Never Fear by Heather Graham Page B

Into
town? ”
    “ Yep. ‘Fraid
so.”
    “ In the
blizzard? ”
    Grandpa sighed, stole a
look toward the kitchen. “Yep. ”
    “ Okay. It sounds like
fun... we don’t get snowstorms like this in
L.A.! ”
    “ Fun?” said Grandpa,
smiling. “ Oh
yeah, it’ll be great fun. Come on, get your outerwear on, and let’s
get a move on. ”
    Alan ran to the closet and pulled on
the heavy, rubber-coated boots, a knit watch cap, and scarf. Then
he shook into the down parka his mom had ordered from the L. L.
Bean mail order place. His first encounter with cold weather had
been a great adventure, a great difference in his life.
    “ Forty-two years with that
woman and I don’t know how she… ”
    “ What’s shortnin’,
Grandpa? ”
    The gray-haired man had just closed
the door to the mud porch behind them. He was muttering as he faced
into the stinging slap of the December wind, the bite of the
ice-hard snowflakes attacking his cheeks. There would be roof-high
drifts by morning if it kept up like this, he was
thinking.
    “ What? Oh... well,
shortening is butter or oleo, or even cooking oil, I think.
Whatever it is, it’s for making cakes.” Grandpa stepped down to the
path he’d shoveled toward the garage. It was already starting to
fill in and would need some new digging out pretty soon.
    “ Why do they call it that?
Why don’t they just call it butter, or margarine?” Alan had already
lost interest in the question, even as he asked it. The hypnotic
effect of the snow was captivating him. ” Do you get storms like this all
the time, Grandpa? ”
    “‘ Bout once a month this
bad. ” Grandpa
reached the garage door, threw it up along its spring-loaded
tracks. He shook his head and shivered from the wind-chill. “ And to think your mom
and dad are cruising the Caribbean! Hard to believe, isn’t
it? ”
    “ I’d rather be
here, ” said Alan,
shaking his head. He smiled, obviously immune to the shrieking cold
and the missile-like flakes. “ This is going to be the first real
Christmas I ever had! ”
    “ Why? Because it’s a white
one? Grandpa chuckled as he walked to the door of the 4-wheel drive
Cherokee and slowly climbed in.
    “ Sure, ” said Alan. “ Haven’t you ever heard that
song? ”
    Grandpa
smiled. ” Oh, I
think I’ve heard it a time or two… ”
    “ Well, that’s what I mean.
It never seems like Christmas in L.A. even
when it is Christmas! ” Alan jumped into the Jeep and slammed the door. “ Boy, Grandpa, it’s
really coming down, now…”
    As his grandfather backed the vehicle
from the garage, swung it around and churned down the long driveway
toward Route 14A, Alan looked out across the flat landscape of the
farm and the other farms in the distance. There was a gentle roll
to the treeless land, but it was lost in the wall of the
storm.
    In fact, Alan couldn’t tell where the
snowy land stopped and the white of the sky began. When the
Cherokee lurched forward out onto the main road, it looked like
they were constantly driving smack into a white sheet of paper, a
white nothingness.
    It was scary, thought Alan. Just as
scary as driving into a pitch-black night.
    “ Oh, she picked a fine
time to run out of something for that danged cake! Look at it,
Alan. It’s a regular white-out, is what it is. ”
    Alan nodded. “Jeezoowhiz,
how do you know where you’re going, Grandpa? ” The first twinges of fear were
creeping into his mind.
    Grandpa harrumphed. “ Been on this road a
million times, boy! Lived here all my life! I’m not about to get
lost. But my God, it’s cold out here! Hope this heater gets going
pretty soon. ”
    They drove on in silence except for
the crunch of the tires on the packed snow and thunk-thunk of the
wiper blades trying to move off the hard new flakes that filled the
sky. The heater still pumped chilly air into the cab and Alan’s
breath was almost freezing as it came out of his mouth.
    He imagined they were explorers on a
faraway planet an alien world