by Alice Ward
I didn’t even hear the rest as the blood roared in my ears, drowning out the words. It wasn’t the first time it’d been suggested that I “work” with my mother.
“I know it would be awkward at first…”
Awkward? Having sex with my mother on camera would only be awkward?
“But we’ve always been so close, and it wouldn’t actually be anything other than acting.”
She had officially lost her mind.
“He’s thinking of the title, ‘Mommy, May I Cum?’ Not very original, in my opinion. I’m thinking a better title would be—”
She was still talking when I pressed the button to end the call. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t listen. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t anything at the moment. I just wanted to go back into seclusion and pretend the past two minutes hadn’t happened.
I’d done it to myself, calling her.
My phone vibrated in my hand as she called me back. I had known better than to respond to her messages. It was stupid of me to call, but the little girl inside me continued to hold onto a small sliver of hope that I wouldn’t have to mother my own mother, or be embarrassed to even walk with her down the street.
The reality was that Cyn Meadows would never change, and it was my fault for thinking things could be any different. She would always only be happy in the limelight, and if she failed at that, she would sink into a deep depression. Those were the two swings of her pendulum. Nothing was in between. Not even me.
“Your groceries are ready.”
I jumped at the voice. It was Pop Junior Junior standing in the door, two red dots on his cheeks as his big brown puppy dog eyes stared at me, just as they always did.
“Thank you so much.” Pushing myself from the seat, I was conscious of him watching my every move as I stuffed my long dark hair back under the wool cap and zipped the bulky parka to my chin.
The teen’s blush grew even redder as I passed by him. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, his voice breaking in places. “I’ll help you load the car.”
I considered telling him I’d just do it myself, but the snow was starting to fall harder and I really could use the help. I gave him a bright smile that caused his cheeks to almost glow in the dim light of the old store. “Thank you.”
Not even taking the time to check the bags, I paid for the groceries with cash, just like I always did. I didn’t want anyone on the mountain to know my full name, so avoided credit cards whenever possible. I wasn’t famous, but one Google search made people look at me different. They were either disgusted by my presence — after all, who wants their sweet offspring knowing a porn queen’s child? — or wanted to get to know me better. Those in the latter category always assumed I wanted their attention because of who my mother was. And most of them didn’t take no as an answer very well.
I typed out the email to Dr. Jackson as Mrs. Pop made change, the concerned look on her face growing even deeper. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay here, Miss Zoe?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Pop Junior Junior’s head whip in my direction, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline.
That sealed the deal. The teen was harmless, but I couldn’t imagine having to endure those puppy dog eyes for hours on end, let alone a day or two. Besides, I’d left my laptop at the cabin. If I was going to be snowbound anywhere, I wanted it to be with it firmly on my lap.
“Thank you so much for the offer and the concern,” I told her, pulling on my gloves. I hefted a bag on my hip as her son grabbed two more. “You all stay safe and warm too. See you next week.”
Her smile looked forced. “It might be longer than that before they’re able to dig you out up there.”
Seriously?
“So, two weeks then?”
She nodded, but didn’t look certain. “Probably so, sweetie. Depends on how much ice we get with the snow. You be safe. Have you ever driven in this kind of weather before?”
Um, no.
I didn’t tell her that. “I promise to be careful,” I said instead. “And the Jeep has four-wheel drive.”
Which would probably come in handy if I knew how to use it.
I wisely kept my mouth shut about that too. After my supplies were loaded and a few more “be carefuls” along with a big hug that melted my heart, I was on my way, the road still a black ribbon before me.
“See, I can drive just fine in the snow,” I said to the angel hanging from the rearview mirror. I’d only met Leslie’s Uncle Stanley once and hadn’t pictured the big, burly man to be an angel kind of guy, but it was a comfort to have this cute silver one dangling in front of me. And I especially loved the Thoreau inscription…
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.
