“I know that stuff already. What happened to Aunt Izzie?” Ella said.
“You know what happened,” Hope answered. “She died.”
“You’ve never told me how.” The whine in Ella’s voice almost stopped Hope. But for the first time, it felt like the right moment. Sharing the sobering story would be one more way for Hope to atone for what she’d done to Izzie and their family. Tonight, especially tonight, Ella needed to hear it.
But it was hard to lay open the gaping wound of what had ruined Hope’s life. How she herself had ruined it. How it’d been no one’s fault but her own. “This isn’t easy for me, Ella.” She took a fortifying breath. “I really need you to pay attention and take everything I’m going to say to heart. Okay?”
Ella sighed. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No, I’m not. I’m going to tell you how it is. How it was.” She started at the beginning of that awful night. “It was New Year’s Eve. I was at a party, celebrating with my friends.”
Hope left out the part about Donovan, how they’d fought that night. How her friends had encouraged her to dull her anger and disappointment with alcohol after he’d dropped the bomb that he was going to stay in Alaska for college, not go to Boston like they’d planned. Maturity and years of adulting had Hope seeing things differently. She understood now why he couldn’t turn down a full ride, when every penny counted at his dad’s house. Yes, Hope would leave out Donovan when telling Ella the story, but she wouldn’t shy away from her guilt in the tragedy. “I had a few sips of wine from one of those red Solo cups.”
“So what? A few sips won’t kill you, Mom,” her inebriated daughter countered. “I drank more than that tonight and I’m fine.”
“Yeah, sure, you’re fine. I should’ve videoed your swan dive through the front door a few minutes ago. Even a few sips of alcohol can impair your reflexes.” When you need them the most. It had been that way for Hope. She’d been lucky when they tested her blood alcohol level and it was under the legal limit.
Hope moved closer. “Scooch over so I can tell you the rest.” She sat beside Ella on her twin bed. “While I was still at the party, my mom called from the hospital, telling me to pick up Izzie from a sleepover, because she was complaining of a stomachache.”
“I bet you didn’t want to leave your friends,” Ella said.
Guilt covered Hope, wrapped around her like a familiar, well-worn robe, the tie in the middle squeezing her stomach until it hurt.
It was true. Her senior year, she’d begun resenting how much of her time wasn’t her own, how she had to drop everything to take care of Izzie. Izzie wanted her to play like they used to, but Hope only wanted to spend time alone with Donovan. After being best friends their whole lives, Donovan had finally stopped serial dating every girl at Sweet Home High and saw Hope as more than a pal. If Hope had known sooner that going out with Jesse Montana—tight end on the football team and good friend of Donovan’s—would wake Donovan up, Hope would have accepted Jesse’s offer a few years earlier. Apparently, Donovan didn’t have a clue that Hope had loved him since the first day he’d moved in next door.
“Mom? Mom! You’re doing what you always do when you talk about Aunt Izzie,” Ella said.
“What?”
“Zoning out. Get back to the story.”
It wasn’t just a story to Hope. She’d lived it. And now she had to make her daughter understand how life could go wrong in an instant. She dropped into lecture mode. “My mom always told me not to drink, to stay away from alcohol. Working the night shift in the ER, she saw the disastrous outcomes of drinking and driving—mangled bodies, loss of life.” It hurt to say those words, but Hope was doing penance. “At the time, I didn’t think it was a problem to have a few sips. I didn’t know I was going to be driving right after. But I was the one with the car keys and I shouldn’t have drunk at all.” Also, Hope never understood those who couldn’t have fun without knocking back a few. Donovan was one of them. She’d loved him, but she didn’t like that he drank so much, and so often.
“So . . . you picked up Aunt Izzie . . .” Ella had missed the point completely.
Hope sighed, feeling defeated, but plowed on anyway. “The point is, I should’ve listened to my mother and stayed away from alcohol.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Enough with the sermon, already. What happened next?”
