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She turned to him. “I can take care of it,” she repeated. He tried to hold her eyes, to penetrate her mask. Her face remained impassive, clinical, even. Dammit.
Every second of this falsehood put a mile between them. All Grant needed was a moment with her. A brush of her hand against his, a softening of her face as he caught her eye. Something that said he hadn’t imagined the past four days, or at least, the past twenty-four hours.
Instead, she headed toward the bedroom, and away from him. From all of us, he told himself. Just to get her stuff. He imagined her folding her clothes into her bag, tucking her toothbrush into a side pocket, stripping the bed.
He itched to help her, but he knew it would be suspicious if he did. But why? Surely any two decent people trapped by a blizzard would have connected somewhat, and that connection could be safely witnessed by other people. Right?
Connection, yes, but not intimacy. If he went near her now, he’d pull her close and never let her go. He’d breathe in her scent, kiss her cheek, stroke her hair, tell her everything would be all right. That they would make it through this confusion.
And that wouldn’t do at all.
There were too many doubts. Could he call her? Could they see one another outside of this place? Did she never want to see him again? The thought gave him pause. She said he could call her, right? Yes, but she’s skittish as a deer. For all you know, she’s imagining a knife to her throat.
As he thought about it, he figured that was exactly how she felt. She was on autopilot right now. She was doing what needed to be done, and that was all. His gut twisted. But wondering about her with acid churning in his stomach wasn’t doing him any good, so he marched into the kitchen and grabbed clean dishes from the drainer.
Melinda emerged from the bedroom just then, and they stared at one another. An ocean of unspoken words rolled between them. Could she feel his yearning?
She looked exactly as she had the night they’d met—duffel bag slung from her shoulder, black puffy coat zipped to her chin, scarf looped around her neck. Maybe there was more fatigue around her eyes. More strain at the mouth, a different set to her shoulders. Dammit, dammit, dammit. All he wanted was to hold her.
“Melinda...please,” he said quietly and reached out a hand.
Melinda’s eyes cut to him but she said nothing.
“Please, won’t you talk to me?”
At that moment Paul and Melisa walked into the kitchen and the mood shattered.
“Did you find everything?” asked Paul.
“I got it all,” she said, her eyes still on Grant. It was a message, and his heart swelled with gratitude for her even as it burst with pain.
“All right, then. Let’s get you out of here,” said Melisa.
And Melinda turned on her heel and left.
~
The air was crisp, and the vastness of the snow blinding, but Melinda could almost see the sun in the bleached sky. There it was, an ultra-white pinprick beyond the haze of clouds tracking her steps to the waiting SUV. She hadn’t been out front in two days.
“I’ll move Grant’s groceries into his truck,” said Melisa. She lifted a brown paper bag from the back of the Land Cruiser and took it to the enormous silver Dodge with its equally massive yellow plow. There’s the appendage. Melinda didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile, not even internally. How could she? There was no joy left.
Then Melisa was back and standing outside the open driver’s door.
“Ready?” she asked. “You can put your bag in the back seat if you’d like.”
This time, Melinda did laugh, but it was cynical and short. A laugh of despairing familiarity—was it only a handful of days ago that she was having the same conversation with an enormous, handsome stranger? It was a laugh of being near tears. Fat chance. She was heartless and empty.
Melinda extracted her phone from her bag and dropped the duffel in the back seat.
“Do you have a charger?”
“Sure,” Melisa replied, scooting into the driver’s seat. She handed the charger to Melinda and started the car. As Melinda plugged it in, a small icon appeared on the phone to indicate that it would need a long charge. You and me both.
“How are the roads?” asked Melinda.
“Not bad,” Melisa said as they pulled out. Melinda watched the cabin disappear in her door’s side mirror. “Everything’s been plowed, which is a blessing. The snow stopped last night and we got on the road first thing this morning. It took a while to coordinate with Grant’s guy, though.”
Trees blurred past Melinda’s window. After days of stillness and solitude, speed was a foreign language.
