by Rich Bullock
As soon as she opened the restaurant door, she nearly passed out from the delicious smells. Maple syrup practically dripped from the woodwork.
“Just one of you, hon, or are there more coming?” The woman—a waitress by the name of Pam, if her apron was accurate—was in her sixties, had frizzy hair, and appeared flustered as an even older waitress scooted behind her balancing two overflowing platters of food on her way to a busy dining room.
“I was—”
“Gotta be honest with you,” Pam said, “it’s going to be a bit of a wait. About thirty or forty minutes. We’ve got plenty of tables, but two of our cooks aren’t here because of the road closure.”
“Oh,” Ember said. “I didn’t know about that.”
“Just happened a while ago. Landslide took out a section. They’re saying tomorrow but won’t commit.”
Ember nodded. She wondered if Canon had made it through, and then realized that if he did, he might not even know about the closure.
A man with a white chef’s hat came up and whispered in Pam’s ear, then headed back to the kitchen.
“Well,” Pam said, “it seems like we’re out of batter for waffles and pancakes. Our delivery truck was delayed from yesterday and now it’s stuck on the other side of the road closure. Hope you like eggs and bacon.”
“We’re out of eggs!” a voice shouted from the kitchen.
“Pam?” A young waitress came up beside her holding up a credit card and meal ticket. “I was trying to run this, but our phone line is dead. What should I do?”
Pam rubbed her forehead. “If it’s not one thing…”
“Actually,” Ember said, “I’m looking for a job. Do you have any openings?”
Sixty seconds later, Ember was back on the sidewalk. Evidently servers at Peg’s died of old age with syrup in their veins rather than retire. Although the way things were going inside, she wondered if Pam would croak from stress.
Honestly, Ember wasn’t that disappointed. She’d worked at a burger joint in Tucson for a summer, and sometimes in her dreams she still smelled onions and French fry grease. Syrup and bacon, yummy as they were, might not be much better.
She worked her way down the few blocks of town, first one side, and then back up the other, hopscotching along on several “you might try…” leads from well-meaning store personnel.
A restaurant called Embers had a gorgeous oval sign, where the bottom half was bright orange flames licking at suspended black lettering. It was only open for dinner, but she knocked, and a man answered. While amused that Ember’s name matched the restaurant, he gave the same answer as the others: “This is the slowest time of year.” Summer was a different story, but she couldn’t wait that long.
Damp and discouraged, she climbed back into the Jeep and started the engine. Cold air blew on her legs, reminding her of the hours of driving while Skyy grew more and more ill.
With a sigh, she drove through town past all the shops she’d just visited. It wasn’t exactly a metropolis, and employment options were limited. Still, it had a homey feel and a good variety of businesses suited to a busy lake community—come summer, at least.
Turning right at the far end of the businesses, she circled around the block. Cute bungalows and a few more stately homes occupied the street one back from Main. At least four had bed and breakfast signs out front, and she wondered what it would be like to stay in such a place. Dreaming aside, she and Skyy needed to find a place to rent. Or maybe just her if Skyy and Cop Hottie became a thing. That, of course, required the pair to actually meet and talk.
Ember continued to cruise the back streets, surprised there were so many houses and businesses. The farther she got from Main and the marina, the longer the streets were and the more buildings they held. A small boatyard had a handful of ski boats and a large garage building closed up and dark.
At the end of one of the streets, a sign marked the entrance to Deer Cove RV and advertised full hookups, monthly rates, showers, laundry, and cable TV. The paved driveway curved back into the trees, where most of the RV spaces she could see were empty. A classic camper painted yellow and white rested on a permanent foundation inside the entrance. A sign out front said Office & Registration, but it, too, was dark and locked. She would check back tomorrow about the cost. Camping in the teardrop for a month or two might be an option. Ember could even do it on her own if Skyy…
She was getting ahead of herself. There was no guarantee Skyy and Truax would even like each other. Still, he seemed like a good person. He helped her get Skyy into bed and helped take care of her, bought them groceries, hauled firewood. And the house was clean. What guy did all that if he was a jerk like Loser Boyfriend?
