Like Sweet Potato Pie (40 page)

A car behind me honked, and I hastily threw the newspaper on the seat and punched the gas then veered into the grocery store parking lot. And grabbed up the pages of black-and-white newsprint with shaking fingers.

O
n Thursday morning I tried to find my car. Literally. The snow hadn’t let up in three days, and except Stella who showed up on my porch in her Yeti suit, kerchief and hood over her be-curlered hair, I hadn’t seen a soul. Snowplows couldn’t get through, leaving us all in a pale, glittering blanket and giving us an unexpected holiday.

Except I had no one to share it with but Christie.

I took a flashlight out in the yard, stomping through mounds of snow, and held the beam up to a weak blob, snow scudding like mist across its surface in the predawn darkness.

Everything slept in white, buried like lumps under a rug: the rose canes, the remains of the garden, the mailboxes. Stella’s giant satellite dish stuck its head out, grinning that octagonal smile.

“I guess this is it,” I said, kicking the sides of the sloping mound and digging through until I found a door handle. I brushed as much as I could off with a broom then scrubbed at the rest with an ice scraper until my hands turned raw and red from the cold.

I eased the car door open, trying not to unearth an avalanche into Mom’s newly vacuumed interior, and turned the keys in the ignition. Flipped the defrost on high and hit the windshield wipers.

No luck. All I did was spin tires and waste gas. Mom’s Honda had frozen into my driveway.

I heard the house phone ring and trudged back inside, Christie at my heels. “Don’t bother,” came Kevin Lopez’s voice. “We’ve got a skeleton crew who can get the paper out. Just review the information packet I sent you and get started on some photo captions. Meg’ll send them later today.”

“If I’m stuck here much longer I’m going to
be
a skeleton!” I retorted, peeling off my hat and trying not to scatter snow all over the kitchen floor.

“Then write your own obit because we’re busy,” he deadpanned back.

No sooner had I hung up and stepped out of my snow-crusted ski pants than the phone rang again. “Kevin?”

“Kevin? Who’s Kevin? Yer new boyfriend?” Becky snickered. “What about poor Adam? He’ll cry his eyes out.”

“Becky?” I reached out with one free hand, shivering, to fill my black Japanese teakettle with water. Heart momentarily stopping at what she’d just said. “Kevin’s my new editor. I barely know the guy. And as for Adam …” I let my sentence expire.

“Congratulations again! We been whoopin’ and hollerin’ over here about yer new job!”

“Thanks.” I turned on the stove, eyes darting to the folded
Yomiuri Shimbun
on the kitchen table. “Why are you calling so early?”

“Oh, I was jest gonna offer ya some septic services.” She giggled.

“Not funny.” I glared and opened the cabinet, searching for my favorite Japanese teacup.

“So, yer off fer today, ain’t ya? I got plans fer ya!”

“Becky Donaldson, if you’re dragging me to another Civil War battle reenactment, forget it! I think even the Confederates would’ve stayed in their tents today.”

“Don’t be silly! We ain’t gonna see no battle. We’re goin’ sleddin’!”

“Sledding? Is that that thing where you slide around on a cardboard box?”

“Box? What’re ya talkin’ about?”

“You know, a box. You cut it open and get people to pull you across the parking lot or something.” My voice trailed off. As a child I’d seen kids playing in vacant lots and behind the Chinese grocery, but I didn’t like the idea of getting wet and dirty.

Becky guffawed a long time, snorting. “A box? You musta lived in New York too long!”

“Why? What do you go sledding with?” I asked crossly, turning off the stove and pouring hot water into my teacup amid a cloud of steam.

“A sled, silly! C’mon! It’ll be fun. But I ain’t wearin’ no dress; I don’t care what ya say!”

I stirred in a spoonful of bitter green
matcha
powder. “Becky. You’re kidding, right? The only thing I can see of my car is a corner of the side mirror. It’ll take a crane to unearth it!”

“Shucks! Tim’ll come git ya. His truck’s got chains!”

“Chains? Like to strap a snowplow on top? It’s not going to work—hear me? Even Kevin told me to stay put!”

“So if we git there, you’ll come? Adam’s goin’.” I could almost hear her waggle her eyebrows.

