Serial Separation (9 page)

Chapter 22

The yellow arches lit up the snow,
but I could barely see my earlier footprints. The wind was driving the wet snow
into my face, making it feel like needles. I tried to pay attention to my
footing and realized that I should have worn my boots instead of shoes. The wet
snow had already soaked my shoes, and I could feel the moisture on my socks.

The walk back to the cabin gave me
some time to think about my predicament.
I was not seeing Lisa for dinner
and probably not Christmas Day either. I had little money and
. . . just
then the yellow illumination went away and the only light I had was the red
sign, which now read ‘No Vacancy.’

I was carrying the tray with both
hands when I slipped and fell on my side into the wet snow. I had no idea how I
managed to steady the tray. Fear, most likely.

I went down once more; the only
thing injured was my pride. I could see red all over my coat and pants,
reflecting off the wet snow. I must have looked like a bloody snowman in the
red light. I laughed out loud, but I think I would have rather let out a
scream.

When I stepped up to the cabin
door, I kicked the bottom and the door popped open. Mercedes looked at me,
either shocked at what she saw, or trying to see if it was me.

“Oh, my God, you were gone so long
I wondered if you could even make it back. I kept watching for you, but all I
could see was white. Let me take the tray.”

“Thanks. It was tough going.” I
stomped the snow off my shoes and took off my coat, which was almost frozen in
my shape. I stood it up beside the door.

The cabin’s warmth hit me, which
was a sharp contrast. It was a pleasant first impression, enhanced by the table
lamps. The cabin had a high ceiling of knotty pine, and the far wall was a
stone fireplace.

I hadn’t noticed the condition of
the food tray, which she had placed on the table. It was a round snowball with
two pillars. I could sense Mercedes watching my reaction to the cabin. I
finally looked over and noticed her striking image. She was now sitting up
against the headboard of the bed with her arms folded.

I guess we both reached the same
conclusion simultaneously, and we both started laughing. I realized I had left
one thing out of my earlier assessment—I wasn’t alone.

* *
*

Literally and figuratively, the ice
was broken. Mercedes jumped off the bed, rushed to the bathroom, and returned
with a towel. I wiped the melting snow from my face. She took the food tray to
the bathroom and cleaned off the ice and snow. I had my shoes and socks off by
the time she returned. My hands were pure white, since I hadn’t worn gloves.

“Scott, you’re my hero.”

We both looked at each other and
laughed at how ridiculous that statement was, but I was glad she said
something. I couldn’t think of any correct words to say, but added, “I can’t
imagine how Santa does it.”

She leaned over and opened the bag,
but what I smelled was gardenia. She picked up my shoes and socks, placed the
shoes on the heater vent, and put the socks in the bathroom.

I felt the food wrappers to see if
there was any heat coming from them, and tasted a fry . . . it was only
slightly warm. She pulled up the other chair and we dug in.

“Merced—Mercy—we were very lucky to
get this food. They were just cleaning up and were about to throw the food
away. They didn’t even charge me, but I’m not sure what he put in the bag.”

She took the contents out and we
had a total of five hamburgers and cheeseburgers. We focused on the food before
it was totally cold.

“Scott, I’m serious about your
getting us here. I still can’t believe you made it up the hill. We’re lucky to
have this place; an hour ago I would have pictured us freezing to death in the
car, maybe even off the road. My only problem is whether Santa will be able to
find us.”

I smiled; my mind went to our
sleeping arrangements. I was glad my mouth was full so I didn’t have to
respond. When I finished and washed it down, I said, “I can’t believe it
either. We should never have tried to make it to Newburyport, but I’m glad I’m
not alone.” I thought about how that sounded, but it didn’t come out as I had
intended.

She put her hand on mine, staring
at me. “Scott . . . do you know how to light a fire?”

I looked at her to try to
understand whether she was picking up on what I said.

She just smiled. “There, a fire,” she
said, pointing at the fireplace.

Chapter 23

There was a loud bang on the door.
“Jeremy—call for you downstairs.”

He rushed to the phone in the lobby
area. “Hello—this is Jeremy.”

“JJ, its Dottie.”

“Hi, honey. Are you at your parents’?”

“Yes, my dad picked me up. The
roads are very bad, and I don’t want you to try to make it. What about
tomorrow?”

“It was senseless to try this
afternoon. Some of my friends here returned shortly after they left, saying the
roads were awful. If the roads are clear tomorrow, I’ll try to make it to your
parents’. Do you want me to call when I’m leaving?”

“Yes, call me if you’re coming. For
now, we will be just staying around and shoveling out. I hope you can make it
tomorrow. I’ll just sit on the presents I got you. Did you finish your
shopping?”

