Shelter Me: A Frazier Falls Novel

by Collins, Kelly

  The lights flickered but stayed on. “I’m worried the power is going to cut out at any moment. I don’t want that happening when I leave next week. Is there anyone you can get to come over and make sure the backup generator is running when I’m gone?”

  “Sweetheart”—the oxygen tank whirred and hissed with each breath—“there’s no backup generator. If the power goes out, I’ll have to rely on candles and firewood until it comes back on.”

  “Ma.” This information didn’t ease my worry. Candles and firewood would never cut it. I needed to add a backup generator to my list of things to buy.

  “What?”

  “This is why you’re not recovering. If you have no backup generator then—”

  My mom raised her hands in the air. “Although this may be the worst winter to hit Colorado in 30 years, I have never been without power from a snowstorm for longer than an hour.”Global warming, my arse.”

  “You say that like global warming is a conspiracy instead of an actual thing.”

  “God. You and your geography.”

  “Well, it is what I studied for years.”

  “I thought you were a city planner or something.”

  “Which is a pretty standard geography career.”

  She frowned. “I thought geography was about rocks?”

  “That’s geology. Geography covers more than capital cities and global warming.”

  Mom waved a hand. “As long as you like it.”

  When I was growing up, I dreamed of being a ballerina. Turned out, I lacked rhythm, and I liked Jaffa cakes too much. I had aspirations of being a meteorologist for a while, but that didn’t pan out either. City planning paid the bills and bought me great shoes. “I like it.”

  Mom sighed. “I wish you had kept on trying to become a weather girl—”

  “A meteorologist—”

  “Your red hair would look pretty on camera, Emily.”

  “Sure, that’s the only reason I wanted to do it. To look pretty on camera.”

  “Being on the telly could be a perk. I’m sure you’d have found a boyfriend much faster if you—”

  I held up my hand. “Don’t start.”

  “I never meet any of your boyfriends anymore. Do you ever plan to settle down?”

  “It’s not my number one priority.”

  “But you’re thirty-three.”

  I arched my right brow. “And?”

  “I don’t get it. With your beautiful hair, and your lovely accent—you know they all go mad for an Irish accent over here—I don’t understand why a man hasn’t tried to marry you.”

  “Who’s saying a man hasn’t?”

  Mom immediately perked up. “Who?”

  “Remember Kyle?”

  “I do. What ever happened there? All you said was you’d outgrown him, but you never mentioned a proposal.”

  “It was five years ago, and when I got the job in Los Angeles. Kyle and I were living in that apartment near Berkeley. He gave me an ultimatum. I had to choose between him or the job.” She saw the wistful look of a woman who wanted grandchildren. “You can put away that look of hope and stop generating a guest list in your head.”

  She tutted as if my being single was a true tragedy, and a more pressing matter than her ailing health.

  “Sometimes, I blame myself, sweetheart. If your da—”

  “Da left when I was twelve, and it wasn’t your fault. Leave it alone.”

  “He left because I wouldn’t go with him.”

  “He left because he was a philanderer and was on the kill list of most men and women in Ardmore. You knew if you had gone with him, it would have been more of the same.” She growled. “Men and their ultimatums. Da backed you into a corner, and you made the right choice. I’ll never allow a man to influence my choices.”

  I knew I’d come across as short-tempered, but I was fed up with her thinking that if the son of a bitch she’d called her husband had only stuck around, then I’d be well-rounded.

  The last thing I’d needed in my life was a womanizing drunk sticking around during my teen years. Ma moving the two of us to the United States was the best decision she’d ever made. Although, it would have been nice to see him once more, to prove that we didn’t need a man in our life to make it perfect. I was grateful he’d left us, and grateful we’d left the small-town. I now lived in the land of opportunity, and I was taking the proverbial bull by the horns—or at least trying to.

  The living room filled with silence for a few moments. Both of us obviously reflecting on the people from our past.

  “I wish Mary was here,” I finally said.

  “You and me both, sweetheart.”

  Mary had been my mother’s best friend. She’d moved to California five years before my mom had moved us. She’d been half the reason we left Ireland. The two of them were thick as thieves and lived three glorious years in Northern California before seeking out a quieter life in Frazier Falls.

  “I’d always thought she’d outlive me,” Mom said with a sad voice. She stared out the window at the snow, which was barely visible behind the condensation-clouded glass. “I mean, I smoked twenty a day. She never touched a cigarette. I put down a pint a night. She never drank. Mary was the pinnacle of health.”

  “Healthy people have heart attacks too.”

  “But it … it isn’t fair. Sometimes, I wish I’d hurry up and—”

  My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. “Don’t. Don’t even think of finishing that sentence.”

  “Look at me, Emily,” she said bleakly, gesturing toward the oxygen tank by the side of the sofa. A bad case of pneumonia had sucked the energy from her lungs. When we thought she’d kicked the virus, it came back with a vengeance.

  The cold weather didn’t help any. It scratched and clawed inside of her, making breathing difficult. She could barely leave the house with the weather this bad.

  “Ma, just do what you’re supposed to, and you’ll be fine. Hell, you’re Irish, and stubborn, which means you’ll outlive all of us.” God, I hoped so.