Oh no. I sighed and dropped my head into my hand. “Maybe that’s good. Maybe I can talk to him afterward and tell him.”

“About the job? Shucks, he already knows! Everybody knows! Reckon ya figgered out that news travels fast, ain’t ya? Adam’s tickled pink.”

“No, about …” I put down my spoon. “Okay. Yes. I’ll go. I just need to talk to Adam afterward.”

“Aw, we can arrange that,” said Becky with a telltale laugh in her voice. “How much time ya want? Four hours? Five?”

“I think thirty minutes’ll probably do it,” I said so softly Becky probably didn’t even hear me.

An hour later I stood on top of a hill at Mary Baldwin College, arms crossed against the wind, while Tim and Becky tried to convince me to sit on this wooden thing called a sled. Adam and Todd stomped through drifts at the bottom of the hill in coats and boots, hauling a second sled to the top. People scattered across the vast hillside, laughing and gazing up into gray clouds, which had broken into glowing chunks like bright marble. A faint hint of sun sifted through among the spitting flurries.

“Why are we here again?” I hugged myself, shivering. Tim had made it to Crawford Manor, all right. Right before the snowplows did. Scooting his pickup through snowy roads to something by Hank Williams, spinning dirty white under his snow tires.

“This is where ev’rybody comes. Look around! It’s the best hill in town!”

I didn’t budge. Christie pulled on her leash excitedly, and Becky let her snuffle around in the snow, tail wagging. She snorted with delight as flakes fell all around her, open-mouthed in a laugh, straining to trot down the hill.
Et tu, Brute?
I scowled.

“C’mon!” Becky rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a baby, Shah-loh!”

“Todd ain’t twelve yet an’ he’s been doin’ it fer years!” Tim grinned at me, poking my shoulder. “I thought you was a tough gal!”

I glared at Tim and his shaggy mullet, which hung out from under a blaze-orange hunting cap so bright it hurt my eyes. “Do you really think this is a safe sport? If it
is
a sport? Do they have it in the Olympics?”

“Don’t tell me you ain’t never been sleddin’ before, Yankee!” he guffawed.

“Of course I haven’t.”

Everybody stared at me—including Todd, who mounted the hill and dropped the sled, ears and cheeks red under his blue wool hat. “Yer serious?”

Adam grinned. Snowflakes stuck in the lock of hair that hung over his forehead, and he looked funny. Adorably so. I turned my eyes away and stared down at the hill again, trying not to think about him any more than I had to.

“I don’t see any medics,” I said, my voice coming out quivery. “Is this legal?”

I’d never seen Adam roll his eyes before, but he did. He thrust a sled at me and pointed. “Sit. Like this.” He set his sled down on the smooth spread of white and sat down, feet in front, gloved hands gripping the sides. “It’s no big deal, Shiloh. You can do this. Come on—I’ll race you!”

I threw my hands up in surrender and awkwardly straddled the sled in my snowy boots and pink ski pants, gripping the rope loop at the front. Todd and Tim held my sled steady while I reluctantly sat down.

“I don’t know about this. What if I break something? Is Mary Baldwin going to reimburse me?”

I flexed my gloved fingers, their soft, woolly pattern smiling back at me in pink, blue, and gray snowflakes. A pity I’d probably never see them again—crumpled with my lifeless form in the snow at the bottom of the hill.

“Haven’t you read
Ethan Frome?
You know what happened to him, right?” I turned to Becky to describe in mangled detail, but I didn’t finish my sentence because Tim shoved me down the hill. The wind sucked the rest of my words out of my mouth, and I felt myself sliding, shifting, and then breaking into a fast rush of wind and smooth snow.

Adam’s dark coat zigzagged across my bumpy vision, getting smaller and smaller. My stomach leaped into my throat, then my mouth, and back again. I felt lighter than air … wind whistling around my face … hat fell off … and then suddenly it slowed.

I lurched to a stop and crumpled sideways into a soft pile of snow.

Christie barked at me, far-off, from the top of the hill.

