Chapter 46

 

 

The bus might as well have been a freezer. Foster was beginning to wish he would simply freeze to death—it would be easier than listening to Melissa’s complaints.

“There’s a foot of snow outside the door,” she whined. “How will we get out of here? And why isn’t the heater working?”

Because I totally forgot about propane. Why couldn’t the damn generator run off gasoline, like the engine? Why couldn’t just one motel have a vacancy last night? “Sweetie, just stay in bed and add another blanket. I’ll go check it out.”

It was all he could do to keep a civil tone and, for the first time in their marriage, he thought—for one brief flash of a moment—of just walking away.

Walk away? Yeah, right. He stepped off the bus and his trainers filled with snow. The legs of his jeans were instantly coated in white. Why don’t I own a pair of snow boots? Because you grew up in the South and this is the first deep snow you’ve ever seen except on TV.

They were in this together. Hell or high water—either of which would be more welcome than this white crap—he and Missy had to get through it as a team.

He walked across the parking lot where they’d spent the night and into the café, stomping snow off his feet and swatting at his pants, feeling like a fool in front of the locals who’d actually dressed properly for the weather. While a young waitress (who probably owned the perfect coat and boots) poured coffee into two Styrofoam cups and placed four donuts into a white bag, Foster checked his phone. Still no signal.

“Does this happen often here?” he asked, holding up the phone. “No phone, no internet?”

“Pretty much every storm,” she replied. He was fascinated by the way the ring in her nose wiggled when she spoke.

“So, what do I do to get a signal?” he asked.

“Nothin. It’ll come back when it comes back.”

“Crap. What’ll I do until then?”

“I know, right? You know what my mom says? ‘Read a book.’ Like that solves everything. Makes me want to scream. I tell you, the minute I save up enough I’m moving to Phoenix where they never have these problems.”

He thought of the traffic, the pollution, and the summer heat. “Sure. No problems. And the skies are not cloudy all day.”

She gave him a funny look, along with his change. He stuck the pastry bag inside his inadequate jacket and picked up the two coffees.

“Have a good one,” she said.

As if. He trudged back to the bus and nearly lost one of the coffee cups as he struggled with the door. Inside, Melissa was sitting up in bed, pillows and blankets piled all around her, scowling at her phone.

“I can’t seem to get a signal,” she said.

“It’s out all over,” he said, handing her one of the cups, then taking the donut bag out of his jacket. “Maybe this’ll warm us up a little. If you feel like getting dressed, at least there’s heat over at the café, and we can get some eggs or something. They have a TV up on the wall, so maybe we can hear a weather report and find out how long this storm’s going to last.”

But a weather report wasn’t going to solve his main problem. The ship on which he’d reserved a container was sailing in a week, and he still had to get the two of them and the bus around to four cities in three states. The weatherman couldn’t solve his problems, but at least an internet connection could put him in touch with the coast.