“Ma, just do what you’re supposed to, and you’ll be fine. Hell, you’re Irish, and stubborn, which means you’ll outlive all of us.” God, I hoped so.
I wandered into the kitchen and checked the fridge and pantry. We were running low on supplies. I’d been appalled upon arriving to discover she’d been eating mostly ready-made meals and canned food. The memory burned me up inside.
I’d stocked the kitchen with everything I could think of in order to cook her three solid meals a day, which to my relief, had improved her health.
Worry filled me. If my cooking was helping her get better, then that meant when I left, she’d get worse. My stomach churned at the thought.
Colorado’s weather was too extreme for her. She needed mild, comfortable, and safe. She needed a clean house and good food and engaging company. She needed to get back to California.
“Ma, I’m going to have to go to that convenience store.”
“In this weather? Emily, it’s awful outside.”
“Unless you want to eat dry cereal for dinner, then you’ll have to let me go.”
The oxygen tank hissed and moaned with each labored breath. “I don’t suppose we could have some wine?”
I shook my head. “Not when you’re on the tank and meds. If the weather lets up, and your breathing improves, we can talk about it.”
“Remember when we enjoyed a few drinks in the pubs when we went back to visit your grandparents? You were eighteen then.”
“Oh, God, that was crazy, drinking with Grandad,” I giggled. “He pickled himself on a daily basis.”
“Drank like a fish, my da.”
And there was that sad look on Mom’s face again—the same expression she wore when talking about Mary. Her best friend was gone, her parents were gone, and her friends back in Ardmore were all beginning to succumb to disease and old age.
Mom was lonely. Truly lonely. My tongue felt too thick to form words, but I pasted on a smile, and forced a few out. “I won’t be long if I can help it. Love you.”
“You too, sweetheart.”
Even after wrapping up in two sweaters, my mother’s massive down jacket, a scarf, and thick gloves, the wind and snow were bitterly cold. It bit and pinched at my face as I pulled the material up higher and ran for the car.
By the time I closed the door and started the engine, my teeth were chattering.
“This place is horrible,” I muttered as I struggled out of my gloves to turn on the heater, sighing in relief when a wave of warm air washed over my exposed skin.
I wasn’t going to give up trying to persuade Mom to move back to California. It was better for both of us. As I inched toward the tiny market, my worry and irritation grew exponentially. How was I supposed to live a thousand miles away and keep an eye on my mom?
By the time I walked into Wilkes Corner Store, I was like a shaken pop can ready to explode.
Chapter Three
Eli
The wind and snow roared past my window, and I was out of milk.
In truth, I was out of everything.
I had two choices, stay home and starve, or bundle up and brave the storm.
Going outside was the last thing I wanted to do, given the fact that I had only recently gotten back home. I made the decision easier, by upping the temperature on the heating so my house would be a hell of a lot warmer when I returned.
With little sunlight to power the solar panels, I had to use energy from the grid. While this was offset by the fact that the grid paid me for the energy my solar panels added to it during the summer, it still irritated me. I liked being self-supporting. It was one of the beautiful things about the Green House Project, though I wouldn’t admit that to Owen.
This winter was cold—so cold that I had used far more energy than I would have otherwise liked. And yet, I wasn’t an idiot. There was no way I would risk starting a fire and leave it to get hot while I went to buy food.
“I must be insane,” I murmured as I steeled myself to leave my house. Owen had driven me home, which meant I had to walk. Luckily, Wilkes Corner Store was a couple of minutes from my front door.
It took me closer to ten minutes to trudge through the storm, cursing the wind every time it buffeted me back. When I walked inside, I was more than surprised to find Pax behind the counter.
“What the hell are you doing here? I thought Carla took you home.” I spluttered when I entered the warmth of the building.
“You think Rachel could keep the place open in this weather? I had Carla drop me by her house, and I grabbed the keys and Rachel’s SUV.”
He looked at me pointedly. Rachel Wilkes was nearing seventy. She’d be at home instead of struggling to get to and from work.
I brushed the snow from my jacket. The flakes floated around me like a mini indoor storm.
“She needs to get regular staff in here.”
“I think she will. This winter has shaken her up. The poor thing nearly fell on the ice yesterday.”
“That’s not good. Where was the ice? I thought the roads had been salted?”
“In front of her house. I salted it for her this morning, but it’ll be frozen over again by now.”
“You’re right. Please tell me you’re going to get yourself home soon. It’s rotten outside.”
He looked at the store’s clock. “I’m closing at six. You’re lucky you came by when you did. I wanted to stay open for those that planned poorly.” He gave me a knowing look.
“Yes, I definitely consider having to go through this storm on foot to buy food, so I don’t starve, lucky.”
Though Pax was usually pretty quiet around people, he was fairly outspoken with his family. As outspoken as Pax could be, which wasn’t saying much.
I left my brother to walk up and down the aisles to find everything I needed along with anything else that struck me as a good idea to pick up in case Wilkes’ stayed closed for a few days. I grabbed canned tomatoes and other vegetables. Ultra-heat-treated, long shelf-life milk. Chocolate. Beer. It was about the time my shopping cart became full of more food and drink than I could carry back that I distinctly regretted not taking Owen up on his offer to stop when I’d been in his truck.
“You’re such an idiot,” I grumbled as I walked past an unfamiliar woman investigating the small selection of fresh fruit and vegetables.
“Excuse me?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, I apologize.” I tried to keep my tone indifferent. “I was talking to myself.”
“Do that often?” she asked before returning her gaze to a pair of sad-looking potatoes. “What’s with this damn place? No fruits or vegetables. People talk to themselves. The weather is the worst.”
“I’d like to point out that you’re doing exactly the same thing.” Going by the woman’s Irish accent, I could only assume she was in some way related to old Judy Flanagan.
“Excuse me?”
“You say that a lot.”
“And you seem to enjoy interrupting my thoughts.”
“Only pointing out the facts.” I reached over her and grabbed the last onion, tossing it into my basket and moving forward.
“I was going to take that,” she called after me.