I’m alive. I’m …
I flexed my surprisingly unscathed arms and legs, looking up at dark forms of trees, spindly with winter, stretching into the gray sky. Falling snowflakes kissing my cheeks with tiny, frozen lips.

I’d just started to get to my feet, reaching for the half-buried sled in a drift of rough, powdery snow, when a pair of boots appeared by my head and a gloved hand reached down for mine.

“You okay?”

“I survived.” I reached out as he helped me to my feet.

“You survived? Come on, Shiloh. You liked it! Your eyes are shining!” Adam grinned at me. He wiped some snow off my forehead then dusted off my hat and put it back on my head. A snowflake caught in his eyelash, and he blinked it away as he adjusted my hat. The color of his eyes matched the ridge of trees in the distance, a sort of smoky gray-blue.

“Okay. I liked it a little. Maybe.”

“Whatever.” His gloved fingers brushed my cheek as he pushed my hair back, and I didn’t pull away. “So are you going to sue the college now?”

“Depends on how the next round goes. You never know what could happen.”

You never know what could happen.
Neither of us moved. Our breath misted, and I felt my heart speed suddenly, flooding my cheeks with heat.

Our faces came so close I could smell his aftershave-sweater-truck scent, and for an instant I thought he might kiss me. I caught my breath, my footing in the deep snow feeling unsteady, and he reached out to catch me.

O
ur fingers laced together briefly as he helped me into a tramped-down area where my boots found a bit of traction.

But then Adam let my hand go. He took a step back and scooped up a snowball. And
threw
it at me!
Of all the …!
It splatted on my shoulder, a handful of moist white.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I scooped up my own and hurled it at him. He ducked, and it sailed over his head. Adam laughed and started carrying his sled back up the hill, glancing back over his shoulder with a wave.

I put my hands on my hips then finally grabbed my sled and marched after him through the smooth drifts, scooping up another snowball with my free hand.

We neared the top laughing, red-faced. My hair hung in damp strings. I’d lost one glove, and when Adam finally found it, I could barely move my stiff fingers to stuff it on. My feet had frozen inside my boots.

On top of that, Adam baffled me. I’d never seen him so relaxed, so … cheerful. Wasn’t he all business and no fun? Stuffy, nondating prude who rarely cracked a smile?

And why, why did he have to smile at me like this now, right before I broke the news?

“Listen. I … uh … need to talk to you about something. After this.” I sniffled in the cold wind.

“Becky told me. I’m so happy for you.” He reached over to brush a snowy strand of my hair back under my hat as we crowned the hill.

I stumbled in a drift, Adam’s smile suddenly locking into place. My job. Staunton. Staying.
He thinks I’m staying so we can …

Oh no. Oh noooo… . I covered my face with my hands, everything around me spinning in a white and gray blur.

“What? Isn’t that what you wanted to tell me?”

Tim hollered something, waving for the sled, and Adam grabbed my sled and trotted the rest of the way up the slope, leaving me mucking through the snow a few paces behind.

“You goin’ again?” Tim punched my arm, shattering the poignant moment like a broken halo. “Scaredy-cat?”

“I guess.” I took wiggly Christie from Todd. “Since there’s nothing else to do around here except freeze.”

I did go again. And again. So many times I lost count. I raced Becky, NASCAR-style, while Tim played commentator: “Here they go fer the final lap! Jacobs in the lead headin’ toward the pit, and oops, there she goes, folks, off the track!” The others cheered us on from the top, waving and shouting.

Zooming faster and faster, learning the pull of the sled and how to lean right or forward to change directions. The exhilaration of going over bumps and being, for a few short, dazzling seconds, airborne.

Becky snuggled in Tim’s arms, lips purple. “Coffee, everybody?”

“Coffee.” I breathed it out like a sigh, imagining the steaming cup. Cradling snowy Christie to my cheek to feel her warm breath.

“Hot chocolate?” Todd raised a hand. “Please? I hate coffee.”

“No Starbucks.” I rubbed my hands together, hardly believing my own words. “I’ve seen enough of it for a while.”

“I’ll see what we can do.” Becky shook the snow off her knitted hat and whacked Todd with it playfully. “Hey, squirt, why don’tcha ride with us over ta the coffee shop?”