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In actuality, the GPS reads I am five miles from Evergreen. Yes, but no. Fuck. Why do I hear a bellowing siren going off? I slow my speed even more. I lower my radio’s volume as if the persistent scary outdoor siren is going to give me any more wisdom than its demanding wail that’s pretty much telling me what Nonna was telling me to do miles ago— get off the road. I don’t need to die, wreck this rental Jeep, or get stranded on the shoulder of the road.
I switch to the right lane and merge onto a small exit. Exit 2b29, odd arrangement of numbers and letters. I’m not sure where this is taking me, but I trust the universe that something safe and warm can be found on the other side. Some shelter. Hell, the way this next thunderclap turns my body into a ball of stress, I’d take a sketchy gas station. The rain has relaxed, but I see an array of lighting bolts sizzle across the graying skies before me. I turn my music back up again as I reach the main road off the expressway.
There are two options, left or right. Each option is indicated by signs. On the left is a sign displaying a steamy cup of coffee. I assume that signals a coffee shop. The sign on the right shows a gas pump. Fresh coffee or lukewarm coffee? It really doesn’t matter, but my impulse is to go left. I can see myself being warmed by a real cup of Joe. And I’ll need the caffeine to hop back on the road. But as soon as I make a left, it is destined. A tree falls several feet behind me. Thud. I hear it through the cement. The car vibrates, and my heart leaps into my throat. I gag out of fear, clenching the wheel and pressing the brake lightly, but maybe I should be going faster. I scan the big beautiful trees that surround me, but they’re not so beautiful right now. No, any of them could fall, smash my front window, dent my car, or even kill me.
I should have listened to Grandma. Why did I push it? What the hell was I trying to prove to myself? This is scary. The trees are swaying,
a branch falls several feet in front of me.
“God help!” I move around it.
¨Where the hell are you, coffee cup?” I grunt aloud. I’m starting to sweat now.
Let me be protected.
Yes! I see a wooden sign. It’s carved expertly and displays the words “Side Of Road Abode.”Interesting name but no time to ponder on that. I inch further in. Rain pours down, and the Jeep shakes from the wind as yet another lighting strike scatters across the sky, wild and wide like a constellation. I quiver as I see through my rearview mirror that yet another tree has fallen behind me. Larger. Large enough to prevent me from finding a way back. Tears swell in my eyes as I have no idea if this exit has any roads that will lead me to Evergreen. Or am I stuck at whatever or wherever “Side of Road Abode”is?
The Jeep’s automatic headlights click on as soon as I spot the coffee house, which legit looks like a house. A big two-story ranch-style house with an extended attached front porch. A swinging lamp hangs above the door, and lights inside flicker on and off as if the power is bound to go out. For what it’s worth, I honk my horn once I spot a truck parked to the side. I slow my car down as I pull into a parking spot. This place has to be open, or if not, now they were prepared to be open. I was hoping for a Starbucks or some knockoff version, not a huge house turned into a coffee shop.
I spot a young boy peering out a second-floor window. He quickly vanishes as if scolded from the inside. And almost like magic, swift enough to send a shrill of shockwaves down my spine, the front door of the house swings open, and out steps a tall, muscular man.
He speeds to my car door, beckoning me out with a glare and a stern wave. I have no choice but to obey. Out of nowhere, he opens a wide umbrella. I snatch my purse as I open the Jeep’s door. With the umbrella above me, I latch my hand onto his forearm. I brace myself onto him, close to him; I smell freshly roasted coffee beans and the light presence of rain and musk.
“Come.” His command is strong, his voice low and baritone.
My response is to obey as we scurry up the stairs. He pushes the door open, sending his door’s bells into an angry clattering chime.
He huffs as I sigh. I take in the honey-colored walls and brown wooden trimmings. This place is exquisitely adorable, exceptionally clean, and smells like coffee and hazelnut.
“What are you even doing out there?”
This man sounds angry. I glance at him as he shakes out his umbrella and sets it on the floor to dry.
“I had no idea there was a storm coming. I’m coming from—“
I stop as he meets my eye. For heaven’s sake, this kind of man exists in dreamlands. What is he doing existing in real life? I try not to hawk over his bone structure, but he has a jawline only reserved for actors who played male counterparts in my grandmother’s movies.
His eyes, similar to the hue of the stormy sky, sweep along my body. As a reporter, I typically exude an aura of confidence even if I have to force myself to. Right now, I feel like a homely little girl, docile as a scared mouse as he asks me in a strict teacher voice,
“Where are you from?”
I swallow, clear my throat, swallow again and say, “Los Angeles.”
I glance at his strong hands, noting there’s no wedding ring. Why the hell am I even thinking of that when there are three thunder rumbles that sound like they’re directly above this house?
“You drove all the way from there?” There’s amusement in his question.
“No. I came from the airport, heading to Evergreen.”
“Welcome. You’re here now.”
He steps out of a pair of galoshes and slips his socked feet into black hospitality shoes.
¨Wait, I’m already in Evergreen?¨ I sure hope so.
¨Yes, this home is the farthest place east of Evergreen. I’m Joaquin.” He extends his hand.
I shake it. It’s warm and strong, and his fingers linger on the base of my wrist. It’s like he wants me to remember this.
“Nice to meet you, Joaquin. I’m Nadia. Nadia Vitale Gusev.”
His gray eyes ensnare my entire face as if searching for something that belongs to him.
I give him a sweet closed-mouth smile, but happiness doesn’t seem to come easy for him. I wonder where the small child fled to. Exactly how old is Joaquin? Is there anyone else around?
“Nice. Nice to meet you too.”
He manages to say, but it comes out like a struggle. The antique glass lanterns throughout the space flicker on and off. And there it goes. The power is now out.
