Chapter 1

I pulled my car up the long driveway and parked it beside another, a small late-model Detroit number -- one of Sarah’s clients I figured.

I was right. She was sitting at the table in our bay window, across from my wife and nursing mug of coffee. She hadn’t noticed me, but I got a good look at her. She was blond -- a true, natural blond of the sort you don’t see too often these days, with eyebrows and eyelashes the same golden color as her middle-of-her-back length hair. Her eyes were clear blue and she looked like one of the skiers from Sweden or Finland you see on the winter Olympics.

From the fridge I yanked a bottle of Molson’s, cracked the cap and carried it with me to my den. There I slipped off my tie, draped it across my desk chair, sat and powered up my laptop.

I heard conversation from the kitchen, then the sound of a door and a motor starting. Sarah stormed into my den. “Well -- that wasn’t very friendly of you. You didn’t say a word.”

“Is she a client?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact she is.”

“Is she the one you’re doing that sectional sofa for?”

“Yes -- not that it matters. Client or not she’s a guest in our house. I would expect you to treat her as one.”

“I would for anyone but her.” I took a swallow of Molson’s. “She’s an evil woman, Sarah.”

“You know her?”

“Andrea Hagen? Of course I know her.”

“Andrea Drummond,” Sarah corrected me.

“Hagen is her maiden name ... Her parents are from Finland. So, she ended up marrying Ben Drummond,” I mused and took another swig of Molson’s. “You don’t have the advantage of knowing all the local personalities, being from away.”

“How can you say she’s evil?” Sarah asked. “She seemed pleasant enough to me.”

“Andrea was my steady girlfriend during high school -- my junior year ... she was a sophomore. We met over the summer at a church day camp my parents forced me into attending. We hit it off ... about the only thing that made the summer tolerable I thought at the time. It wasn’t until later I learned she had a reputation. She’s what the kids my age called a ‘Rita.’”

“What’s that?”

“A slut.”

“So, prudish you objected to her reputation?”

I gave Sarah a stony stare. “No. That wouldn’t have bothered me. It did explain a lot later, though.” I drained the bottle. “Her family moved into town the spring before. I heard the guys buzzing about her, but I thought it only had to do with her beauty. She was by far the prettiest girl at school, and I see she’s kept her looks.”

“So, what happened?” Sarah asked.

I leaned back and locked my fingers behind my head. “We were pretty hot and heavy. Most of it was at her instigation. We did a lot of necking -- she seemed eager to take it further than I was willing to go. I had her bra off a couple of times, but I never touched her below the waist.”

“How ... responsible of you.”

“I’ll thank you not to sneer,” I replied. “I didn’t want to take it further for a number of reasons ... my upbringing, the fact I had plans after high school ... and, my inexperience. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.”

Sarah snorted. “It’s never stopped you since I’ve known you.”

I ignored her remark. “I invited her to the Junior Prom. We did the whole thing ... Tux, prom dress, dinner at Webster’s ... I think Andrea expected it to be the Big Night. When it wasn’t -- well, she dumped me in a rather abrupt manner.”

“Oh, you poor boy. And ever since you’ve held that against her.”

“No -- that wouldn’t have bothered me, either. You see, right around prom time, Andrea found herself pregnant. She had been fooling around on the side. I heard rumors later that she and Dodd Hudson had been seen sneaking into store rooms during study hall, when they were supposed to be at the library.”

“So, you’re still pissed-off at her that she cheated on you.”

I sighed. “No, even THAT wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“Then, what DID bother you?”

“If you’ll let me finish my story...” Sarah folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. “What bothered me was she tried to blame ME for the pregnancy.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped. “You mean...”

“There was no physical way I could be father to her child. No effin’ way. Like I said I never touched her below the belt.”

“Why would she?”

“Because around finals time, Dodd went to prison ... for dealing drugs. Andrea and I were known to have been an item around prom time. It was pretty easy for her to convince the community gossips -- who were sitting around and counting on their fingers -- what she claimed happened was true.”

“That IS evil ... What happened to the child? She only mentioned herself and her husband.”

“The whole thing became moot when she miscarried some time over the summer.”

“Miscarried? She didn’t have some ... help?”

“I doubt it. Her family went to the same Bible-thumping church I got dragged to. If she had had an abortion, it would’ve been all over town; and I never heard a word except that she miscarried ... much to the relief of everyone, not the least myself.

“She kept herself scarce over the summer, and the following school year I went out of my way to avoid her. She had become a pariah -- the nice boys wouldn’t come near her and the nasty ones only wanted to score with her. By the winter semester she had rehabilitated herself somewhat. But, even so, I had my revenge.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Like I said, she had rehabilitated her reputation somewhat. She was popular with the other girls ... the ones that mattered ... the clique that gets things done like homecoming and prom. Andrea was on Junior Prom decoration committee and elected chairman. At the time she had started dating Evan Evans...”

“Evan Evans? You mean parents in this burg are cruel enough to name a kid that?”