“I yelled at Izzie for being a nuisance. For faking being sick.” Hope had railed on her little sister, telling her that she’d ruined her night. Hope would never forget how Donovan had reached over and laid his hand on hers. Don’t take it out on Izzie. I know you’re mad at me.
“Then?”
This was the hardest part, recounting those horrible details. “There was a snowplow in the other lane.”
“Was it snowing hard?” her daughter asked.
“Not when I’d left home, but by the time I left the party, visibility was horrible, nearly a whiteout.” Donovan had offered to drive, but Hope wouldn’t let him. He’d had too much to drink. Sixteen-year-old Beau was three sheets to the wind, too. It was left to Hope to get them all home safely.
“But you’ve driven in snow your whole life. What’s the big deal?” her daughter prompted.
“There was a moose. He charged into the road in front of the snowplow.” Hope took a deep breath to get the next words out. “The snowplow hit the moose and sent it flying toward my side of the road. I hit it. The moose flipped backward and crushed the back of my car.” If only she’d had better reflexes to swerve and miss the bull. The biggest if only of her life.
Hope didn’t remember too much after that, only what the snowplow driver had told her and the state trooper at the hospital. She’d often wondered if she could’ve saved her sister if only she’d been prepared—stopped the bleeding, kept Izzie from going into shock. It was one of the reasons Hope was adamant about teaching her daughter survival skills, beyond hunting and fishing, although those things were very important, too. Alaska was wild and anything could happen.
“I don’t know why Donovan and I were brought to the hospital first.”
“Who’s Donovan?” her daughter asked.
“Nobody,” Hope said quickly. “I was dazed from the accident and only had a broken arm.” Donovan had just cuts and bruises. “Even though I confessed right away to my mom that I’d had some wine, she didn’t yell at me but was only relieved I was okay.” Beau arrived in the next ambulance and was pronounced dead on arrival. “When Izzie was wheeled in on the stretcher, she looked so small and broken. She only lived an hour before dying.” Hope would never forget seeing her mother collapse with grief beside Izzie’s hospital bed. “And that’s why I’m head of MADD in our area,” Hope finished, though the story was far from complete. She left out the part where her mother never forgave her. How her parents split up over Izzie’s death, motivating her father to move to the North Slope. How it was her mother who brought MADD to their borough, and then on her deathbed insisted that Hope take over.
Hope had been looking off into space but glanced down at her daughter now.
Ella’s mouth was open, making her look completely stunned. “You were driving the car? You killed Aunt Izzie?”
It was an icy knife to the heart, but it was true. Hope nodded bravely. “Yes. I’m responsible for my sister’s death.”
“That sucks . . .” Ella shook her head. “I can’t imagine. How did your mom take it?”
“Badly.”
“You would’ve grounded me forever. Whatever happened to your mom? You and Grandpa never talked about her.”
Hope definitely wasn’t ready to get into that. “She got sick—cancer—and died a few years later.” Mom had been livid when Hope got up the courage two months after the accident to tell her that she was pregnant. It’s a slap in the face, her mom had said. Haven’t you hurt this family enough? When baby Ella was born, Mom pretended he
r granddaughter didn’t exist. After her death, Dad had moved back to Sweet Home, continuing to work on the North Slope and commuting home on his weeks off, which eased Hope’s load of raising a child alone. But now he was gone, too.
Ella looked stricken, then turned to face the wall. “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“What if you die, too?” Ella’s voice was strained.
Hope understood. They didn’t have anyone now, now that Dad was gone.
She wanted to tell her: There are worse things than death. Like being disowned at seventeen by your own mother and being forced from the house, alone and pregnant. Whenever she thought about that dark time, Hope tried counting her blessings. She owed Piney so much: for supporting her emotionally, for giving her a job and letting her stay with them in the bus until Mom died and Dad moved back to Sweet Home.
