stopped she would never get into the driveway. She decided it would be better to try to gun the old Pontiac through any pile and take her chances.
She knew her mom would be worried about her even though she had called earlier to let her know she was making progress. She was still overdue, but even if that wasn’t the case, her Mom would still be worried … that was Mom. Her dad . . . well, he was Dad. He had his hands full with Mom and would just let things take their course. She loved them both, but they were two different people.
She thought about her mom . . . she had the brains in the family. She was the one that established the summer camp and made the real dough. Her dad worked in technology and his salary paid the bills, but it was because of her mom’s money that they were able to afford the better things—and the reason her college education was paid.
She thought of her friends, most of whom could not afford college. They weren’t that lucky. Scott was lucky his folks had put money aside for his college education. It still amazed her that farm folk could put enough aside to provide Scott with a Harvard education. She started to think about Scott, but she could see the mailbox at her parents’ driveway.
Okay, like they say in the films—lights, cameras, action. She could barely see the outline of the driveway, and the plow had skirted the hydrant. The result was the plowed snow was spread out on the road. However, she knew she needed to get up more speed to get through the plowed snow, and enough momentum to climb the driveway.
She hit the plowed piles; the car groaned and leaped. She could see her headlights flashing on the circular drive, or what looked like it, but she had no time to react other than to gun it. The tires protested and slipped on the unpaved drive. She said a prayer but had no memory of the several seconds it took to reach the top of the drive. They don’t make cars nowadays like they used to.
She skidded to a slow stop where she thought the garage entrance was hiding. The wipers were banging in rhythm with her heart, and she could see the steam from all the snow she pushed under the car.
She was amazed by her accomplishment. It wasn’t determination, mostly fear of what would happen if she had not made it to her parents’ house.
* * *
Lisa turned the car off. The engine rattled and chugged like it wanted to continue the battle. Kid, we’re two of a kind. She shut off the lights, grabbed the stuff she could carry, heading to the covered, front-door portico. She had an idea of how bad it was outside, but the wind and blowing snow mixed with rain was biting. No slips, no falls make a girl happy and thirsty. She felt like she’d already had too many drinks.
Before she could find her key, the door opened, and there was Mom standing with a glass of eggnog. Just love her style.
“You have no idea just how glad I am to be here!”
“I was wondering if you were going to make it. Dad just kept saying not to worry; you would be here sooner or later. How did you ever make it up East Derry Road?”
“Mom, when I needed it most . . . God sent me a plow. I hadn’t seen any on the roads, saw traces, but coming up the hill about a mile from here was this yellow monster—my savior.”
She reached for the eggnog. “I have to ask—Scott’s not here is he?”
“No, hon. He called earlier and said he was not able to make it due to the storm. He wished us all a Merry Christmas and left a phone number where they were staying in Topsfield.”
She considered what she heard. “Did you say Topsfield?”
“Yes, hon, that’s what he said—Route One.”
She wanted to say it, but held her tongue. What’s he doing on Route One in Topsfield, and who are they?
“Did you say ‘they’?”
Chapter 25
The pine scent brought back boyhood memories of Boy Scout camp. The rustic cabins had bare wood, and when I closed my eyes I could see our bunk beds and the knots in the pine.
She knew her mom would be worried about her even though she had called earlier to let her know she was making progress. She was still overdue, but even if that wasn’t the case, her Mom would still be worried … that was Mom. Her dad . . . well, he was Dad. He had his hands full with Mom and would just let things take their course. She loved them both, but they were two different people.
She thought about her mom . . . she had the brains in the family. She was the one that established the summer camp and made the real dough. Her dad worked in technology and his salary paid the bills, but it was because of her mom’s money that they were able to afford the better things—and the reason her college education was paid.
She thought of her friends, most of whom could not afford college. They weren’t that lucky. Scott was lucky his folks had put money aside for his college education. It still amazed her that farm folk could put enough aside to provide Scott with a Harvard education. She started to think about Scott, but she could see the mailbox at her parents’ driveway.
Okay, like they say in the films—lights, cameras, action. She could barely see the outline of the driveway, and the plow had skirted the hydrant. The result was the plowed snow was spread out on the road. However, she knew she needed to get up more speed to get through the plowed snow, and enough momentum to climb the driveway.
She hit the plowed piles; the car groaned and leaped. She could see her headlights flashing on the circular drive, or what looked like it, but she had no time to react other than to gun it. The tires protested and slipped on the unpaved drive. She said a prayer but had no memory of the several seconds it took to reach the top of the drive. They don’t make cars nowadays like they used to.
She skidded to a slow stop where she thought the garage entrance was hiding. The wipers were banging in rhythm with her heart, and she could see the steam from all the snow she pushed under the car.
She was amazed by her accomplishment. It wasn’t determination, mostly fear of what would happen if she had not made it to her parents’ house.
* * *
Lisa turned the car off. The engine rattled and chugged like it wanted to continue the battle. Kid, we’re two of a kind. She shut off the lights, grabbed the stuff she could carry, heading to the covered, front-door portico. She had an idea of how bad it was outside, but the wind and blowing snow mixed with rain was biting. No slips, no falls make a girl happy and thirsty. She felt like she’d already had too many drinks.
Before she could find her key, the door opened, and there was Mom standing with a glass of eggnog. Just love her style.
“You have no idea just how glad I am to be here!”
“I was wondering if you were going to make it. Dad just kept saying not to worry; you would be here sooner or later. How did you ever make it up East Derry Road?”
“Mom, when I needed it most . . . God sent me a plow. I hadn’t seen any on the roads, saw traces, but coming up the hill about a mile from here was this yellow monster—my savior.”
She reached for the eggnog. “I have to ask—Scott’s not here is he?”
“No, hon. He called earlier and said he was not able to make it due to the storm. He wished us all a Merry Christmas and left a phone number where they were staying in Topsfield.”
She considered what she heard. “Did you say Topsfield?”
“Yes, hon, that’s what he said—Route One.”
She wanted to say it, but held her tongue. What’s he doing on Route One in Topsfield, and who are they?
“Did you say ‘they’?”
Chapter 25
The pine scent brought back boyhood memories of Boy Scout camp. The rustic cabins had bare wood, and when I closed my eyes I could see our bunk beds and the knots in the pine.
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