The snow seems to be lightening, anyway.
I brace myself as I step onto the curb, away from the warmth of the truck, offering a quick thanks to Noah before beelining toward the inn.
The tow truck lumbers down the street.
I pull at the door handle of the inn.
It doesn’t open.
Wait. He said it was unlocked. Maybe it’s just a heavy door, and the wind is buffeting against it. I tug again, harder. Then again, with all my strength.
It doesn’t budge.
Shit. Is there some trick here?
I spin around. “Wait!” I wave my hands in the air, but the tow truck is already down the block, obscured by the falling snow.
Shit shit shit.
I face the door again, glancing around for another idea.
Maybe I should have had him wait, or I should have gone with him . . . no. It will be okay. It’s unlocked. I keep trying to open it, then I try knocking.
This is fine. It’s all fine. No problem.
What about the attorney? Maybe I’ll try calling Mr. Montgomery again.
I reach for my purse and find empty air.
I pat my side more, searching. I always wear my purse strapped across my body with the pouch to the left.
It’s not there.
I blink through the snow lacing my lashes, like maybe I can see with my eyes what I can’t feel with my hands, but . . .
It’s not there.
Just when I think I’ve reached the end of this shit sandwich, I find out there’s a whole new layer of excrement.
Did I leave it in the tow truck? What if it fell out of the car back where I broke down?
The snow sputtering down from the sky suddenly picks up in intensity, blanketing the street and obscuring the view.
I have nothing on me except the coat on my back. I left my bad and my purse in the truck. How could I let this happen?
Pockets. Maybe I put something in my pockets.
I rip off one of my gloves with my teeth and plunge my hand into my pocket.
An old tissue, a penny, a hair clip, and the mini pumpkin.
Literally nothing that could help me in any way, shape, or form.
I pull my glove back on and bang harder on the door.
My breath comes quicker, puffs of steam rising from my mouth like a physical manifestation of my impending meltdown.
I cup my hands around my eyes to peer through the dark window. My teeth chatter.