  I wandered into the kitchen and checked the fridge and pantry. We were running low on supplies. I’d been appalled upon arriving to discover she’d been eating mostly ready-made meals and canned food. The memory burned me up inside.

  I’d stocked the kitchen with everything I could think of in order to cook her three solid meals a day, which to my relief, had improved her health.

  Worry filled me. If my cooking was helping her get better, then that meant when I left, she’d get worse. My stomach churned at the thought.

  Colorado’s weather was too extreme for her. She needed mild, comfortable, and safe. She needed a clean house and good food and engaging company. She needed to get back to California.

  “Ma, I’m going to have to go to that convenience store.”

  “In this weather? Emily, it’s awful outside.”

  “Unless you want to eat dry cereal for dinner, then you’ll have to let me go.”

  The oxygen tank hissed and moaned with each labored breath. “I don’t suppose we could have some wine?”

  I shook my head. “Not when you’re on the tank and meds. If the weather lets up, and your breathing improves, we can talk about it.”

  “Remember when we enjoyed a few drinks in the pubs when we went back to visit your grandparents? You were eighteen then.”

  “Oh, God, that was crazy, drinking with Grandad,” I giggled. “He pickled himself on a daily basis.”

  “Drank like a fish, my da.”

  And there was that sad look on Mom’s face again—the same expression she wore when talking about Mary. Her best friend was gone, her parents were gone, and her friends back in Ardmore were all beginning to succumb to disease and old age.

  Mom was lonely. Truly lonely. My tongue felt too thick to form words, but I pasted on a smile, and forced a few out. “I won’t be long if I can help it. Love you.”

  “You too, sweetheart.”

  Even after wrapping up in two
sweaters, my mother’s massive down jacket, a scarf, and thick gloves, the wind and snow were bitterly cold. It bit and pinched at my face as I pulled the material up higher and ran for the car.

  By the time I closed the door and started the engine, my teeth were chattering.

  “This place is horrible,” I muttered as I struggled out of my gloves to turn on the heater, sighing in relief when a wave of warm air washed over my exposed skin.

  I wasn’t going to give up trying to persuade Mom to move back to California. It was better for both of us. As I inched toward the tiny market, my worry and irritation grew exponentially. How was I supposed to live a thousand miles away and keep an eye on my mom?

  By the time I walked into Wilkes Corner Store, I was like a shaken pop can ready to explode.

  Chapter Three

  Eli

  The wind and snow roared past my window, and I was out of milk.

  In truth, I was out of everything.

  I had two choices, stay home and starve, or bundle up and brave the storm.

  Going outside was the last thing I wanted to do, given the fact that I had only recently gotten back home. I made the decision easier, by upping the temperature on the heating so my house would be a hell of a lot warmer when I returned.

  With little sunlight to power the solar panels, I had to use energy from the grid. While this was offset by the fact that the grid paid me for the energy my solar panels added to it during the summer, it still irritated me. I liked being self-supporting. It was one of the beautiful things about the Green House Project, though I wouldn’t admit that to Owen.

  This winter was cold—so cold that I had used far more energy than I would have otherwise liked. And yet, I wasn’t an idiot. There was no way I would risk starting a fire and leave it to get hot while I went to buy food.

  “I must be insane,” I murmured as I steeled myself to leave my house. Owen had driven me home, which meant I had to walk. Luckily, Wilkes Corner Store was a couple of minutes from my front door.

  It took me closer to ten minutes to trudge through the storm, cursing the wind every time it buffeted me back. When I walked inside, I was more than surprised to find Pax behind the counter.

  “What the hell are you doing here? I thought Carla took you home.” I spluttered when I entered the warmth of the building.

  “You think Rachel could keep the place open in this weather? I had Carla drop me by her house, and I grabbed the keys and Rachel’s SUV.”

  He looked at me pointedly. Rachel Wilkes was nearing seventy. She’d be at home instead of struggling to get to and from work.

  I brushed the snow from my jacket. The flakes floated around me like a mini indoor storm.

  “She needs to get regular staff in here.”

  “I think she will. This winter has shaken her up. The poor thing nearly fell on the ice yesterday.”

  “That’s not good. Where was the ice? I thought the roads had been salted?”

  “In front of her house. I salted it for her this morning, but it’ll be frozen over again by now.”

  “You’re right. Please tell me you’re going to get yourself home soon. It’s rotten outside.”

  He looked at the store’s clock. “I’m closing at six. You’re lucky you came by when you did. I wanted to stay open for those that planned poorly.” He gave me a knowing look.

  “Yes, I definitely consider having to go through this storm on foot to buy food, so I don’t starve, lucky.”

  Though Pax was usually pretty quiet around people, he was fairly outspoken with his family. As outspoken as Pax could be, which wasn’t saying much.

  I left my brother to walk up and down the aisles to find everything I needed along with anything else that struck me as a good idea to pick up in case Wilkes’ stayed closed for a few days. I grabbed canned tomatoes and other vegetables. Ultra-heat-treated, long shelf-life milk. Chocolate. Beer. It was about the time my shopping cart became full of more food and drink than I could carry back that I distinctly regretted not taking Owen up on his offer to stop when I’d been in his truck.