“More than cruel enough. Evan was one of those kids who were destined for either Death Row or the priesthood. No middle of the road for him. A week before prom, Evan was caught vandalizing school property and expelled.”

“Nice bunch you hung around with,” Sara interjected.

“Do you want to hear my story or not?” Sarah gave me a stony stare. “I do believe I have risen above my high-school peers. Ben Drummond and I were the only ones who went to college and ended up with white-collar jobs ... instead of working in the Mill.” I drained my Molson’s and set the empty on my desk. “I’m a bit surprised that she married Ben. He was the class dweeb, though I hear he did well at college. He probably makes more than I do -- and she probably married him for his money. So -- you may add ‘gold digger’ to her already impressive résumé.”

“I have never heard this sort of ... venom from you before.”

“I want to make sure you know your customer. Anyway ... Andrea -- chair of the Prom Decorating committee -- found herself without a date. This is a pretty insular town, as you must’ve gathered. Prom dates were a seller’s market, and by the time prom came ‘round there wasn’t any inventory of eligible guys ... at least, not guys any girl would be caught dead with. Of course, by then I had blown off Junior Prom. It wasn’t MY prom, after all -- I was a senior. Andrea sent out diplomatic feelers through her friends that she would accept my invitation. I was accosted by some of the Clique, imploring me to PLEASE let by-gones be by- gones and invite Andrea. I was having nothing to do with it. So, Andrea had to go to HER prom stag ... or doe, or whatever it is they call it when a girl goes dateless.”

“Or, sit home alone,” Sarah added. “Congratulations. You must’ve felt like a real big man.”

“Like they say, revenge is a dish best served cold. It was a cold prom night. Besides, the way I figured it she was reaping what she had sown.”

“How Old Testament of you.”

“What would YOU have done in my position?”

“I don’t know ... maybe had some pity on her.”

“Pity on someone who came within a hair’s breadth of ruining you life? My parents were preparing for a shotgun wedding ... and for disowning me. I think to this day my mom believes I indeed made Andrea pregnant. So, don’t expect me to be nicey-nice to Andrea Hagen ... or Drummond or whatever the hell she calls herself these days.”

“Does that mean you’ll refuse to deliver the sofa to her tomorrow?”

“TOMORROW? It’s not half done!”

“It will be by morning -- if I work on it all night. Andrea needs it by next weekend and when will be another opportunity to take it to her before then?”

“I’ll deliver it. You do know there’s a winter storm watch posted for tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yes -- that’s why I want to get it done tonight so you can deliver it and be back before the storm hits. Come on, let’s have some dinner. Then I have to get to work.”

After dinner Sarah headed for her workshop in the barn in back of the house. We had bought the house with the notion of making a workshop for her upholstering business. I had agreed to be her deliveryman -- and to help her with her business, so long as I didn’t have to sew anything. To date she hadn’t taken on so much work to make it obtrusive.

I went to bed alone. I have no idea how late it was when Sarah wrapped thing up in the shop. When morning came she was asleep beside me.

I headed to the shop to survey the situation. The five- piece sectional was finished, done in a soft, brown leather with a fifties-style tuck-and-roll treatment -- it looked like it belonged in an Edsel instead of a living room. Sarah did nice work -- I had to admit that.

I headed to the back of the barn to fire up the engine in my truck. It was a 20-year-old short, straight-bed delivery truck with a lift gate, just under the size and weight requirements so I could drive it without an endorsement on my license.

The truck came alive on the third try. I backed it out and drove it around to the front of the barn and left it idling while I took care of the cargo.

Sarah walked in while I was encasing each piece in its own cocoon of shrink-wrap and securing it with tape. “Here’s the address,” she said.

“Just put it in the cab.”

“I found it on the map. I can show you.”

“I grew up here,” I replied while pushing one of the pieces onto the lift... “I know my way around.”

Once all the pieces were loaded I pulled shut the barn door and looked at the sky. The storm watch had been upgraded to a warning. Snow was expected to start around noon.

I climbed into the cab and looked at the address. It was on the other side of the county -- a half-hour’s drive at least. Putting the truck in gear and easing up on the clutch I headed down the driveway and onto the road.

It hadn’t been ten minutes before the flurries started. By the time I was nearing my destination it was snowing in earnest and the roads were becoming greasy. I flipped on the wipers and craned my neck looking for the country road leading to Andrea’s house. I couldn’t find it.

Maybe I should’ve looked at Sarah’s map, I thought to myself while reaching for the cell phone. I knew if I called for directions I’d get a lecture about planning trips before setting out. My hand grabbed empty space, and I realized I must’ve forgotten to bring it. Oh, well, I figured, I’ll find it...

When I reached the millpond I knew I had gone too far, so I turned around and backtracked. A good inch of snow had fallen, and it was coming down heavier, now.

I stopped, rolled down my window and asked a woman visiting her mailbox for directions. She pointed; I nodded, and I was on my way again. I reached the turn-off and realized why I had missed it the first time. The signpost had been knocked over.