But as the miles passed and the climb got steeper, my confidence in my direction began to wane. Where only a few minutes ago I could see the road, it was now getting whiter and whiter. I had the defrost on high and the windshield wipers on as fast as they would go, but the fog on the glass wouldn’t dissipate. Neither would the ice building up around the edges.
I navigated a hairpin curve with a gradient that seemed to go straight up into nothing but whiteness, my fingers cramping as I held the steering wheel so tight. By the time I was halfway up the mountain, my jaw ached from clenching my teeth, and my shoulders were in knots, the muscles in my neck feeling like they were going to snap at any moment. When it got to the point where I could barely see past the hood of the Jeep, I knew I was in serious trouble.
I should have listened to Mrs. Pop, but things looked okay fifteen minutes ago. How had the universe changed so quickly?
Taking a deep breath, I belted out a Carrie Underwood song. Well, kinda. My version was more along the lines of Jesus taking the steering wheel and driving me out of this shit. “Sorry,” I muttered to the angel. “Now isn’t the time to curse and say Jesus in the same sentence.”
The Jeep slid.
“I said I was sorry,” I shouted as I turned the wheel in the other direction. I might not have driven in the snow before, but I’d navigated Los Angeles traffic in the rain plenty of times and turning into the slide was instinctual.
“Okay, I’ve got this,” I said to the angel, finding the sound of a voice — even my own voice — a comfort. Heart still hammering inside my ribcage, I pressed the gas, and the tires skidded before catching, and I inched up the mountain again. I blew out the breath I’d been holding, but my jaw went straight back into the gritting position as the back tires slipped left, sending me into a shallow ditch.
It was still officially daylight, but the world was as dim as late evening, which was odd considering that I was surrounded by white. “Keep it together, Super Z,” I told myself and turned on the inside light to look over the gears.
When I was little, I’d play in the back rooms of studios in which my mother “worked” and got really good at using my imagination to entertain myself. I’d pretend that I was one of the Disney princesses, but my favorite made-up character was Super Z. As this superhero, I’d fight off the bad guys, restore order to a tumultuous world. My superpower was the ability to transport to any destination I wished. Oh, how I wished I had that superpower now.
Next to the gear shifter was another small shifter labeled 4-H, N, and 4-L. I thought it safe to assume the 4s meant four-wheel drive, and since I was going up a high mountain, I further assumed H was what I needed.
“Let’s find out if I’m right.” I gripped the shifter and shoved it in the direction 4-H indicated. That was easy, except I couldn’t tell anything had happened.
Pressing the gas pedal, the tires slipped and skidded, spewing snow behind me. When the Jeep slid backwards, I yelped and hit the brake, my heart threatening to burst until the vehicle finally bumped to a halt. “Okay, let’s try 4-L.” Since my car gear had to be in neutral when I ran it through the car wash, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try shifting it into N before trying for low.
That was better. I was relieved to hear the hum of the en
gine go deeper, and the tires actually felt like they were more secure to the road as I continued to climb, although I dared not go more than five miles per hour. Visibility wasn’t my friend. I couldn’t see shit.
Inch by inch, I crawled up the mountain, using the wool hat to swipe at the windshield when the defrost couldn’t keep up. The snow had changed, the flakes coming down were nearly as big as my fist. The hood of the Jeep, the road, the trees, the entire world had grown white as I struggled to keep the tires away from the cliff that fell into a vast nothingness on my right.
When I reached the summit, I blew out a shaky breath and stopped the Jeep, squealing a bit as it kept moving forward a few feet on its own. In addition to my jaw and fingers, my sphincter was getting a pretty good workout today too. My entire body would be sore tomorrow, inside and out.
If I lived that long.
I shook off the morbid thought and attempted to look at the positive side of my situation. On the plus side, I was close to the cabin now. Just a couple hundred feet down the mountain, and I would come to the gravel road that would take me to its warm comfort. I looked around, peering at the place another gravel driveway had been before. It was now gone, covered by a thick layer of snow.
