A Trip to Remember

By Meg Harding

Colin wants to spend the Christmas holiday with his family, but a blizzard settles in and his flight is cancelled. Unwilling to accept this, he strikes out on his own and crashes his car. Where he ends up might be better than where he was going, though.

Logan was content to wait out the blizzard and spend the holiday alone, but when a frozen-solid Colin ends up on his doorstep, he’s not going to turn him away. He takes him in and shows him Christmas spent with a stranger really doesn’t have to be awkward after all.

T
HE
CITY
was blanketed in snow. The roads were slick with it; the cars parked along the side nothing more than large lumps of white. Snowflakes continued to fall from the sky in an endless stream, buffeted about by a not-so-gentle wind.

A blow-up Santa went sailing down the street, borne away on a particularly strong gust. Candy canes lawn ornaments barely poked through the snow. The flickering of lights could hardly be seen through the thick veil of white.

It was the picture of winter; Christmas spirit in all of its glory.

Colin hated it.

A blizzard, the lady from the airport had called to say. No flights were coming in, and none were departing. “I’m sorry, sir,” she’d said. “We can call to let you know when flights resume.”

He then made the mistake of asking when she thought that would be.

“Not for another three days, at least,” she’d said. “It’s a bad storm.”

It might have been rude, after all the weather certainly wasn’t her fault, but he’d hung up then. Three days. In three days it would be the day after Christmas, and he’d have missed the holiday.

He peeked out his window at the sea of white, cursing it up and down. The lights in his living room flickered. “No,” he pleaded, “no, no.” The lights went out, and his fan slowly wound to a stop. He banged his head against the window and then did it again for good measure.

After letting the blinds fall shut, he retreated to his bedroom, shedding his clothes along the way. It was six in the morning; he’d get some sleep, and maybe when he woke up the snow would have miraculously stopped, and he’d have power again.

He wasn’t holding his breath.

Lying down in his cool sheets (which would soon be
very
cool indeed as the heating ceased to work), he found he was unable to sleep. All he could focus on was what a disaster this was. He didn’t want to spend Christmas alone. He wanted to spend it with his family at their fancy ski cabin in the mountains, where he could relax and see people he hadn’t seen since the Christmas before.

Did the weather not know how much it was inconveniencing him?

Out of habit he unlocked his phone and clicked on the Safari app. He was greeted with a “Service Not Available” page. Right, no power meant no Internet, which also meant no phone.

Disgusted, he tossed it to the side and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. What was he going to do?

He turned to his side, then to his other side. He flopped to his back and stared up at the ceiling. He wondered if his roof would cave in under the pressure of all the snow. Would his insurance cover that?

Sleeping was clearly not going to happen. He rolled out of bed, stooping to pick up his shirt from where he’d discarded it by the door. He pulled it on, then a couple feet later bent over to pick up the sweater he’d been wearing over it. He grabbed his pants that he’d left at the end of the hallway and finished getting dressed.

It was already starting to get cold in the house.

He got his coat from where it hung next to the door. He tugged it on. He contemplated going back to his room to get a scarf and maybe some gloves; his hands were starting to get cold.

Shoving his hand into his coat pocket, he felt his car keys. He ran the sharp edge of the key over his thumb and chewed on his bottom lip a bit.

It would be crazy. No one was driving in this weather.

Hand still in his pocket, he backtracked to his room and grabbed a scarf and some gloves. He wrapped the scarf around his neck, making sure to knot it just right. He tugged his left glove on, stuck the right in his other pocket. He hunted down a beanie, one of those ridiculous ones with all the fur and earflaps, and put it on.

Walking back out to the living room, he stuffed his feet into his boots by the door and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his suitcase.

When he stepped out of his door, his feet sank right into the snow. He grimaced as his pant legs grew wet, his legs feeling like they were encased in ice. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so cold.

His car was buried under the snow. He left his bag near the door and grabbed the shovel that he stored for just such occasions.

Colin was grateful for the early hour, glad that none of his neighbors would be awake to witness the crazy man shoveling snow from his car in the middle of a horrible blizzard. Once he’d unburied his tires, he checked the snow chains, finding them in good condition and ready for use.

He put the shovel back by his door and his suitcase in the passenger seat.

He carefully pulled away from the curb, thinking to himself that this was a ridiculously stupid thing to do.

C
OLIN
SOMETIMES
dreamed about being able to drive without anyone else on the road. In his dreams the roads were deserted, and he was driving a Jaguar, going 150 kilometers an hour with the windows down and the sun shining as he sang along to the radio. This wasn’t like his dreams. It was more like a nightmare.

There wasn’t one car out on the roads, but there was enough snow on the street to fill the tallest building in Toronto. He never got to go over fifteen kilometers an hour. He was so tense by the time he exited the city and made it into the countryside that he was worried he wouldn’t be able to turn his head soon.

He was experimenting with rolling the crick out of his neck when he didn’t see the icy patch and drove right over it. His car went spinning, and his stomach dropped to somewhere around his feet. He was concerned his heart might burst. He tried to steer his car out of the spin, but there was too much ice and snow, and it just wasn’t happening.

He careened off the side of the road, his car coming to a shuddering and jolting halt in the ditch. His airbag helpfully popped, slamming right into his face. He groaned as pain burst in his nose. He clasped his hands to the sore, bloody appendage and shoved the burst airbag out of his way.

