The wipers’ frenetic back-and-forth struggled to keep the windshield clear of falling snow. The engine coughed, a croupy-seal-bark sound.
She raised her foot off the accelerator.
A gut-clenching grinding noise shook the cab, confirming her fear.
Forget reaching the Oregon coast tonight. The truck wasn’t going to survive the drive over Mount Hood.
Stranded in a snowstorm with her three-year-old son.
Shivers racked her body, a mix of panic, fear and bone-chilling cold. The heater had stopped working an hour ago. Her fleece jacket and knit gloves weren’t enough to keep her warm.
Grace pressed on the gas pedal, praying for a miracle. She glanced in the rearview mirror to the backseat of the truck’s extended cab.
Liam slept in his car seat with his head on a blue stuffed elephant named Peanut, and his body covered with sleeping bags and blankets.
A ball of warmth settled at the center of Grace’s chest. Liam—the one bright light in her otherwise dark life. The reason she kept going. “I hope you’re having sweet dreams, baby.”
Because reality sucked.
Except when you were a little kid and trusted your mom to keep you safe.
And she would keep him safe. That was her job. Though she was failing at being a good mommy tonight.
Liam must be exhausted. It was nearly eleven o’clock, hours past his bedtime, and they’d spent another long day on the road, their progress hampered by harsh winter weather.
“Looks like Astoria will have to wait one more day.”
Her voice trembled from the cold, disappointment, fear.
If only we were there now.
The small northern Oregon coastal town, about a three-hour drive from Mount Hood, would be their home. She could make a new life for herself, and most especially, Liam.
With only one working headlight, Grace struggled to see the road due to the wind-driven snow.
The engine clanked and rattled and thunked.
She needed to find a place to stay the night before the truck gave out. She glimpsed something, a pole. No, a sign.
Grace made out the words Hood Hamlet. An arrow pointed right.
She had no idea what Hood Hamlet was—she assumed not a Shakespeare character in a hoodie—but anything had to be better than being stuck on the side of the road in this freezing weather all night. She flipped on the blinker, even though no one else was crazy enough to be driving in these conditions, and turned right.
Deep snow. A foot more than was on the highway. No tracks.
The truck plowed ahead, slowed by the road conditions and her nerves. The snow muffled the sounds of the tire chains, but the disturbing engine noises increased in frequency and volume.
Not good.
White-knuckled, she clutched the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline.
Hood Hamlet, please don’t let me down.
The snow and darkness, pitch-black except for the one headlight, made seeing more than a foot or two ahead impossible.
She leaned forward, squinting, trying to see.
The windshield fogged on the inside. Frost built up on the outside.
A T in the road lay ahead. But no sign to direct her, nothing to let her know she was close to Hood Hamlet.
Right or left?
Grace chose right. That turn seemed easier to negotiate with the road conditions. She eased the steering wheel toward the passenger’s side.
The truck skidded, sliding sideward.
Air rushed from her lungs. Her fingers dug into the steering wheel. “No. No. No.”
Turn into the slide.
Hadn’t Damon told her that when she was learning to drive? Wait. That was for front-wheel drive cars, not his truck.
She turned the steering wheel the other way.
The truck straightened.
Grace glanced back at Liam, who was still sleeping. “Maybe our luck’s changing.”
The truck slid again.
She tried to correct, but the vehicle spun in the opposite direction. Round and round, like a merry-go-round with afterburners.
Her pulse accelerated into the stratosphere.
The world passed by in slow motion, appearing through the windshield wipers like blurry photographs.
Trees. Snow. More snow.
Round and round.
Grace couldn’t tell what was real, what was her imagination. The roar of her heartbeat drowned out the music.
It’ll be okay, babe.
Damon. Tears stung her eyes at the memory of his voice. Nothing had been okay since he’d died.
A wall of snow appeared in front of her.
Every muscle in her body tensed. Panic ricocheted through her. Grace closed her eyes. She screamed, clutched the steering wheel with all her strength. If only she could hold on to Liam...
“Damon, help us.”
A prayer. A plea.
The truck jolted with an awful metallic, crumpling sound. Something exploded, hitting her in the face. A horrible smell filled her nostrils. “Oh.”
The engine died.
Liam wailed.
Adrenaline surged. Her face stung. She coughed. “Liam.”
He screamed louder. The soul-piercing sound stole her breath and her hope.
Hands shaking, she struggled with her seat belt. The air bag had deflated and lay on her lap. She had to get to her son. “Be right there, baby.”
He sobbed, alternating between hiccups and cries, each stabbing her aching heart. “P-nut. Where P-nut?”
“I’ll find him.” Grace unfastened the belt, turned, reached back. Her face burned. It hurt to breathe. She couldn’t see anything, but felt around. “Fleece blanket, cookies, jacket. Peanut has to be here.”
She hit the switch on the cab lamp above her.
Light flooded the truck. The engine might not work, but thankfully, the battery still did.
Crocodile tears
