Serial Separation by Dick C. Waters

of the driveway. She knew if she 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