  “You’re such an idiot,” I grumbled as I walked past an unfamiliar woman investigating the small selection of fresh fruit and vegetables.

  “Excuse me?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Oh, I apologize.” I tried to keep my tone indifferent. “I was talking to myself.”

  “Do that often?” she asked before returning her gaze to a pair of sad-looking potatoes. “What’s with this damn place? No fruits or vegetables. People talk to themselves. The weather is the worst.”

  “I’d like to point out that you’re doing exactly the same thing.” Going by the woman’s Irish accent, I could only assume she was in some way related to old Judy Flanagan.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You say that a lot.”

  “And you seem to enjoy interrupting my thoughts.”

  “Only pointing out the facts.” I reached over her and grabbed the last onion, tossing it into my basket and moving forward.

  “I was going to take that,” she called after me.

  “Now it’s gone.” I was too tired to engage in a prickly conversation with a woman I didn’t know, especially given the walk through a freezing storm I’d have to face to get home.

  “I hate small towns.”

  She tossed her red hair over her shoulder; melted snowflakes flew out to hit me like tiny stinging bees.

  “What’s your problem, Miss …?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Have it your way. If you need potatoes, there should be some in the back. Might even be an onion or two. Ask Pax at the front counter. He’s covering for the owner. If you're extra nice, he might bring you over a sack.”

  Her eyes blinked in bewilderment. “Nice? Why are you being nice after being so rude?”

  “Because I wasn’t being rude,” I said as I walked toward the frozen section. “Just putting my nose where it doesn’t belong. It’s a small-town problem. Have a lovely day.” I said with a tone that could only be considered unfriendly.

  “That was—”

  “Yes, that was rude,” I interrupted, glancing over my shoulder to see her looking at me. Her jaw clenched so tight I swear I heard a molar crack.

  Ten minutes later, I’d paid for my groceries and stood talking to Pax in sheer procrastination. I absolutely didn’t want to go outside. Even when the woman from the fresh produce aisle came over to pay for her food, I didn’t budge. When she fired me several withering looks that could have cooked me alive, I remained fixed in my position.

  However, when she struggled at the door, I heard my mom’s voice telling me to be a gentleman. I grabbed my bags and said goodbye to Pax, then pushed open the door. She startled at my presence and juggled her shopping bags successfully. My chivalry earned me another glare.

  “You’re welcome,” I parroted in a terrible impersonation of her accent.

  She twisted around, no doubt intending to fire off a response, but in doing so, she slipped on the icy parking lot and lost her balance.

  Without thinking, I dropped my bags and rushed over, catching her before her head would have hit the concrete.

  Through clouds of frosted breath, and in the artificial glow of the streetlights, I saw the color of her eyes, and I was momentarily stunned into silence.

  They were the most beautiful shade of green I’d ever seen—the exact color of the Frazier Firs the town was named after.

  “Let me go.” She twisted out of my hold and scrambled to her feet.

  I could hardly believe my ears. “I just saved you at the expense of my own groceries, and all you can say is ‘let me go’?”

  “You’re the reason I fell in the first place.”

  I let out a growl. “If somebody had minded their manners and thanked me for opening the door—”

  “I never asked you to.”

  “Fine. You know what? I’m done trying to be nice.” I took a shot in the dark. “I hope you don’t treat your moth
er this way.”

  She looked as if she were about to fling another insult at me, but she paled. “What do you know about my ma?”

  My assumption was correct. She was, indeed, Judy Flanagan’s daughter. While she had gotten her mother’s red hair, she missed out on her pleasant demeanor. “Only that Judy is a wonderful woman. Lord give her strength being stuck in a house with you all winter.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “No, I’m Eli Cooper.”

  Muttering a complaint to myself, I turned my back on her as I peered through the snow to locate my groceries. Several cans had rolled out, but most of my shopping had stayed within the confines of the bags, which were now topped with snow. Another thing I could add to the growing list of shitty things that had happened to me in the past hour.

  “I don’t,” the woman called out to me over the roar of the wind.

  I picked up my bags and whipped around to look at her. “You don’t what?”

  “Talk to my ma like that. Clearly you know her. How—how has she been the past few months?”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Seems like something her daughter should know.”

  She stomped on her foot, but the packed snow ate up the sounds of her effort. “Why are you judging me?”

  “I call it how I see it.” I tossed a runaway can back into my bag and readjusted the weight in my arms.

  Her brows lowered and knitted together. “You small-town folk are all alike. You only see what you want to see. Next thing I know, there will be all kinds of rumors about Judy’s rotten daughter.”

  “You’re something, aren’t you? You ask me not to judge you, and yet you pass judgment on me and everyone else who lives here.”

  With her eyebrows knitted together, she shook her head. “Forget it. Forget I asked you anything.”

  I considered what to say next. This was a no-win situation. “Tell you what,” I began, “I’ll let you know if you tell me your name.”

  She crossed her arms. “Seriously? You’re going to bribe a girl in a snowstorm. I know she’s sick, but I don’t know if she’s being completely honest with me?”