Inhaling deeply, I made my decision. I just needed to keep moving forward. I’d made it all the way up. Surely, I could make it a little way down. My fingers death-gripping the steering wheel again, I took my foot off the brake.
Don’t do it.
A snake of fear slithered up my spine as the words filled my head. I realized the words were smart, but what else was I supposed to do? Going back down would be as treacherous as going forward and would take much longer, even if I could turn around on this narrow road.
Tapping the brake again, I looked with longing at the place where my neighbor’s driveway should be. I didn’t even know if anyone actually lived there or how far the house was from this point. If I was able to find it, would I be able to break in and seek shelter if no one was home? I didn’t know. And it seemed too risky to find out.
A third option was to just stay right here and ride it out, but the thought of doing that brought instant panic. I could already imagine the feeling of claustrophobia that would take hold as the snow slowly blanketed the Jeep. How long would it take for me to be buried alive? And how long would I have to stay in my four-wheeled coffin until I could dig my way out? Would I run out of gas and freeze to death? Die of carbon monoxide poisoning long before that?
I shuddered. No.
I had to keep going. I had to try to get home.
Home.
When had I begun thinking of this mountain as home?
“We can do this,” I said to the angel and lifted the tiny four-leaf clover up to my lips, giving my good luck/love/life/legacy charm a kiss. “We’re close now.”
I was close, but in this new icy wilderness, I was beginning to realize that close meant nothing. The snowflakes were still huge, and the brutal wind was now making them come down nearly sideways. It reminded me of watching Star Trek, and the USS Enterprise taking off at warp speed.
Humming the theme song, I slowly pressed the gas and inched forward. But as the nose of the Jeep dipped downward, dread became a living thing inside me. I hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards and I already knew coming up the mountain was better than going down.
As the first curve appeared before me, I tapped the brake. Nothing. I stomped on it. Still nothing. I pulled up the e-brake but the Jeep continued to slide forward, heading straight for the edge.
I screamed, yanking at the steering wheel, but it didn’t make a difference. Both my feet were on the brake, but it didn’t matter. The Jeep went sideways, then tilted up on two wheels, tossing me hard to the right.
I reached for the door handle, preparing to jump out. But I was too late. I was falling into the abyss.
CHAPTER TWO
Gray
I stomped my boots on the front porch, knocking off as much snow as I could. Beside me, Maggie shook the snow from her chocolate fur, her pink tongue lapping at her ice-encrusted muzzle. I reached up and did the same to my beard. One day, I needed to cut it off. Maybe I would when I gave a shit, but today wasn’t that day.
The snow had gotten here faster than the idiot forecasters predicted. Hit harder too. In the two years I’d lived here, I’d never seen anything like this. Even now, I couldn’t see a foot past the railing. Within an hour, the entire world had been consumed in a sea of white.
Still, I was prepared.
Plenty of fuel for the generator and more than enough wood for the fire. The pantry was stocked with enough food stores to survive Armageddon, and there were barrels of water at the ready.
Maggie whined and scratched at the door. I opened it, and her nails clicked across the wood floor as she ran inside. “Don’t worry, girl. There’s plenty of food for you too.”
Leaving my boots just inside, I shrugged out of the heavy coat and tossed it across a chair in front of the fire, placing my gloves and hat beside it. Maggie plopped down on the rug while I squatted in front of the flames, holding my hands out to warm. The temperature was dropping quickly. Grabbing a towel, I wiped most of the wet from the lab/pit mix’s thick coat. Then she was out, fast asleep before I could even stand up.
The need for coffee drew me away from the bright flames, something warm to heat up my bones. I’d gotten up early to prep the cabin for the storm and hadn’t yet had either breakfast or lunch. In just a few minutes, the scent of it brewing also reminded me of how hungry I was. A sandwich didn’t sound appealing. It might be afternoon, but bacon and eggs sounded about right.
