Solo (Symphony Hall)

by Lauren E. Rico

  Winter brought snow angels, sleigh rides, and sliding down the big hills on cookie sheets in our neighborhood. The memories make me smile. Then the smile promptly fades as I recognize the last house on the block. The log cabin-inspired house takes up the entire rounded end of the court. I glance at the clock on my dash. Four forty-eight. Twelve minutes to spare.

  “Thank. You. God!” I breathe out loud as I maneuver my side of the car close to the mailbox. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  The wheels skid a little, but I manage to get close enough to slip my parcel into the brass cylinder reserved for the delivery of newspapers and probably take-out menus. There are three other manila envelopes inside already. Good. That means he hasn’t been out to collect them. I slip mine into the middle of the pile so it doesn’t look as if I was the last person to get my paper in.

  A flood of relief washes over my exhausted, aching body. That’s it. All I have to do now is make my way back down the hill and the few miles home. I’m going to crawl under the covers of my bed and stay there all weekend. I’m already envisioning my pillow as I shift the car into drive once again and give the accelerator gas. But nothing happens. That is, nothing except for that sound. The sickening high-pitched whine of tires spinning without any traction.

  “Come on,” I coax the little car. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Please!”

  When I try again, it’s the same. Okay. Maybe reverse will get me some grip.

  No dice.

  I try again and again, realizing, too late, that I’m only melting the snow under the tires, causing it to refreeze instantly as slick ice.

  “No!” I wail, pounding the steering wheel in frustration. “Dammit!”

  The wash of relief is long gone, replaced by a wave of nausea and exhaustion that hits me like one of those anvils that falls from the sky in cartoons.

  Shit. What the hell am I going to do now?

  Okay. There are only a few options. I could go and knock on Markham’s door.

  Hell. No.

  I could abandon the car for now and walk down the hill to the main road, and hope someone picks me up and gives me a ride back to town. Not ideal considering how I’m dressed, but still preferable to Plan A.

  I could just stay put. Not likely Markham’s going to come out in this weather to get the papers. Maybe if I just sit here for a little while, a snowplow might come by and help me. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll just wait for the snowplow.

  That decided, I take a long, shaky breath and turn on the radio. But even the classical station is broadcasting nonstop doom-and-gloom weather predictions. Finally, I just turn it off in favor of silence. The problem now is that I can barely keep my eyes open. I don’t want to fall asleep and miss the snowplow. They’re loud though, right? Hopefully I’d wake up for something like that.

  I close my eyes, only to feel a fierce burning behind the lids. Ugh. The fever must be back. And the chills. I twist around, looking in the backseat looking for something that I can use as a blanket. But there isn’t anything. And, whatever adrenaline that got me here has now drained out of my body. Exhausted and frustrated, I set my forehead against the steering wheel. If I can just rest. Just for a few minutes, I’m sure I can figure this out.

  Chapter Eight

  Drew

  It’s taken my neighbor and me nearly an hour to get his snow blower up and running.

  “Jesus, Joe, do us both a favor and buy yourself a new one next season, will you? I think I dislocated my shoulder pulling the starter on this thing,” I complain as he rolls the machine back into his garage. “You’re one cheap son of a bitch,” I tease and give him a slap on the back. He’s a salty old geezer who gets a kick out of busting my chops, so I like to give it back to him whenever I can.

  “No, man, cheap is the shitty bottle of bathtub gin I’m going to give you for helping me out with this.” He snorts, and then his leathery old face softens. “Seriously, thanks. It’s starting to come down hard now. I’ll be out here again in an hour, I’m sure. I mean, fuck! It’s like we’re in some goddamned snow globe or something.”

  Joe gestures to the rapidly appearing winter wonderland around us. Already, the neighbors’ yards have lost their definition. The cul-de-sac is a pristine surface of white, powdery snow, making it hard to tell where one property ends and the next starts.