Ember turned around and drove up another street that had a commercial vibe. Finally, she passed a half-rounded metal building set back a hundred feet or so from the road. A Quonset Hut, she remembered from school.
The flat wood building front consisted mostly of a pair of tall, hinged doors. One was swung open, revealing a gaping interior and a row of fluorescent light fixtures running the length of the building. Above the doors, the weathered façade had Deer Cove Auto painted in faded white lettering. The graveled parking area in front had two newer cars and three that were older than Ember. A half-dozen wood pallets supported engines, transmissions, and other unrecognizable parts. Everything felt greasy, run down, and…sad. The place needed help.
At least it was open for business. She parked a few feet inside the chain-link gate and shut off the engine. Maybe she could wrangle some free advice on how to fix the Jeep’s heater. Not that she knew anything about cars or trucks, but she’d learned long ago that asking never hurt. You just had to know when to run away if necessary.
Inside the building, a man in a gray mechanic’s jumpsuit and reversed baseball cap straightened from under the hood of a small Toyota pickup. He waited just inside where it was dry, wiping his hands on a red rag as she approached.
“Nice Jeep,” he said, nodding toward the Cherokee. “Those things are near bulletproof.”
“Yeah,” Ember pasting on her best smile. “Near.”
“I’m Mark,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
She looked around the yard again, seeing it from an outsider’s point of view. Not one thing said Welcome. And if she’d learned anything at Backpacking, Coffee, and Jeans, it was to make a potential buyer feel comfortable. “Draw them in, then sell.” Elliot had told her that dozens of times. It was the main reason for Coffee in the store name.
The worn board face of the Quonset desperately needed paint—a nice dove gray that wouldn’t clash with the curved steel, trees, or neighborhood. And a sunny yellow on the business lettering would really make it pop. Maybe yellow window boxes with flowers. Even fake ones would do. Throw in movable privacy screens to hide the greasy parts pallets and some flower baskets hanging on the chain-link fence out front…
“Uh, miss?”
Ember snapped her attention back to the man and plastered on her best smile.
“Actually, I was…am…looking for a job.”
He held up a hand to stop her before she could go further. “I don’t—”
“Just hear me out. Here,” she said, motioning him to step under her umbrella. “Come with me.” Fortunately, the rain had let up, and she led him partway out into the yard.
“Hold this, please,” she said, handing him the umbrella. Second rule of selling, according to Elliot was to get the merchandise into the buyer’s hand. Once there, they had a difficult time giving it back. In this case she was the merchandise, but the umbrella would do as a substitute. She lifted her arms toward the structure and opened them wide. Mark followed her gaze.
“Now,” she said, “here’s what I see.”
The bedroom was dark when Skyy woke shivering. She fumbled for a bedside lamp, but knocked something to the floor. Seconds later the overhead light came on, and she threw her arm across her eyes.
“Sorry,” Ember said. The light went off, an
d a few seconds later a softer light came on from the other side of the bed.
“What time is it?” Skyy pushed herself up against the headboard, taking stock of how she felt. She needed a shower, but the thought of getting wet with her chills caused her to shake even harder.
“Nearly 7:00 p.m.”
Skyy pulled the blanket higher. Whatever she’d caught, it was a beast.
“Are you feeling any better?” Ember wisely stayed on the far side of the bed.
“Maybe.” She couldn’t remember ever being this sick. “Not really.”
“At least your voice is back a little.”
“Is the heat on?” Her shoulders were shaking, and she tucked the blanket around them.
“Sorry. I was gone for a while. I just added wood to the fireplace, so it will take a few minutes to warm up. Canon and I brought in a bunch—”
“Canon,” Skyy whispered, searching the doorway and hall. “He’s really here?”
