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“Maybe there’s a turnoff somewhere, an exit to a small town where we can find a hotel or a truck stop or anywhere to sit out the storm.” Squinting, I try to see out the windshield, but visibility is minimal.
“There should have been an exit two miles ago,” Mr. Steele—I meanCam—says.
“What?”
“Don’t panic. We must have made a wrong turn somewhere.”
Wrong turn? Don’t panic? I can barely see twenty feet in front of us.
I ball my hands into fists. We’re driving through near-whiteout conditions. I told Cam we should have stayed in Denver.
Did he listen? No.
I told Cam not to take a shortcut through the backroads.
Did he listen? No.
Because of the weather, rather than make our scheduled landing at Aspen/Pitkin County Airport, our flight was rerouted to Denver. While I’d arranged for a driver to transport us from the airport to the resort Cameron’s grandfather booked for the week, our unexpected detour derailed those plans.
Cam insisted we rent a car and drive to the resort and we were fortunate enough to nab the last four-wheel-drive vehicle from Rocky Mountain Rentals. In mild conditions, the drive should have taken under four hours, but not long after we got on the road, the snow started coming down. We’ve been on the road now for nearly six.
My anxiety is skyrocketing.
“So tell me,” Cam says, “what were your plans for the holidays before I roped you into playing my fake fiancée?”
He’s just trying to calm me down, and I play along because the last thing he needs is to deal with me and a panic attack. “Well, to be honest, this year I was just planning a quiet Christmas at home.”
“Alone?!”He sounds appalled, and I glare at him.
“I didn’t mean anything by that. I just…I mean…that sounds…um, lonely. Don’t you have any family?”
I let out a sigh. “Just my sister, but her boyfriend asked her to spend Christmas with his family in Indiana and I didn’t want to be a tagalong.”
“That’s it, then? Just you and your sister? Are you close?”
“We are. She’s six years younger, and I practically raised her.”
His brow quirks. “What about your parents?”
“Dad died when my sister was four, and a few years after that, my mom got sick. She struggled with cancer for years. She’d go through treatment and into remission only to have it return.”
“I’m sorry. She sounds like a tough lady.”
“She was. She worked two jobs just to make ends meet, which, combined with her illness, didn’t leave her much time or energy to raise us, so it was up to me to help out with my sister.”
Cam means well, and we do need to know things about each other, so I attempt to steer the conversation his way. “What about your family?”
“I have a few aunts, uncles, and cousins. Nobody I care to claim, except my grandfather.”
“No parents?”
“I never met my father. He knocked up my mom and died before I was born. My mom was a…she had a drug problem.”
Shocked, I turn my head sharply in his direction. I had no idea.
“I went to live with my grandparents when I was twelve. At that time, I was a punk kid with a chip on his shoulder, angry at the world—”
He’s interrupted when both our cell phones go off simultaneously with the loud, blaring sound of an emergency alert.