  “You set for the storm otherwise? Anything you need before I’m snowed in?”

  “Oh no, I’m good,” he says, waving away my concern like it’s an annoying gnat. “Wood. Food. Gas. Batteries. This ain’t my first rodeo, ya know, Drew.”

  I look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know, man, seems to me you’ve left the most important thing off that list. What about the liquor?”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh no. Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got a stash that would make the Alcoholic Beverage Commission stand up and take notice.”

  “I’ll bet you have, Joe.” I grin and shake my head.

  “Come on in and have a quick shot of bourbon with me. Just a little something to warm the gut before you head back home.”

  I’m about to accept the offer when I feel the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket. I hold up a gloved finger at Joe.

  “I’m in. Can you just give me a second to take this call?”

  He nods and wanders toward the garage while I glance down at the display.

  “Tessa,” I answer. “How are you doing with the snow?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. That’s the beauty of living in a condo, Drew, other people do the shoveling.” She laughs. “What about you? You playing Paul Bunyan up there on the hill? Chopping your wood and churning your butter?”

  “Churning my butter? Where the hell did you get that from?” I snicker.

  “I don’t know, it just sounded like something you’d do when your cabin is snowed in. Not that your place is a real cabin.”

  “Oh, now you’re just being insulting.”

  “Please, Drew. How many cabins have a Viking stove and a mudroom and a sixty-inch flat-screen TV and—”

  “All right, already! I give up. You’re right, it’s not exactly a little fishing cabin in the middle of nowhere. But it’s not like I haven’t stayed in those, too. They’re just better suited to short-term stays. No hot water or heat gets old pretty fast when the temperature drops down into the single digits.”

  “Hmm, well, I suppose. So, if you’re not churning butter then what are you doing up there on the mountain? All by yourself? Alone?”

  My internal alarm goes off. This is a typical Tessa maneuver. She’s looking for an invite to spend the weekend snowed in with me.

  “Oh, well, it’s really coming down up here already. I don’t think I could get out if I wanted to, so I’m just staying close to home. Hunkering.”

  “Well,” she begins, “it just so happens that one of my neighbors drives a snowplow and he’s offered to drop me at your place. I could keep you company.”

  She says this last part a little slower and a lot softer. I pace to the end of Joe’s driveway, out of earshot.

  “Tess, you’d be stuck for days. It’s a mess up here. Believe me, you’re much better off in your own place. Why don’t you throw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and watch one of those old musicals you like. What’s the one you enjoy so much? Seven Guides for Seven Mothers?”

  She snorts loudly. “Brides, Drew. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. And I’d love to watch it with you. C’mon, Drew…” she coaxes.

  Shit. I don’t know how to get out of this, but I do know I sure as hell can’t be stuck here with Tessa for the weekend. I’m trying to decide which lie will sound most convincing when I notice Joe. He’s walked out past me on the driveway into the cul-de-sac and he’s staring toward my house with obvious interest.

  “Oh, hey, Tess, let me call you back later,” I mutter, trying to see what he’s looking at.

  “How about I just come—”

  “Tess, I’ve gotta go. It’s too
dangerous out. Maybe tomorrow if the roads are clear, okay?”

  “Fine,” she grumbles.

  I say good-bye and walk to where Joe is still standing, looking toward my property curiously.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “You expecting company?” he asks me, and I glance at him.

  “No, why?”

  “Look over there. By your mailbox.”

  It’s dark now, but I follow the trajectory of his pointing finger and I can just make out the shape of a snow-covered vehicle.

  “Huh, I don’t know whose car that is,” I mumble. “You know what? I’ll bet one of the neighbors wanted to move it so they can plow their driveway,” I offer up as a possible excuse.

  “Nah, I don’t think so. Look at all that snow, it’s been there for a while. And—”

  Joe stops short and cranes his head forward a little trying to get a better look from where we’re standing down the street.

  “What?” I ask, suddenly feeling uneasy.