“More like we’re here,” Ember said. “This is his house. Well, his and his brother’s. See, their parents died a few years ago and—”
Skyy held up a hand. “Wait. How did we get here? And…where is here?” The questions were nearly too much to formulate in her muddled mind, but all she could think about was Amelia Oso depending on her to be in charge.
“Storm Lake, California.” Ember rose and walked around the foot of the bed to the open doorway, as if maneuvering to an exit. “And…I sort of…drove.”
“Without a license?” Skyy already knew Ember didn’t have one, and she vaguely remembered the movement of the car. Someone other than Skyy had to have been driving. And since there were only the two of them on the road… Regardless, she couldn’t stop the question or the Mom tone. Where did that come from? A throbbing was beginning right between her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Well, you weren’t in any shape.” The girl’s tone was defensive, slightly belligerent, but she looked down. “I didn’t get us killed or anything.”
Had Skyy felt better, she would have laughed. Instead, she croaked, “How far?”
Ember inched further out the door. “A few hours.”
“Hours?”
“Maybe ten.” Ember glanced up briefly. “Or twelve.” The girl was fully out into the hall now, her pink-tipped hair illuminated by the overhead light. It looked wet, as if she’d been out in the storm.
“And you pulled the trailer?”
Ember nodded and shuffled another inch.
Skyy wanted to ask about Canon Truax, where this lake was, where he was, but then Ember said, “I was scared you might die.” The words came out as a breath, barely audible, but the fear they conveyed pierced Skyy’s heart.
“Ember,” she said, waiting until the girl hesitantly met her gaze. “I’m sorry. And thank you.” Her head hurt and she felt like crap. All she wanted to do was curl up and pray for the hours to pass. But the girl’s sudden grin was worth the effort of apologizing.
“It was scarier than I thought,” Ember said, “especially in the dark. And the rain.”
Rain? The girl drove through a storm? Skyy slid down in the covers and closed her eyes. “As soon as I’m better, we’re getting your license.” Her empty stomach growled. That was a good sign. If she could kick this fever, maybe tomorrow would be better. She could find out where they were, meet Cop Hottie for real, and figure out their—her and Ember’s—next move.
Chapter 18
It was dark in the bedroom when Skyy’s bladder prodded her awake. She located the lamp, this time without knocking anything over. The warm glow pushed away the darkness. She looked for her cell phone to check the time, but it wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“Ember?” There was no answer. No man appeared, either.
Canon Truax. She shook her head. How had Ember pulled off finding him and getting them to his house? The girl was something else.
Cautiously, Skyy swung her legs off the bed and sat up, assessing the state of her equilibrium. The T-shirt she wore was clammy from sweat, as were the sheets and pillowcase. But her head wasn’t spinning. She touched her forehead. Cool. The fever had broken—at least for the moment. Maybe the worst was over.
The door to the hall was open, and across it was the bathroom she fuzzily recalled Ember helping her to. Skyy stood and headed to her goal.
Thankfully, the toilet seat wasn’t too frigid, but she hurried just the same, then gasped at the icy tap water as she washed her hands. She hoped there was a water heater, because a shower was a must, not a want. But first she had to see if anyone else was in the house.
The hallway ran from the back door to the front of the house where it opened into a large space. The living room was on her left, a free-standing wood stove glowing as a low fire burned behind its glass door. She moved to it and turned, letting the radiating heat warm her back as she checked out the sofa, love seat, two chairs, tables and lamps that crowded the room. It felt homey, lived-in, a comfortable, put-your-feet-on-the-coffee-table kind place to relax and laugh with friends.
A guy-sized flatscreen television was mounted in the corner opposite the fireplace. Beneath it, a small credenza held game controllers, a DVD player, and a row of movies. All action films, from what she could see without getting closer.
Two large windows filled most of the wall above the sofa, their view hidden behind closed horizontal blinds. Was this the view of the lake Canon Truax described in his messages?
