film.
She grabbed her phone like it was a comforter but saw there was no signal. The sight of those five empty bars of signal made her feel even more worried, even more isolated and alone. For the first time since up and leaving her life behind, Emily began to feel like she’d made a terribly stupid decision.
She got out of the car and shivered as the cold, snowy air bit at her flesh. She walked around to the trunk and took a look at the engine, not knowing what exactly she was even looking for.
Just then, she heard the rumbling of a truck. Her heart leapt with relief as she squinted into the distance and just about made out two headlights trundling along the road toward her. She began waving her arms, flagging the truck down as it approached.
Luckily, it pulled over, drawing to a halt just behind her car, sputtering exhaust fumes into the cold air, its harsh lights illuminating the falling snowflakes.
The driver’s door creaked as it swung open, and two heavily booted feet crunched down into the snow. Emily could only see the silhouette of the person before her and had a sudden horrible panic that she’d flagged down the local murderer.
“Got yourself in a bad situation, have you?” she heard an old man’s raspy voice say.
Emily rubbed her arms, feeling the goosebumps beneath her shirt, trying to stop herself from shivering – but relieved it was an old man.
“Yes, I don’t know what happened,” she said. “It started making strange noises then just stopped.”
The man stepped closer, his face finally revealed by the lights of his truck. He was very old, with wiry white hair on his wrinkled face. His eyes were dark but sparkling with curiosity as he took in the sight of Emily, then the car.
“Don’t know how it happened?” he asked, laughing under his breath. “I’ll tell you how it happened. That car there is nothing more than a heap of junk. I’m surprised you even managed to drive it anywhere in the first place! Doesn’t look like you’ve taken any care over it, then you decide to take it out in the snow?”
Emily wasn’t in the mood to be mocked, especially since she knew the old man was right.
“Actually, I’ve come all the way from New York. It’s held out fine for eight hours,” she replied, failing to keep the dryness out of her tone.
The old man whistled under his breath. “New York? Well, I never… What brings you all this way?”
Emily didn’t feel like divulging her story, so she just simply replied, “I’m heading to Sunset Harbor.”
The man didn’t question her further. Emily stood there watching him, her fingers quickly becoming numb as she waited for him to offer some kind of assistance. But he seemed more interested in pacing around her rusty old car, kicking its tires with the toe of his boot, flecking off the paint with a thumbnail, tutting and shaking his head. He opened the hood and examined the engine for a long, long time, muttering occasionally under his breath.
“So?” Emily said finally, exasperated by his slowness. “What’s wrong with it?”
He looked up from the trunk, almost surprised, as though he’d forgotten she was even there, and scratched his head. “It’s busted.”
“I know that,” Emily said, testily. “But can you do anything to fix it?”
“Oh no,” the man replied, chuckling. “Not a thing.”
Emily felt like screaming. The lack of food and the tiredness caused by the long drive were starting to affect her, making her close to the edge of tears. All she wanted was to get to the house so she could sleep.
“What am I going to do?” she said, feeling desperate.
“Well, you’ve got a couple of options,” the old man replied. “Walk to the mechanic’s, which is a mile or so that way.” He pointed the way she’d come with one of his stubby, wrinkled fingers. “Or I could tow you to wherever it was you were heading.”
“You would do that?” Emily said, surprised by his kindness, something she wasn’t used to experiencing having lived in New York for so long.
“Of course,” the man replied. “I’m not about to leave you out here at midnight in a snowstorm. Heard it was going to get worse in the next hour. Where is it exactly you’re heading towards?”
Emily was overwhelmed with gratitude. “West Street. Number Fifteen.”
The man cocked his head to the side with curiosity. “Fifteen West Street? That old, beat-up house?”
“Yes,” Emily replied. “It belongs to my family. I needed to spend some quiet time to myself.”
The old man shook his head. “I can’t leave you at that place. The house is falling apart. I doubt it’s even watertight. Why don’t you come back to mine? We live above the convenience store, me and my wife, Bertha. We’d be happy to have a guest.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Emily said. “But really I just want to be by myself at the moment. So if you could tow me to West Street I would really appreciate it.”
The old man regarded her for a moment, then finally relented. “All right, missy. If you insist.”
Emily felt a sense of relief as he got back in his truck and drove it in front of hers. She watched as he removed a thick rope from his trunk and tied their two vehicles together.
“Want to ride with me?” he asked. “At the very least I have heat.”
Emily smiled thinly but shook her head. “I’d prefer to – ”
“Be alone,” the old man finished with her. “I get it. I get it.”
Emily got back into her car, wondering what kind of impression she had made on the old man. He must be thinking she was a little mad, turning up underprepared and underdressed at midnight as a snowstorm was about to descend, demanding to be taken to a beat-up, abandoned house so she could be completely alone.
The truck ahead of her rumbled to life and she felt the pull as her car began to be towed. She sat back and glanced out the window as they moved off.
The road that carried her the last couple of miles ran beside the national park on one side and the ocean on the other. Through the darkness and a curtain of falling snow, Emily could see the ocean and the waves crashing against the rocks. Then the ocean disappeared from sight as they headed into the town, past hotels and motels, boat tour companies and golf courses, through the more built up areas, though for Emily it was hardly built up at all compared to New York.
Then they were turning onto West Street and Emily’s heart lurched as they passed the grand red brick, ivy-covered house on the corner. It looked exactly the same as it had the last time she’d been here, twenty years earlier. She passed the blue house, the yellow house, the white house, and then she bit her lip, knowing the next house would be hers, the gray stone house.
As it appeared before her, Emily was struck by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. The last time she’d been here she was fifteen years old, her body raging with hormones at the prospect of a summer romance. She’d never had one, but remembering the thrill of possibility hit her like a wave.
The truck pulled to a stop, and Emily’s car did too.