Flipping on the TV for company, I cursed when all I got in return was another type of blizzard, the black and white kind that signaled the satellite was down. Not that I was surprised. A cow could piss in the road and the damn thing would fuck up on the best of days. This was most certainly not the best of days.
I turned on the radio instead, frowning at the hiss and crackle of the static, but was still able to make out the DJ talking about the coming storm. With a breathless voice, he warned the listeners to stay put. No shit. He should have told people that a couple hours ago.
Turning on the stove, I tossed several strips of bacon on a skillet and left it to do its thing while I took the few steps to joggle the mouse of my computer. All three forty-inch monitors lit up, and I tapped the security icon, toggling through the images on the screen.
Snow.
Snow.
More snow.
Even more snow.
There. I got to the camera capturing the lower east side of my property, which also happened to include part of my neighbor’s cabin. I squinted at the screen. Good. The Jeep still wasn’t in the driveway. She’d left early, so she probably got down the mountain way before all this shit hit us.
The goddess was gone.
The sense of loneliness that thought evoked was something I didn’t like. I also didn’t like the idea that I’d miss her mere presence. I’d done enough missing in my life without adding a complete stranger to the list.
Not that she was a stranger.
Well, she officially was, but it didn’t feel that way to me.
While I didn’t know her name, I knew her routine. I knew the kinds of clothes she wore and that she liked doing yoga on the back deck. She also tapped incessantly on a laptop there. When it got too cool, she’d wrap up in a blanket or sit just inside the large glass windows. Like me, it seemed she needed to see nature.
Like me, she seemed content with her own company.
Like me…
No, she wasn’t like me at all.
Unlike me, she smiled often, usually while her fingers flew over the keyboard of her laptop. She also smiled at the birds. The squirrels. Smiled when she took pictures of the always present wildlife. She smiled when she did her yoga or simply sat back and watched the trees.
It wasn’t always like that.
Back when I was first alerted to a stranger’s arriv
al a month and a half ago, she didn’t smile at all. That was what intrigued me the most about her. Why I continued to watch her. Even worry about her. I needed to know that she would be all right.
I hadn’t meant for the camera I installed to capture my neighbor’s property, but two damn squirrels had used it as a jungle gym one day and cocked it to the side. The next day, the goddess arrived. She’d sit on the deck and cry, her thin shoulders shaking under the weight of her sorrow. Sometimes she’d scream. Not that I could hear her — the cameras didn’t pick up sound and our cabins were too far apart — but I could almost feel pain vibrate from her to me.
I often wondered why. Had she lost someone she loved? Either through death or a break up? I’d decided it must have been death because no man in his right mind would let such an angelic creature go.
Unbidden, I tapped the folder marked “Goddess.” I told myself a hundred times that I’d delete this folder, purge it from my system. But each time I dragged it to the trash icon, something held me back.
With another click, my favorite image of her appeared.
It was a simple black and white of the goddess standing by the rail of her deck. A mug of tea was in her hands, the steam curling up and around her face like mist. The wind had caught her hair, blowing the long strands behind her. Her eyes were closed as she lifted her face to the sun that dappled her with its rays through the branches above.
She was dressed in her favorite sleeping attire, flowing cotton pants and a strappy tank top. Over it was a robe that had also caught the wind, fluttering behind her.
I stared. Not at the beautiful body. Sure, she was even more perfect than any actress or model, but that wasn’t what drew me to this image.
It was her smile.
I’d screenshot the picture a couple weeks after her arrival, the first time I’d seen her look content. No, not just that. She actually looked happy. Radiant.
I’d almost gone to her then.
My shoes had been on my feet, keys in my hand, and Maggie had already hopped onto the passenger seat of my truck when I came to my senses. And I’d come to my senses with the knowledge that, for a variety of reasons, I needed to leave her alone. I needed to stop watching her. I needed to… what?