But all she said was, “You know how hard I try to be prepared for every contingency.” Hope wanted to reiterate how important it was that Ella be prepared, too . . . for accidents and to go it alone. If Hope had been prepared seventeen years ago, she might’ve handled her mother’s rejection better, instead of letting grief and depression nearly consume her.
Maybe it was time to tell Ella more of the truth. How Donovan and Beau had been in the car that night. How her mother couldn’t stand to look at Hope after she’d killed her sister. Maybe the truth would scare Ella straight.
But Ella had fallen asleep.
Hope brushed her daughter’s dark blond hair from her face. The same color hair as Ella’s father, a father she’d never known. Hope had been sure she’d never have to tell Ella about Donovan. There was no reason to. But apparently, Donovan was returning home.
Hope turned off the light and left Ella’s room, feeling drained. She’d spent the last seventeen years feeling tired. Exhausted to the bone.
She didn’t have the energy to finish packing for their camping trip tonight or to worry about Donovan coming to town. She shuffled to her ten-by-ten-foot bedroom. She didn’t turn on the lights but slipped off her slippers and jeans before climbing into bed, leaving on her turtleneck and kuspuk, a kind of loose Alaska Native hoodie. She threw her coat over the bed, too. Anything to keep warm tonight.
Before she fell asleep, Hope knew her eleven-year-old sister—dead eleven-year-old sister—would come to her in her dreams. Izzie had visited her on and off for the last seventeen years. But since Hope’s daughter had started drinking, Izzie had visited nearly every night. Her sister was always sparkling, almost glowing. Hope didn’t shy away from her sister’s pop-ins, as they comforted her in ways the town’s platitudes never had. Her sister would be wearing the same red moose flannel pajamas she’d worn on the night Hope had picked her up from the sleepover. But instead of covered in blood, the pajamas would be clean and new. Hope never told anyone about the dreams, which seemed so real.
For dreams they must be.
The first time Izzie had visited Hope was two days after she’d died. Her sister hadn’t been chatty then but sat cross-legged on the floor beside Hope’s bed, something she’d done a million times in real life. But this time, she stared off into the distance, looking lost. When Hope called out to her, Izzie had shaken her head, as if she didn’t want to talk. But these days, Hope couldn’t get her to shut up. Eleven-year-old Izzie, still in her little-girl body and her moose pajamas, spoke as a woman who’d lived a lifetime and had plenty of advice to give. Hope welcomed seeing her sister. It was hard to imagine that Izzie would’ve been twenty-eight a few months ago. If only Hope hadn’t killed her.
Hope closed her eyes, and before she’d really drifted off to sleep, Izzie appeared, sitting at the foot of Hope’s bed.
“Piney certainly threw you for a loop.” Izzie had a twinkle in her eye, as if she were having fun, stirring up trouble. “Didn’t you ever suspect Donovan might come back after his grandfather died?”
“I suppose.” Since Charles Stone had moved away seventeen years ago, the news of his death took nearly a month to reach Sweet Home.
Izzie reached out as if to pat the quilt covering Hope’s legs but withdrew her hand before touching it. “Do you think he’s coming back to reopen the hardware store and lodge?”
A Stone’s Throw Hardware & Haberdashery had been everything to this town when Hope was growing up. Her dad had worked there on weekends sometimes. And the lodge, well, Hope loved going to Home Sweet Home Lodge with her mom and Izzie, when the Sisterhood of the Quilt gathered for their monthly get-togethers. But that had been then.
Hope shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t reopen his grandparents’ businesses. He’s probably just coming to Sweet Home to sign papers at the bank, probably get a real estate agent, too . . . if I had to guess.”
Izzie slipped off the bed and put her hands on her hips. “Are you finally going to fess up to my namesake—my niece—and tell that child that Donovan is her father?”
Hope shivered. She couldn’t imagine telling anyone the truth. Though all of Sweet Home must have a clue.