  “Drew, I think there might be somebody inside that car.”

  Chapter Nine

  Kate

  When the rap comes on the window, I’m so deep in a distorted dream that the sudden, sharp sound makes me sit bolt upright, breathing hard. Even through the cover of snow that’s accumulated on the windshield, I can see that it’s dark outside now. What? How long have I been asleep? My eyes fly to the dashboard clock. Just over an hour. I take a deep breath and turn slowly, reluctantly to my left, afraid of who might be standing there.

  I’m right to be afraid.

  Dr. Markham is wearing a huge navy blue parka and snow boots and he’s motioning for me to roll down my window.

  “Miss Brenner,” he says before I can even explain my presence. “Why are you sitting in front of my mailbox in your car…sleeping?”

  “I-I, uh…”

  He raises an irritated brow over one of his dark-brown eyes and I try to pull myself together.

  “I’m sorry. I dropped off my paper and now I’m stuck in the snow.”

  He seems confused for a second.

  “You didn’t check your email, did you?”

  It’s a question, but it sounds more like a pronouncement of judgment.

  “Email?” I have no clue what he’s talking about.

  “Miss Brenner, the university closed today in advance of the storm. I sent out an email last night extending the deadline until our next class.”

  I stare at him, mouth agape. If I’d only taken two minutes to check my email, I could be home in a warm bed right now, instead of stuck in the snow in front of this jerk’s house.

  “No,” I say in a near whisper. “No sir, I’ve been sick the last couple of days. I wasn’t in classes yesterday…or today—I mean, I thought today was yesterday and I didn’t go to classes. And then, when I woke up, it was today. Like, an hour ago. I was too sick to even look…I just got out of bed long enough to drive my assignment up here.”

  He considers me for a long beat without comment before squatting down to look under the vehicle. Then, he stands up again.

  “Yeah, it looks like you might be stuck in an ice rut. Go ahead and start the ignition, I’ll see if I can give you a push out of it,” he says, leaving to walk around to the back of the car. I do as he asks and put the Corolla into gear. When I feel him pushing his weight against the trunk, I press the accelerator, hoping to catch enough traction to pull out. But the tires just spin and whine against the slick surface.

  “Again,” he calls out from behind me. I accelerate with the same results.

  Finally, he comes back around to my window, breathing heavier and looking less than thrilled. “I’m afraid you’re good and stuck, Miss Brenner,” he says flatly. I watch as he looks off into the distance then sighs deeply before refocusing on me.

  “Come on, you’d better come inside before the temperature really starts to drop.”

  Uh-uh. No way.

  “Oh, thank you, Dr. Markham,” I say with a polite smile. “That’s really generous of you, but I’m fine here.”

  He looks perplexed.

  “How are you fine here? This storm’s just getting started. There’s going to be another three feet by morning,” he informs me, shaking his head the whole time. “No. You can’t possibly sit here.”

  I keep the smile plastered to my face.

  “I really do appreciate the offer, but I’ll just wait here. I’m sure a snowplow will come along, and then I can hitch a ride down to the main road.”

  Now the eyebrows go up in skepticism.

  “Miss Brenner, there is no snowplow. This development is the last to get plowed out, so you could be sitting here for the next twenty-four hours. Easily.”

  I just shake my head, still smiling. “Thank you, but—”

  “Stop. Thanking. Me,” he grits out.

  “I’m fine. Good night, Dr. Markham,” I say as I flip the toggle to roll up the window.

  A strong, black-gloved hand blocks it from rising all the way, and I’m forced to roll it down again. He reaches inside and unlocks the car door, then yanks it open. I guess he’s not taking no for an answer.

  I roll the window up again, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and step out of the car. Even though I’m bracing myself, I can’t hide the wince that crosses my face as soon as my feet hit the snow. He takes a long look at me, from head to toe. Lightweight hoodie. T-shirt. Yoga pants. Flip-flops. No coat, no gloves, not even a pair of socks. Markham’s eyes grow wide.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks incredulously.

  Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him curse before, and it startles me.

  “I…I was in a hurry to get the paper to you…” I stammer out, but before I can even finish the sentence, he leans down and scoops me up in his arms, like a bride in her groom’s arms as they cross the threshold.

  “Oh, hey! No, please, Dr. Markham, put me down!” I protest, kicking my feet.

  “Stop struggling,” he hisses at me. “If you think I’m going to leave you in your car to freeze to death, or let you lose your toes to frostbite, then you’re even…”

  He stops himself before he can say it, but we both know where he was going with that sentiment.

  You’re even dumber than I thought you were.

  Oh yeah, I’d put money on that one. I’m so mortified that I stay perfectly still and keep my mouth shut as he carries me easily around to the back of the house and deposits me in what appears to be a mudroom. He quickly pulls his boots off and hangs his coat on a hook.

  “Stay here,” he says, disappearing through the doorway.

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

  Could this be any worse? I’m sick and stuck in a blizzard with a man who hates my guts. I actually groan out loud at the thought of it.

  “Here, put these on,” he says when he returns holding a pair of wool socks.

  I sit on a boot bench and pull them over my freezing feet, unable to stifle the sigh of relief that comes over me.

  “Come inside, I’ll get you a hot cup of tea,” he says, turning to leave again before he’s even finished speaking.

  I follow him silently out of the room and into a spacious kitchen. It’s stunning, with vaulted ceilings and exposed beams. The countertops are butcher block and the appliances are top-of-the-line professional-grade stainless steel. He gestures to an island in the middle of the kitchen and I perch on one of the stools there.

  “Your home is beautiful,” I say quietly as I look around.

  He mumbles an acknowledgement that may or may not be a “thanks” as I watch him make his way around the counters and cabinets, pulling out a cup and tea bags then lighting the gas burner under a copper kettle on the stovetop.

  “Milk? Sugar?” he asks without looking at me.

  “I’ll take honey if you have it,” I say, thinking of my throat, which is feeling raw again. He nods and pulls one of those plastic bear-shaped bottles from another cabinet.

  “So, do you cook
?” I ask, trying to find some neutral conversational ground.

  He looks up from where he’s squeezing the amber-colored guts out of the honey bear. “Why do you ask that?”

  I gesture at the six-burner stove.

  “This just seems like a cook’s kitchen.”

  The kettle must have been warm already because it whistles after less than a minute. He shrugs as he pours water into the cup and sets the tea in front of me.

  “Cooking was more my ex-fiancée’s thing when she lived here. But I don’t mind it. I was just going to make myself some dinner when I found you outside.”

  Great. So now I’m keeping him from his supper on top of everything else. Well, if he’s trying to make me feel guilty for disturbing him, he’s doing a damn fine job of it.

  “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you,” I say softly as I take a sip from the mug.

  Oh. So, so good.

  I spend a long moment with my nose inside the rim, taking in the warm, moist steam coming off the liquid. When I look up, he’s watching me a little too closely for my liking.

  “Are you still feeling sick?” he asks suspiciously, eyeballing me as if an alien might pop out of my stomach and scurry across the wide plank wood floor at any time.

  “I’m still a little under the weather, but I’ll be fine.”

  He looks unconvinced.

  “You really don’t look well at all,” he informs me.

  Gee, thanks, Professor Prince Charming.

  “Yeah…”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No, thank you,” I say quickly. Food is definitely not at the top of my list right now and the last thing I want to do is hurl in his house.

  “You look tired, too. Are you tired?”

  I open my mouth to reassure him that I’m fine, but the truth is that I’m not. I’m not fine at all. I nod yes. Yes, I am dead tired. Markham points toward the far end of the kitchen.

  “Go ahead and take the tea through that doorway and down the hall to the den. There’s a big couch in there and I’ve got a fire going. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right there.”