Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [37]
His jaw went rigid.
“I tried to make the best of this shitty situation, but know what? I’m done. My life would be so much easier if you were dead.”
124
Childish? Yeah. I stomped outside. Smoked my last two cigarettes and only returned inside when I couldn’t feel my feet. I dragged the sleeping bag up to Brittney’s frigid room. I’d rather be a human Popsicle than spend another minute with him.
The next morning I woke to stillness. No wind. In the absolute stillness I heard the faint beep beep of the snowplow as it cleared off the gravel road. I didn’t say anything at all as I fled the house. I put my truck in the lowest gear, busted through the snowdrifts blocking the driveway, and was on the road back to sanity. 125
The roads were still dicey. But I was so sick of being around Doug Collins I would’ve walked home. Uphill. Stark naked.
Bear Butte County snowplows cleared the main thoroughfare in my housing development, leaving a three-foot ridge blocking my driveway. I busted through it like an off-road pro. Eyeing the snowdrifts covering my porch and steps with distaste, I decided I’d deal with shoveling later. Like in the spring. All I could think about was a hot shower; dry, clean, warm pajamas; and my own soft bed.
I stripped off my filthy clothes before I stepped out of the foyer. The clock on the DVD player flashed 12:00, indicating the power had gone off here, too. Still wearing only my bra and panties, I plucked up the receiver and dialed.
126
Martinez’s greeting was: “Jesus Christ, Julie, where the fuck have you been for the last two days?”
In hell. “Aw. I missed you, too, sweetie pie.”
“Not funny.”
“Yeah, well, the past two days haven’t been a fucking yuk-fest for me either, pal. I got snowed in at the ranch with Daddy-O. So before you continue to bellow, let me say that the reason you didn’t hear from me was because my cell phone died. Oh, and lucky for me, the electricity was off in the whole damn county so the phones at the house didn’t work either. And I was fresh out of carrier pigeons to get a message to you.”
“Still not laughing, blondie.”
“Guess what? I’ve used up all my ‘meanwhile, back at the ranch’ jokes anyway.”
I think I heard him snarl.
“I’m exhausted, and I can’t stomach the thought of fighting with you, Martinez, so back off.”
“You done?”
“Yes.”
I waited, expecting he’d say something profane, but the pause lingered longer than usual.
“Look. I’m sorry you were worried.”
His anger pulsed over the phone line; I swear the receiver throbbed in my hand even after I’d apologized, which was a rare occurrence for me.
“Fine. Be an ass. I just wanted to let you know I wasn’t dead and lying in a goddamn river bottom someplace.” I hung up and stumbled to the shower. 127
I lingered under the spray until not a drop of hot water remained. I couldn’t get warm even snuggled in my super-duper thick terry-cloth robe. Wearing a towel wrapped turban-style around my head, I exited the bathroom and cranked the heater to the highest setting. When I rounded the corner to the kitchen, the front door opened.
Martinez stomped inside. He wore sunglasses and a heavy scowl. “Where’s the shovel?”
“In the back of my truck.” I started to tell him not to bother, but he’d do it anyway. The man had a weird obsession with shoveling, which made zero sense since he employed minions to do that sort of menial shit for him everywhere else he hung his leather coat. Why would he want