“No. I’m not going to tell Ella about Donovan. I told you before. Ella thinks her father was an oil worker who lived in the Yukon, that he died in a work-related accident before she was born.”
“Are you at least going to tell Donovan that my niece belongs to him?”
“No!” Hope couldn’t. Donovan had been crystal clear at his grandmother’s funeral. I never want to see you again. There had been such vehemence in his voice.
Her last act of love was to respect his wishes. Besides, she didn’t want him to hate her more than he already did.
“Donovan might be coming to Sweet Home, but the fact is, my know-it-all little sister, I don’t plan to see him at all.”
* * *
• • •
DONOVAN STONE DROVE the several hours from Anchorage to Sweet Home feeling numb. Not from the cold, or the snow that littered his windshield, but because he couldn’t wrap his head around his grandfather being gone. Grief was only part of the problem. In his will, Grandpa had left Donovan both the hardware store and the lodge. Why? Donovan hadn’t called Sweet Home home since he was eighteen.
For the last month, he’d put off coming to Alaska. But if he wanted to sell the properties, he had to see them first and meet with the real estate agent with whom he’d set up an appointment for tomorrow. The sooner he got things wrapped up here, the sooner he could get to Florida.
It’d been a long time coming. Donovan had served his country by way of the Marines, then given his all to his business, which meant he’d had little time for family. To be fair, he’d flown Dad and Grandpa from Florida, where they’d retired, to visit him in San Jose for every holiday. When Donovan had sold his Silicon Valley consulting company, he’d promised his dad that he’d relocate to Florida. But he hadn’t moved quickly enough, and now Grandpa was dead.
Donovan drove around the final bend in the road and there sat Sweet Home. The new snow was plowed off to the sides, but that was the only thing he recognized. All the charm from the town was gone—the streets were deserted and most buildings were boarded up, but all of them looked battered, beaten, and run-down—including A Stone’s Throw Hardware & Haberdashery. It made Donovan sick. With paint faded and the windows dark, it felt like the hardware store was dead, too, just like Grandpa.
Something caught Donovan’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He saw a rack, then the beast coming toward him. He slammed on the brakes and veered to the side. As casual as could be, a moose strolled into the road. A moose acting as if he were trying to get a better look at the businesses—the Hungry Bear Grocery-Diner, the bank, the nailed-up medical clinic, and the churches—Baptist and Catholic—on either end of the town. Moose sightings were normal in Alaska, and Donovan should’ve prepared himself for it. But he hadn’t.
Seeing the huge bull was a disturbing reminder of why he’d left, and immediately, he felt the pain of losing his k
id brother again. Beau had been Donovan’s best bud, best cohort in mischief, and best confidant. The two of them had been closer than most brothers. It seemed wrong, so wrong, that Beau’s vibrant life had been cut short at sixteen.
At the tail end of that gut-wrenching memory stood Hope. Hope, who had been his whole world. But that was before she killed Beau, and before Donovan left for good.
Although he was back now, he knew there was no chance of seeing her. Hope had always wanted to explore the world, starting with college in Boston. She was probably living somewhere in Europe by now.
He thought about their last fight, when he told her how his dad had convinced him that it was best for the family if he took the full ride he’d gotten to the University of Alaska in Anchorage.
Two hours later, the fight was pointless. Beau was gone. And a week after that, Donovan dropped out of high school and put Sweet Home in his rearview mirror for good. Or so he’d thought.
He pushed all the dark memories away. He never let himself think about Hope or the good times they’d shared together. He’d done fine without her for the past seventeen years. He’d even conquered his drinking problem, one day at a time. The ninth step in the program said he should make amends. He’d made amends with everyone else, but he wasn’t ready to take that step with Hope. He couldn’t forgive her, let alone ask her to forgive him for leaving. No matter how he looked at it, it was best if Hope wasn’t still in Sweet Home.
One Snowy Night Page 2