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One
Nova
“Drive to Tahoe, they say,”I mutter, squinting through the snow that is falling so rapidly the entire world has been reduced to flecks of swirling white. “It will be fun, they say.”
A gust of wind pushes my car on the icy road, and I gasp, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel as I continue driving forward.
The conditions are worse than any I’ve ever driven before.
Which isn’t hard.
I’m a California girl, born and bred—I barely survive driving in a light rain.
Snow? Ice? Sleet—
Whatissleet, anyway?
I don’t know, and I really don’t want to find out, though I’m fully aware that may be something I experience in the coming minutes.
Anyway, the point is that snow, ice, and the aforementioned sleet arewayout of my driving skill set.
And it doesn’t help that I don’t know where I’m going.
I’m used to that—to being free and loose and going off without a lick of concern to what lies on the road behind me. Moving toward the beauty and excitement infrontof me without any plan or purpose or direction.
Just forward. Always moving forward.
Only the road is usually absent of snow.
Which is somehow falling even more heavily now.
“You’re fine,” I whisper, even as I squint and clench the steering wheel tighter. I’m practically crawling along the road, inching toward my destination, and hating the feel of my tires slipping on the pavement, the tension creeping into my shoulders, the way my jaw aches from grinding my teeth so forcefully together.
Normally, I love a drive up to Tahoe.
Winding roads.
Huge conifers.
A snaking river that follows me along the side of the highway, its water broken up by fallen logs and chunks of granite in every size, from pebbles to boulders.
I love getting away from the city and into the fresh air in the summer or spring or fall.
Not the winter.
And not today when it feels like I’m running from the hounds of hell (aka the hounds of my lame, pathetic, miserable life).
“Woof!”
I blink those thoughts away—forward, alwaysforward!—and risk a look over to the passenger’s seat, where Steve is buckled into his puppy harness. Safety first for my baby boy.
“You’re okay,” I reassure him before refocusing on the road, and slowing down even further.
No one is behind me.
I can move slowly and carefully for a change, rather than headfirst into disaster.
Plus, the turnoff has to be soon and I don’t want to miss it.