“Yes, I have it all done.”

“Did you get me what I wanted?”

“What did you want?”

“I knew you weren’t paying
attention.”

He was slow responding, not knowing
what to say. “Why are you saying that?”

“Jeremy, you’ve been somewhere else
for some time now. It seemed like you had other things on your mind.”

He didn’t respond to her comment.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’m sure I’ll like
whatever you bought me.”

He knew he needed to show her more
affection. “Hon, I’ll try to make it to your parents’ tomorrow, and things will
be better. I promise.”

He noticed someone hovering around
the phone. “You can have the phone when I’m done; I’ll be a few more minutes.”

“Jeremy I think you just want to be
away from me. There, I said it, and I’m glad I did. Do you have someone else?”

“NO.”

Neither said anything for a period
of time. Then she broke the silence. “Then will you share with me what’s wrong.
You’re not the JJ I fell in love with. You’ve been acting strange, and you need
to talk with me. I’m trying to understand, but I’m confused. The best Christmas
present you could possibly give me is my Jeremy back.”

“I’ll try my best to be my old
self. I don’t have anyone else, and I love you. I’m sorry I’ve worried you, but
there’s nothing wrong between us.”

She talked about some things going
on at her parents’, and plans for New Year’s. He used the time to think about
how bad the situation had become. He loved her, and if he wasn’t careful, he
would lose her.

He thought about his scars,
wondering how to explain what happened to him and whether she would even
believe him.

If they went away over New Year’s
he had to explain things before then, or run the risk of an embarrassing
confrontation. He was only partially paying attention to her now, his mind
drifting to the murdered men.
What was the connection to the hockey league?
Why was he kidnapped and almost killed?
His thoughts were interrupted.

“Jeremy, are you listening to me?
This is what I’m talking about. One minute you’re here and the next I can’t
tell if you’re still on the line.”

“Just a minute, Dottie. Yes, you
can have the phone; I will be off in just a minute. Go ahead, hon.”

“Go ahead and what, hon? Did you
just hear me?. I want my JJ back. Merry Christmas.”

The receiver clicked in his ear,
followed by the dial tone. That emphasized the scope of the problem.

Chapter 24

The trip was a ride from hell.
Shortly, she would be at her parents’ house. She laughed. “When was hell like
this—cold, windy, snowy, and freezing rain? Who knows? Maybe we have it all
wrong.” Regardless, she was feeling lucky to have made the trip, but she never
expected it to be this bad.

How can those weather men keep
their job since they fail to predict what is going to happen? Sometimes just
looking outside will tell how wrong their predictions are. They should call
themselves the ‘whether men,’ which ties to their lame predictions.

She gripped the steering wheel with
both hands. She could barely see the road; the wipers were continually freezing
with ice. Her hand was numb from reaching out the window to snap the ice from
the wipers. She slid sideways more than she would ever tell her parents. She
even slid through intersections against the lights.

She was concerned Scott was not
going to make it either, which was why she was so worked up. The drive gave her
time to think about Scott. She was concerned that men he knew were being
killed. Her ordeal was enough for one lifetime; she could not handle another.

Not much further, but it was
getting more slippery. Her fear was the street leading from the traffic circle
up East Derry Road would be a beast. If the road was not sanded, the hill
leading to her parents’ would be a real challenge. She wished there was another
way, but, unfortunately, they lived on a hilltop. All this driving, and, with
her luck, some idiot might be blocking the road.

She knew her parents would now be
worried about her. She could taste a drink, or maybe she would have several. If
Scott is there, will he want to be close? She could always use her parents as
an excuse to prevent Scott from being with her.

A year ago, she remembered not
needing any excuse to make mad passionate love . . . she would have been the
first to say ‘to hell with my parents.’ She thought about those precious
moments, but Jimmy’s image ruined her thoughts. She could feel tears running
down her cheeks. She was having more trouble seeing the road.

She slipped around the rotary and
gave it more gas to get some speed to make it up the long hill.
Oh no, not
that
. She could see yellow lights flashing off trees. She knew it was a
snow plow coming down the hill. The plow’s bright lights created a horror
scene.

She tried not to look at the
lights, staring at the side of the road. She must have closed her eyes for a
second, hearing the truck roar past. It sounded like it hit her car, but it was
just sand being thrown against it. She was glad they missed each other, but she
quickly thanked the truck driver.

She could finally see the road
again, and there was sand covering it. Thanks to those plow guys, she felt she
could now make it up the hill.

Then it hit her . . . how was she
going to get through the snow at the end of the driveway?

She had another mile to go, giving
her time to plan her strategy. Her parents would not have had time to shovel
the end 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’?”