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There was a pause and I heard my father exhale. “Good.”
I waited for him to continue. “Is that why you called?”
“Yeah.” There was some shuffling in the background. “There’s been an avalanche and I was just making sure…” my father’s voice trailed off. “That you weren’t out on the roads, that’s all.”
Feeling like a fifteen-year-old again, I assured my father that I was alright. “Can you check on the animals? Something like that might have spooked them.”
“I will, dad. How bad is the situation on the roads? Do they need any volunteers up there?”
“No, it’s under control. From everything I’ve heard, there weren’t any fatalities, and they’re turning all the cars around to send them to Windswan for the night. It’s a good thing you weren’t on the other side of it though, it’s probably going to be a few days before they can get it cleared. And, your mother said you came in today and wanted to tell me something?”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at the phone. “Dad, the deal is done. On Monday, we will be the owners of the Snow Ghost Lodge.”
“Congratulations, Jack. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I know you can do it.”
If there was anything my father had instilled in me, it was his work ethic. “Thanks Dad. I can’t wait to get started. In the meantime, I’ll go check on the animals and make sure they haven’t gone crazy and hopped any fences.”
After hanging up with my dad, I felt oddly emotional. I hadn’t lived at home for years, and when I did, my father had been so busy working that he hadn’t seemed to even notice me. Now, I was starting to realize how important it was to spend time with him.
“Are you coming with me?” I patted my thigh and whistled at Lucky. I swear he rolled his eyes at me, but stood, yawned, and after an extended stretch of both downward and upward facing dog, he trotted to my side.
The goats were huddled in the corner of the barn, and they seemed a little out of sorts, but the alpacas munched straw and the apples that I’d brought with me, as though it was any other day. The chickens didn’t give a damn, and clucked as though swearing at me for letting the cold air to their coop.
I spent the rest of the afternoon studying the architectural plans for the lodge and making a list of all the permits I was going to need to get in order to turn the abandoned lodge into something special. It was going to be a big project, my biggest as a carpenter, and the added challenge of the lodge being completely off-grid, was going to make the project all that much more difficult. But it was going to be worth it. I hoped. I had sold everything, given up my entire life for the project. Including Marnie, who decided that she didn’t want to live in a small town with a broke carpenter.
My phone pinged with a text message and I felt a twinge of disappointment when I saw Charlotte’s name on the screen. Henri was busy working on her story, and she didn’t have any reason to text me, so why had I hoped it was her?
It read: Beardog Brewery 9 p.m.
Why had I agreed? I wished that there was a way I could cancel without being rude – but short of being on the other side of that avalanche, I couldn’t think of an excuse not to meet up with Charlotte and her friends. Including her new friend – Henri.
Every time Henri popped into my mind, I had to literally shake my head to get her out. So what if I felt something when I was near her, it didn’t matter. She was leaving. I found myself wondering what she’d think of the lodge, and if she was adventurous, and what she liked to eat for dinner. “Shit, Lucky. I need to do something to get her out of my mind.”
Lucky tilted his head, but didn’t offer me any suggestions.
“Well, she’ll be gone tomorrow.” I rolled up the plans and realized that I was wrong about two things –I wasn’t going to be able to forget about Henrietta Page, and thanks to mother nature, she wasn’t leaving the next day.
NINE
HENRI
As I leftBob’s garage, I wondered,could this assignment be cursed?The parts for the rental car hadn’t come in that afternoon. I tried to be an optimist, but everything was going wrong. The booking at the Inn, driving over the snowbank, meeting a sexy mountain man who ran hot and cold, struggling to find the dark side of Chance Rapids, and then bam, a mother effing avalanche. Not one, no – two avalanches closing the road on EITHER side of the town.
It was as though Chance Rapids wanted me to be as miserable as possible and trap me in that state. I caught a glimpse of myself in the window of the cute flower shop. Tasteful white Christmas lights wound around cedar boughs that lined the frosty window. I looked…homeless. My hair had been soaked from the snow. It had frozen and melted at least three times that day leaving a mess of frizzy waves squashed down by my wool hat. They definitely weren’t beach waves, they were more like icicle waves. Jack’s coat sleeves hung six inches past the tips of the red mittens, its hem almost hitting my knees and after all the walking I’d done, my legs felt like blocks of ice, not cold, but tired – the practical winter boots were warm, but heavy.
The Main Street of Chance Rapids felt sleepy. The snow had stopped falling and I stepped out of the way as a machine trundled by, clearing the foot of freshly fallen snow from the sidewalk. The driver inside the small yellow machine smiled and waved at me.
Something that everyone seemed to do here. Wave. And smile.
And, as I brushed my icy hair behind my ear, a pretty blond face smiled back at me from inside the flower shop. And then I did something unexpected. I lifted my hand and waved at her. She grinned, adjusted some of the greenery and then waved back at me.
It felt good. And weird. I was used to avoiding eye contact at all costs. Walking down the street at home, I was more likely to get bumped or shoved by someone on their cell phone. Where were all the rednecks? Where were all the women strutting around in fashion from twenty years ago?
The sign above the Last Chance Tavern looked like it was on its last chance. A yellowed lightbulb was barely bright enough for me to read the words above the door.
“Well, here goes.” I took a breath, pulled open the door and was met with a wall of classic rock, the smell of stale beer, and a sea of plaid flannel coats interspersed with tight tops trimmed with lace.
Finally. This was the scene I was going to write about.
