Shock registers first, and then a flood of feelings overwhelm me. What is he doing here? How did he just appear out of nowhere like that? I thought he was gone, why is he here? My eyes widen and he continues to stare, his hands still on my waist. Then the memory of that night comes back and the shock is replaced with anger. Hot anger. With my shopping bags hanging on my arms, I place my hands against his chest and push as hard as I can. He doesn’t go very far, which somehow frustrates me more, but he takes a step back. His eyes widen in surprise.
“Don’t touch me!” I hiss and turn on my heel.
“London wait!” he calls out but I’m already across the street. The Taxi driver opens the door for me and I jump in all too eagerly, throwing my bags in first. As the car pulls away from the curb, I glance at the street corner where Brian is. He’s running a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. He turns and heads the opposite direction and I lose sight of him as the Taxi turns the corner.
I catch the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. I guess that he’s in his fifty’s; with a salt and pepper moustache and a smile that reaches his eyes. “You should forgive him, you know,” he says and I look away. “Life is too short dear.”
I bite my lip and continue to stare out of the window. I don’t say much - I’m still trying to calm down from all the emotions I had just gone through in less than ten seconds. The ride is short, but I pay the man generously and thank him for his kind words.
Once inside the house, I collapse on the couch and Bronx comes striding over, placing his head on my lap. I sigh. “Some retail therapy that turned out to be,” I mutter and he groans, looking up at me questioningly. I stand up. “Ready for some dinner?”
He stands, moving his head in what looks like a nod and I laugh. Oh, Bronx. My one constant in life.
I’m glad that I’m back on the slopes the next day; the events from yesterday have me eager for the distraction of work. However, there’s a nasty chill in the air this morning that bites at my cheeks and the weather conditions have the resort empty aside from a few skiers and snowboarders. I’m disappointed to learn that all my day groups have cancelled on me, leaving me to help out instead at the Gondola lifts. By afternoon, dark clouds have rolled in and the wind has picked up.
“Nasty weather today,” Christian remarks over the howling wind as he helps a young man place his snowboard in the slot connected to the Gondola. There’s a line up now for the Gondola heading back down to the main entrances; the few people that had actually come are now leaving early.
“Yeah, hopefully it doesn’t last all week,” I reply as I let the next group of people through. There’s a crackling noise as the intercom comes to life and a man’s voice comes through who I recognize as the resort manager.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he says in a calm voice. “Due to the forecasted snowstorm warning, Sunshine Village will be closing our ski lifts for the rest of the day for your safety. The visibility has continued to decrease and is posing a potential danger for everyone, including the staff and volunteers. We apologize for the inconvenience. Please see the ticket booth to receive a free voucher for your next visit.”
I admit I am a little disappointed. The day has barely started and I was looking forward to doing a few runs myself. Though as Christian and I help the last of the people through, my face is numb and I’m thankful to be going home to a warm, comfy bed.
-
I push at the burning logs in the fireplace with a metal poker and the fire crackles to life. I’m in sweats, a hoody, and thick socks at home with Bronx sitting in front of the fire, thawing from the weather outside. It’s gone from bad to worse; I can hear the wind howling from inside the house and the snow is coming down so hard I could barely see across the front yard. It’s only about five o’clock in the evening but the skies are dark and the sun is hidden behind black clouds. I have a nicely marinated and seasoned roast beef slowly roasting in the oven for the long night ahead and a few movies on Pay-Per-View.
I sit cross legged on my comfy plush couch with about ten pillows and a large duvet surrounding me, a glass of wine on the table beside two burning scented candles. I’m absolutely relaxed and I take it in, switching on the TV to an episode of Friends. However, the show is interrupted a few minutes later with local news about the road conditions in town and on the highways.
“It’s bad out there, folks,” the overly enthusiastic news anchor announces. She’s grinning from ear to ear, and I can’t help but giggle because it’s completely the opposite mood of what she’s announcing. “A delivery truck has crashed in a Banff neighborhood, taking down an electrical pole and leaving quite a large chunk of the neighborhood with no electricity and no heat. In this clip, we see the residents of these houses being picked up by other neighbours or…”
I let her voice trail off as I stand to my feet when the street name is shown on the screen. That’s my street. I saunter off to the window and gasp when I see that the houses across the street from me are all completely dark. I can barely see through the gusting snow, but glimpse a few neighbours who are now climbing into cars and driving off. Mrs. Benson and her boys from across the street and a few doors down are carrying backpacks and trekking through their front yard towards a waiting car. I pull on a pair of Uggs and a parka and brave through the cold and snow outside.
“Mrs. Benson!” I cry out, running across the street to her, eyes squinted against the blowing white flakes.
“London, dear! You better get back into your house. You’re lucky your side of the street runs on a different electrical wire!” she says, yelling against the wind.
“Mrs. Benson, do you guys have a place to stay?” I ask, concerned. “I can always offer you my home.”
“Oh, you sweet girl, thank you,” she replies, voice straining against the wind. She’s a petite Portugese woman, a single mom with three boy and a generous heart. When she found out I lived on my own, she sent me a basketful of Portugese pastries and still does from time to time. “But, we’re on our way back to the bakery. Thankfully, we’ve left the upstairs as an emergency place to stay with beds and the like. So we’ll be fine, honey. That part of town wasn’t hit and the boys are quite excited to have a full night’s access to every pastry they want.”
I grin at her. “Well aren’t they lucky! Alright Mrs. Benson, you all stay safe!”
“Thank you again for the kind gesture. Head on back in, this weather is frightening!”
My door nearly flies off its hinges but I manage to make it safely back inside my warm, comfy home. I stomp the snow off of my boots and have just taken my parka off when the doorbell rings. It must be one of the neighbours needing a place to stay. I figure that I can take as many as I can; perhaps a dozen people and my heart swells with sympathy for everyone whose house was hit. I open the door smiling, ready to take whoever it is out of the cold and my heart immediately drops. My smile is gone.
He’s standing there, shivering and rocking back and forth on each foot, hands to his mouth and staring up at me with impossible blue eyes. His cheeks are flushed and, for a second, I feel sympathy. Then I’m suddenly taken back to that night and I can feel my face go rigid. I glare at him and Bronx lets out a bark from the living room. I shut the door in his face but the second I do, guilt and pity fill me.
The nerve of him! Coming here looking for a place to stay. Not in a million years. Oh, but I can’t just leave him out there. He’ll freeze. He has nowhere to go. But he’s such an asshole. Then again, he saved your life. Oh yeah, and he saved your dog’s life too. Uggghhhh. My thoughts are battling with each other and I can’t stand it. I hear the howling wind outside which has picked up momentum for a quick second. I close my eyes and sigh. If anything happened to him because I was too selfish…
I open the door. I can just barely make a figure at the end of the walkway and I call out his name.