An entry door split the front wall of the house, and beyond it on the other front corner was a dining table with six chairs and more windows giving views to both the front and side. Blinds didn’t cover these, but the outside darkness transformed them into black mirrors. Her ghostly reflection rippled across the glass as she walked toward the dining area and into the open kitchen.
Under-counter lights bathed dark stone countertops, the only illumination in the front of the house. It was plenty to show the typical appliances and wood cabinets stained a warm cherry. A simple coffeemaker held a prominent place to the right of the sink set under another dark window looking out the side of the house.
She opened the refrigerator and saw it was well stocked, everything from milk to eggs to salad fixings. Although she needed to eat, nothing sounded good. Her stomach was the size of a shriveled walnut. Maybe after her showered.
When she closed the refrigerator door, a wall clock caught her attention. It read 1:33. Since it was dark outside, she had to assume it was the middle of the night. And if that were true, where was Ember?
Leaving the kitchen, she headed down the hall again, past the bathroom and her bedroom, and looked into a smaller bedroom on the left. Ember’s duffel bag lay open at the foot of the bed, and her toothbrush and toothpaste sat atop a small chest of drawers. This was the only other bedroom. Which meant Canon Truax must be sleeping on the front sofa.
A muddy mat marked the back door at the end of the hall. She leaned close to the door glass and peered through. An outside porch light showed a concrete area with a sheltering roof. Rain dripped off the far edge in a constant fall. Her little trailer sat to the left, partially under the enclosure, its tongue jack resting on a block of wood. Her Jeep was gone and there was no sign of another vehicle.
Where were Ember and Canon? Her memory was intact enough to remember Ember had been here earlier—hours ago. She tried to shake off worry, hoping Ember wasn’t driving all over when she didn’t have a license. If a cop stopped her, he would impound the car.
Turning away from the cold glass, she noticed one more room on her right at the back of the house. She fumbled at the inside wall and found a light switch. An overhead fluorescent fixture flickered twice, then came to life, lighting up a long, narrow space occupied by a washer, dryer, utility sink, and water heater.
Although her energy was waning, Skyy stripped the sheets off her bed and got the washer started. If she was going to be clean, then so was the bedding. She hoped the water heater could keep up with both the washer and a shower
at the same time.
The shower head blasted her sensitive skin with a little too much pressure, but it made washing her lank hair easier. Finally clean, Skyy dressed in her favorite sweat pants, a long-sleeved tee, and some thick socks she found in Truax’s dresser.
Her body temperature fluctuated between hot and cold while she dried her hair. The virus might be losing its grip, but it had done a number on her, and she was pushing her limits being up so long. Once her hair was mostly dry, she collapsed on the living room sofa and sank into its hold. A soft throw slid off the back, and she pulled it around her shoulders against a sudden chill. Her eyes fell closed. Ten seconds later, the washer buzzed its end of cycle.
She squinted at the hallway. There were machines now that would both wash and dry without human intervention. When she got rich, she was buying one. She rose to transfer the load.
Sometime later, noise from the back door opening woke Skyy. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Shoes stomped on the mat, and the door closed.
“Skyy?” Ember said in a whisper.
“In here,” she said, levering her body to a sitting position and rubbing some life back into her face. How could she still sleep after the last few days? The fire behind the glass was down to red coals, and the room had taken on a slight chill.
“Are you feeling better?” Ember said, coming into the room. There was hope in her voice. Relief. Skyy’s tech bag was slung over her shoulder.
Skyy nodded. “I won’t be running any marathons for a while, but I can stand up.”
“I didn’t know you were a runner,” Ember said, easing the equipment bag to the floor.
“I’m not.”
Ember grinned. “Well, you must be better if you’re doing laundry,” she said, thumbing toward the hall where the clothes dryer rumbled through its cycle. She stripped off her coat and knelt before the wood stove, then opened its glass door and began expertly fitting in chunks of wood from the pile in a galvanized washtub. The fuel caught and flamed, and Ember rubbed her hands. “Burr. It’s freezing out there. Canon said we might get snow in the next few hours.”