The sky was darkening from the increasing clouds. I looked at the address Sarah had left for me -- brown house on the left. I squinted through the snow and glimpsed what I thought looked like the ass end of Andrea’s compact car; so I pulled into the driveway. Then I nosed into a parking spot and swung the back end of the truck around so it faced the house.

I hopped out of the cab, trudged through an inch and a half of the white stuff, rang the bell and rapped on the door.

Andrea opened the door and stepped onto the porch. She was wearing a knit turtleneck and jeans. Her blond hair was tied in a ponytail. “Come in,” she said. “You know -- I was a bit surprised to see you yesterday.”

“Not nearly as surprised as I was to see you,” I replied.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Just tell me where you want it,” I replied testily. “I’ll bring it in and be on my way.”

“Come in,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll show you.” She led me through the house to an empty family room in back with patio doors and a fireplace. “Right here.”

“I can’t bring it through the house,” I replied. “Can we open the patio door?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I’ll start bringing the pieces.”

I headed back to the truck, lowered the lift gate and rolled up the overhead door. Then I began pushing the pieces onto the lift.

The snow was intensifying and the sky darkening still. Then there was a flash and a boom.

I carried the first piece to her patio and pushed it through the door.

“Did you hear the thunder?” Andrea asked me.

“Of course I did. I was outside. I’ll get the other pieces.”

I brought the second and third units of the sofa and pushed them into her living room. There were more flashes and more thunder.

When the last two pieces were on the ground I rolled down the tambour and folded up the lift gate. Then I carried them, one at a time, to her patio and pushed them inside.

I kicked as much snow off my shoes as I could. My pant legs were wet halfway up my calves.

“It’s been years since we had thunder snow,” Andrea said. She began positioning the pieces and tearing off the plastic.

“Hey,” I said, “save that. We can re-use it.”

“Ever thrifty as always,” Andrea replied.

“Every piece we can reuse is a piece that doesn’t end up in a landfill,” I replied.

Andrea nodded. “That makes sense.” She found a pair of scissors, carefully cut the tape, unwrapped each section and handed me the plastic to fold. “Help me move them into place,” she said.

“Look -- I really want to be going. The roads are bad enough and getting worse by the minute.”

“I’m sorry -- how selfish of me.”

“I don’t know what arrangements you and Sarah made, but she didn’t give me any instructions. You can settle up with her.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be going, then.” No sooner had I said the words when there was a loud crack and a flash. Andrea screamed and the lights went out.

I looked outside and saw what had happened. Lightning had struck a large tree and knocked it over, bringing down the overhead wires feeding power to the house. The tree trunk was split in two and a large piece had landed a couple of feet from my truck. The rest of it lay across the driveway.

“It figures,” I said and headed toward the door. I turned to her. “Does Ben have a chainsaw?” I asked.

“In the garage. It isn’t locked.”

I headed to the detached garage and found the chainsaw; I picked it up and then I approached the tree.

“WAIT!” Andrea shrieked.

I turned back and saw her standing, arms folded across her chest. “What?”

“That wire is probably still energized. Stay away from it.”

“I had just come to the same conclusion. Let’s phone the power company.”

We went inside. “The phone’s dead,” Andrea said.

“Probably fed from that same pole,” I replied. “Do you have a cell?”

She handed it to me. “The battery’s dead. I just put it in the charger this morning.”

“Great ... I have an auto adapter in my truck.” I carried the phone to the cab and discovered the connector wouldn’t fit.

“Now what do we do?” Andrea asked.

“We wait for someone to drive by and flag them down,” I replied. I headed for the road, giving the downed power line a respectable distance.

There I stood, with the snow falling at a rate of a couple inches per hour and with more thunder and lightning in the distance. With this sort of a storm comes an eerie quiet, with only the odd thunderclap as the main cell moved away. There was no traffic.

Andrea approached me. “You’d better come inside,” she said. “The weather radio went off. They said a snow emergency’s been declared. They’re only plowing the main roads. They’re expecting two to three feet, followed by strong winds. It could be a day or two before they come out here.”

I trudged into the house.

“I’m scared,” Andrea said. “How are we going to survive two or three days without power? It’s going to get colder and colder...”

“Let’s take inventory of our assets,” I replied. “What sort of heat do you have?”

“Oil.”

“Without electricity, the furnace won’t run,” I replied. “Don’t you have a generator?”

“I spoke to Ben about it but he thinks we don’t need one. Of course -- HE’s not the one left in the cold and dark.”

“What about the stove?”

“LP gas -- but I don’t know how full the tanks are. We shouldn’t try heating the house that way.”

“It’d be dangerous,” I agreed and nodded toward the fireplace. “What about that?”

“We never use it.”

I crouched down, stuck my head into the hearth, flipped open the damper, looked up and saw daylight. “The flue’s clear,” I said.

“We don’t have any firewood,” Andrea replied.

“What about that stack of pallets along side the garage?”

“Those are Ben’s,” she replied.

“Would he mind if we used them?”

“For firewood?” she asked.