Blood was leaking down his face, slicking his hand. Tentatively, he examined his nose, trying to verify it wasn’t broken. He wasn’t entirely sure how he could tell, but if he was going by pain levels, it was a definite possibility. His eyes were watering fiercely, tears leaking from the corner to trail down his cheek.

“Fuck,” he groaned. It came out nasally. He scowled as he tasted blood on his lips.

Without much of a choice, he climbed from the car and tugged his suitcase out after him. The blood had made its way onto his shirt. He was pretty sure he looked a sight.

It was unbelievably cold out, and he shook from it, his skin pebbling beneath his three layers. He already couldn’t feel his nose.

“Not my day,” he muttered, slamming the car door shut behind him. The entire front end was dented, and his phone didn’t have signal, so he had one option. He left the car there.

He could go back the way he came, walking for who knew how long, knowing there was absolutely nothing in that direction, or he could walk in the direction he’d been headed and hope there was something closer than a million kilometers away.

He walked in the direction he’d been headed.

As he walked he imagined the headlines. “Man Found Frozen on Road in Toronto.” “Human Icicle.” “Moron Walks in Blizzard.”

After about five minutes, the teeth chattering got so bad that he bit his tongue. The taste of copper bloomed in his mouth. When he tried to mutter a curse, his lips were so numb it came out slurred.

Colin was 99 percent sure that this was going to be how he died.

An undeterminable amount of time later, when Colin couldn’t feel any part of his body and was ready to keel over in the snow, he found a driveway. It took everything in him not to collapse to his knees. He trudged up it, walking and walking and walking. Why did people have to make such long driveways?

Eventually the house came into view. It was a huge country home, and he could see the frozen lake stretching out behind it, a small boat resting on the bank. There weren’t any cars in the driveway.

Please be home. Oh God, please.

If no one was home, he was going to break and enter. He gave not one damn.

He beat weakly at the front door before noticing the doorbell and switching to that. He heard the barking behind the door, loud and obnoxious and deep. The door swung open a minute later.

He’d like to say he made it into the house on his own two feet, but that’d be a lie.

H
E
ACHED
.
He ached something awful, from his head to his toes. It hurt to crack open his eyelids. He wondered if he’d dreamed finding the house, if he was passed out in the snow, but surely then he wouldn’t feel so warm and comfortable.

Colin opened his eyes. He was in a large living room with warm walls and a hot fire crackling in the fireplace that he was lying in front of. He was wrapped tight in blankets and a comforter with his head resting on a fluffy pillow. A large German shepherd lay a few feet from him, staring intently at him with perked ears. Its tongue was lolling from the corner of its mouth.

He shut his eyes, then opened them again. He ran his hands over the blanket as he felt the tingle in the tips of his fingers from the sensation returning.

A tan hand wrapped firmly around a large mug appeared in his vision. It was emitting the most delicious of scents.

“Hot chocolate with a shot of whisky,” said a quiet voice.

Colin followed the hand up till he could see the man’s face. He had stormy gray eyes with just a hint of blue and blond hair that had veins of silver running through it. His face wasn’t deeply lined, though, and Colin wouldn’t have believed him to be a day over forty. He was looking down at Colin with deep concern in his eyes, a wrinkle scrunched across his forehead.

Wriggling a hand from the mass of blankets he was wrapped in, Colin accepted the mug and drew it to his lips. He took a tentative sip, groaning as the flavor burst over his tongue. Greedily, he took several more.

“Woah there,” said the man. “Not so fast. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Reluctantly Colin moved the mug away from his mouth, but he kept his hand wrapped firmly around it, relishing the warm feeling on his palm.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and raw sounding. He coughed, trying to clear it. “Where am I?” It came out better, but only by a little.

He sat down by Colin, in his line of sight, so Colin didn’t have to crick his neck painfully to see him. He left a space between his legs, his knees bent, and the dog came to lie between them, propping its head on its daintily crossed front paws. The man scratched behind the dog’s ears.

“A little ways outside of Toronto. You passed out on my doorstep.” His expression wasn’t looking so concerned anymore. Instead he was starting to look a little angry. “What were you thinking, trying to walk around in the middle of a blizzard?”

“Wasn’t trying to walk,” said Colin, closing his eyes. “Wrecked my car.”

“Are you an idiot?” demanded the man. “It’s a blizzard,” he said, as if Colin hadn’t grasped that fact yet.

Colin kept his eyes closed. He didn’t know what to say. It had been an idiotic decision. He couldn’t really defend himself. “My plane was cancelled,” he said. “I didn’t have another option.”

The man scoffed. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. Colin heard a deep sigh. “You’re going to have to stay here till the storm stops, and you can call a service to come get your car. How bad is it?”

Colin opened his eyes at that. “Christmas is in two days. I can’t stay here.”

“By all means, go back out into the storm. That worked so well for you the first time.” He sounded exasperated, but his voice was laced with an undercurrent of concern.

Colin didn’t think the man could sound more sarcastic if he tried. Clearly he didn’t mind the idea of having a stranger in his house. He couldn’t meet his gaze. He focused on the ceiling. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t think of what else to say. “I’m supposed to see my family.”

“Join the club,” he said, sounding not at all sympathetic. The dog stood and trotted off, the man got up, clapping a hand down on Colin’s shoulder, gripping tight in reassurance for a moment. “It looks like we’ll be spending Christmas together. I’m sure your family will still be there when it’s over. Now, let’s get you up and move you to the couch. How are you feeling?”

“Like I was in a car accident and then got hit by a truck,” answered Colin. He didn’t want to move, he felt so comfortable on the floor.