Page 2 of Let it Snow Queen
“I tell you what,” he mumbled. “It ain’t big enough to whup a cat in, but it’s plum warm.”
All I could do was stare at him blankly. I wondered if my mamaw or my late papaw would have understood Fish Fry and his mountain speak. I nodded blankly, padding up the creaky cabin stairs. I clutched my backpack and went inside what would be my home for the next few weeks. It was old but homey. A soot-covered fireplace sat in the middle of the room next to a small kitchen. There looked to be only one bedroom.
“Thank you, sir. What’s the Wi-Fi password?”
His answering laugh was answer enough. No one mentioned a lack of internet. Or the fact that the only convenience store was a mile down the mountain. I silently thanked god that my period wouldn’t start until I made it back to Georgia, if it even came at all with my birth control implant doing its thing. Not that I’d be having sex with anyone in the middle of dead ass nowhere . . .
“Plenty of beans and cornmeal in the pantry. Come on down the mountain and get stocked up before the snow comes.” FishFry’s crinkled eyes turned toward the frosty sky as he walked back onto the porch.
I slumped my backpack on the floor, not knowing if I had heard him correctly. “Oh, sir, I checked the radar before I came. There won’t be snow for another month at least.”
“It always snows fer Christmas in Hope Falls. Always has, always will. If ya need me, I’ll be up the creek and over the holler seein’ a man about a horse.” He shot me a friendly wink before disappearing down the mountain in his truck.
“Seeing a man about a horse?” I scratched my head. Thankfully, I’d been camping with my dads so many times over the years that I knew how to start a fire. This wasn’t camping, but it was pretty damn close. The lights worked, sort of, and the oven and appliances were from the nineteen-sixties. Within an hour, I had a fire going, candles lit, and a bowl of beans warming in a pot over the blaze. The cold air whistled through the cracks in the windowpanes as the land grew dark. Loneliness hollowed my throat. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been so truly alone. My upbringing was . . . unconventional. I loved it. I envied it and wanted it for myself and for Declan. I may have craved silence in moments of agitation, but a huge part of me adored the chaos of my large family. It was like having my best friends and support system always around me. But maybe I’d grown dependent on them. Maybe I’d thought the way they were was the way everyone was—good, kind, loving, loyal.
I thought my ex was those things.
I was really,reallywrong.
21 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS
By day two, I’d logged a dozen plants and officially grown tired of pinto beans. To my luck, I found Old Man Fish Fryfishing, believe it or not, and hitched a ride down the mountain. I was taller than him, but I was taller than everyone. I’d inherited my dad’s and papa’s height and was the only woman I knew that stood at six feet tall. That, plus my wide hips and ample breasts, always made me the largest woman in the room. I liked my body, especially how strong I was. Growing up playing baseball, I led my team to victory countless times. However, I didn’t love the attention my appearance brought me. Not like my mother seemed to with her fiery red hair and curves. She owned it, embraced it.
I tried to keep a hood on and hunch over in an effort to be smaller and less noticeable. Even still, old ladies gawked as I walked through the tiny, dirt-road town. It was like a bird’s nest in between Frasier Firs. I imagined that this place would look like a holiday Christmas card with some lights and a little sprucing up. I found a convenience store and loaded a basket with cans of soup, crackers, bread, eggs, and peanut butter. The man at the counter looked to be about my papa’s age. We introduced ourselves as he scanned my items. “You ain’t run into anyone strange up there on Hope Mountain, have ya?”
The question surprised me. I raised my eyebrows and placed my things in a canvas tote. “Um, I don’t think so. Why?”
He rubbed his gray beard, considering me skeptically. Did he think I was lying?
“Some fellas stopped by a few days ago sayin’ they were just passin’ through. Didn’t strike me as the honest, country sort. Isaw ‘em headin’ up into them woods soon as they left. Don’t seem like passin’ through to me.”
I swallowed. Just what I needed—creepy guys in the woods. When I walked outside, I waved my cell phone in the air, begging the cell service gods to grant me a phone call. Finally, I got a bar, and after a few rings, my mom answered. “Ruby Snow Queen Winslow-Gregory—”
“Mom, we don’t have enough bars to use my full name. There’s like no service out here.” Suddenly I’d forgotten why I’d called, and all I cared about was my little man. “How’s Declan? I’m really missing him.”
His laughter floated in the staticky background, causing my heart to swell. “He’s doing great, sweetie. Malcolm and Aurora are making him a banana smoothie right now, and he’s dancing in excitement. Don’t worry. How . . . are you?” she asked hesitantly. I’d walked in on her and my dad searching the internet for information and resources on bipolar disorder.How to support your bipolar childwere in big letters across the screen. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing I’d walked in on them doing. I cringed.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’ve already found like a dozen species of herbs that were unconfirmed.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Mom.”
Well, now Ihadto be okay, murderers in the woods or not. I wasn’t going to cry to my mommies that I was scared. And god, if I even mentioned “men in the woods” to my dads, they would be on a plane and here within hours.
After promising her and my dads multiple times that I had bear mace and I’d practiced with it and knew not to eat any wild mushrooms, I ended the call, thankful to be miles away. As Fish Fry cranked the engine, I climbed back into the truck with a huff.
“You’re looking as cross as an old settin’ hen.”
I assumed that meant angry. I smiled, wanting to log that phrase away for later. “Just overprotective parents, that’s all.”
He nodded, pinching a dab of tobacco and pushing it into his cheek. I actually liked the earthy smell of it. He offered me the tin, and I looked at him wide-eyed. Was this an old mountain test? I took a pinch and put it in my cheek like he did. With a nod, he looked back to the road. “Well, god only gave you two parents. Better love ‘em.”
If he only knew.
The tobacco burned my cheek. Coughing, I spat it out into the grass when he was out of sight. I pulled out my pack of American Spirits and sat on the porch steps, lighting up. Mom and Dad weren’t here to scold me, and Papa wasn’t here to join me. Silence again enveloped the space as the frigid December breeze frosted my cheeks.
20 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS