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Or maybe it’s Delilah Gardner’s place. She retired from city hall years ago. It could be the Minellis’. Their son was a couple of years ahead of me at Whitby High.
Whoever it is, someone must be home. I have to try it.
If no one’s home, I’ll come straight back to the bus and bunker down.
Please, someone be home.
I pull on thermal pants and a long-sleeve shirt, covering them with thick sweats, a sweater, and my coat. Wind blasts, shaking the van and nearly knocking me on my ass.
Okay then.
I remove the outerwear and sweats, add another layer of clothes over my thermals, then cover it all up again. I step into my best waterproof boots, grab my overnight bag, and head into the storm.
The icy wind sucks the breath from my lungs. Pinpricks of freezing snowflakes pelt me in the face, stinging my skin. I duck my head under the hood of my coat and trudge in the direction of the light, glancing up periodically to make sure I don’t go off course.
Halfway there, my eyes locked on the glowing bulb ahead, it winks out, as if smothered by the surrounding blackness.
A gasp flies out of my throat, creating a misty cloud of air in front of my face. I halt in my tracks.
I glance behind me, the bus obscured by the flying snow.
Keep going.I push ahead, forging through snowdrifts. This is taking forever. I must be off course.
Out of nowhere, the porch appears in front of me, as if it just erupted from the earth.
I stomp up the wooden steps and bang on the bright blue door with a gloved fist. This must be the Petersons’ place. I remember the colorful door. I came here with Dad once when he needed to borrow some kind of tool or something. I must have been a freshman in high school.
The covered porch blocks out some of the wind. I shove the hood off my head and glance around.
Only the sound of my breathing breaks the stillness. The windows are dark and silent.
Maybe no one is home. Maybe they went somewhere for the holidays. But I swear that light was on.
I glance behind me, into the night beyond. It’s only around seven, but the sky is as oppressive as the dark side of midnight.
Making my way over to the window by the front door, I peer inside. My heart leaps at the flickering light behind the curtain. What is that? A fireplace?
My stomach rumbles, an audible reminder that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
The door swings open and I spin toward the sound.
I look up. And up. Every cell in my body stands to full attention.
A hulking man looms in the doorway, holding a pillar candle in one hand. The gentle light glances over his glossy dark hair and highlights his prominent, high-bridged nose and a square jaw lined with stubble. The shape of his mouth is full with pouty lips, a contrast to the sharp angles of his jaw.
A gust of wind blows past us, into the house, knocking out the flickering candle in his hand.
“Come on in.” He steps back, motioning for me to enter.
I follow him inside.
He shuts the door and I tense.
What am I doing? I walked right into some strange man’s home without a second thought.
“The power went out.” His voice is a deep rumble that vibrates down to my toes.
“I can see that.”
