watching a swirl of tiny flakes break loose from the snowdrifts and dance across the patio. “It's like a snow day.”

Charlie's voice was low and soft at my ear, making the flesh of my arms stand up. “What do you mean?”

I jumped and gave him a slightly flustered smile. “A snow day. You know, you wake up to surprise snow on the ground. You're in your pajamas, sitting in front of your TV, waiting and praying for the news reporter to say your school's name.
Please say Boone Elementary. Puh-leaze say Boone Elementary.
And then they finally say it, and it's this huge relief because all the responsibilities you had for the day are wiped off the slate. You can just sit and lounge and drink hot chocolate and watch cartoons. And you don't even have to feel guilty about it, because it wasn't your fault that school was canceled. That's what's going on right now. We came up here for a working weekend, but we can't help it that we're snowed in. If we can wrench that binder out of Sadie's hands, we can just coast for the next few days.”

Charlie was still looking at me like I'd grown a second, less attractive head. “You call working our collective butts off to keep warm and fed ‘coasting'?”

I stared at him. “You never had a single snow day growing up, did you? I feel like I should find the pod people who hatched you and beat them with a very sensible shoe.”

Charlie's expression was amused, though slightly offended. “My school closed for bad weather, yes. But when I was kept home from school, my parents had an emergency backup lesson plan to make sure I still received the instruction I needed for the day.”

“That sounds . . . really regimented.”

He shrugged. “It was.”

There was an extremely awkward and prolonged moment in which I could not figure out what the hell to say next, beyond “Your childhood makes me sad.” Why couldn't I produce a sentence? I was stranded because of Mother Nature's icy hissy fit and I couldn't find words to tell him I was happy that it was with him—but penis-tree comparisons, those I had in spades. Life was not fair.

Over Charlie's shoulder, I spotted Luke lugging an industrial-size carafe into the lobby.

“Coffee!” I exclaimed, making Sadie drop her binder.

Luke gave me a megawatt smile while he poured a healthy dose of caffeine and produced a basket full of individually wrapped honey buns. I had been waiting most of my life for a man to provide this very service for me. I might have to marry this man and spend my life ironing plaid flannel. “It turns out all of that cast-iron ‘pioneer cookware' we use for outdoor demonstrations is going to come in handy. We don't have a percolator, but we have a campfire coffee pot. Fortunately for us, the decorator insisted on installing a pot brace in the fireplace for ‘ambience.' ”

“You may have just saved us all,” I told Luke as Sadie sucked down a cup in a few seconds. “Keeping Sadie caffeinated is a key component of our survival plan.”

“Anything I can do to protect you from the elements, ma'am,” he said, tipping an invisible cowboy hat. I fluttered my eyelashes in an exaggerated schoolmarm fashion over the rim of my coffee cup.

“I could use some of that,” a flat voice informed us. Gina was standing there, hand outstretched for a cup while she frowned at us. Her normally sleek golden hair was frizzled and limp over her face from what I could only assume was a lack of access to hot water and a salon-grade ceramic straightener. And the ring of smeared eyeliner around her blue eyes gave her all the intimidating bluster of a pissed-off raccoon.

“Any reports of the storm damage?” Josh asked, accepting a cup of what happened to be very good coffee.

Luke cleared his throat and asked us to gather around, using a tone I recognized. The “I have to give a large group of people bad news and don't know how they'll respond” tone. Sadie frequently used it at budget meetings. Clearly this coffee was not just coffee. It was meant to temper our nerves before the blow of bad news. This was pity coffee.

“Okay, I've been listening to the radio this morning and the news isn't good, folks. The governor has declared a state of emergency and is filing for federal disaster area status. The damage is widespread, across six states. Western Kentucky was the hardest hit, of course. We've got the most trees down and the worst accumulation.” Luke spared a glance at me and the corner of his mouth lifted a bit. “Frankfort got a bit of snow on the ground, but suffered very little in the way of outages. So at least you know your homes are okay. Hundreds of thousands of homes are without power here, middle Tennessee, and Southern Illinois. People are dying, from exposure and wrecks and trying to heat their homes in stupid, dangerous ways. Really, we're lucky to have the shelter and the supplies we have here.”

I noticed, with gratitude, that Luke didn't point out that if I'd answered his calls and the staff had gone back home, we would have been just fine. We would have had to drive carefully, but we would have had heat and electricity. Silent mode, you vicious, hateful bitch.

“At least we don't have to worry about laundry, right?” I offered cheerfully.

“Well, if we stay another week we might,” noted Theresa, who had become a lot more forceful in her opinions since she'd been promoted to web designer.

“Can you just let me have my moment, Mary Thundercloud?” I whispered harshly.

Luke snorted softly and continued. “The highways aren't bad, but rural roads like ours, they're covered with snow. And we're not a priority. The transportation department has snowplows, but nowhere near the number and heavy-duty caliber required to clear this much accumulation. Not to mention the complication of downed tree limbs blocking the roads, which will require chainsaw crews to clear out just so electrical teams can repair the power lines. So we just have to sit tight until they get to us or the ice melts off, whichever comes first.”

“And how long might that be?” Dorie Ann asked, with the slightest quiver to her round little chin.

“I can't answer that,” Luke said.

“This is ridiculous! What the hell were you thinking, bringing us out here?” Gina exclaimed, shooting Sadie a baleful glare.