couldn’t help wondering if these South Dakotans were pulling her leg.
“I don’t suppose you have a spare set of chains I could purchase, do you?”
The two men looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Harold would have some up at the Texaco,” said red shirt. “Only he shut down at noon.”
“Good set of snow tires might do,” said blue shirt. “You guys have snow tires on that Mustang, do you?”
Dixie was beginning to regret she’d even stopped. Ten minutes wasted here would’ve taken her ten miles farther south. But the snow snaking across the road in hypnotic waves had started her nodding off.
“No snow tires,” Dixie admitted. Her tires were the best for driving through mud and sand. This time, she’d have to trust them on ice.
The waitress reappeared from the kitchen, to-go bags already turning dark where grease from the fries seeped through. At home, Dixie dosed up on salad greens every day to compensate for the junk food she couldn’t avoid on trips. She dropped some bills on the counter when the waitress presented the check, then eyed the loose button and ruined stockings, dropped another bill, and told the girl to keep the change.
“Watertown’s about a hundred and fifty miles,” red shirt said. “You might make that before dark, if the storm doesn’t close the road south.”
The clock above the counter said twelve thirty-five. Even poking along at fifty, Dixie could make Watertown in three hours. “What time does the sun go to bed around here?”
Red shirt scratched his unshaven jaw. “Four, four-thirty, this time of year. Earlier, maybe, with this storm.”
“Sisseton’s only a hundred miles,” the waitress said. “In case the road gets really bad, you might want to stop there. It’s only three miles off the interstate, and they’ll have a room. Emma Sparks will be sure to stay open for late travelers.” She smiled encouragingly. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks,” Dixie said. “I hope you don’t have to work through yours.”
“No, but thanks for asking. We close at one.”
“I was lucky, then, to get here when I did.” Dixie waved at the two men. “Cheers!”
“You guys take care,” blue shirt said.
The elderly couple were still staring, as if Dixie’d walked in naked. Pulling the door shut behind her, she shivered at the shock of frigid wind and started back toward the Mustang.
Her leather boot soles hit a slick of ice. Without warning the sidewalk zipped out from under her. She whumped down on concrete, jarring her spine, tailbone to teeth. Bags and thermos scooted away as tears of pain welled in her eyes.
“Damn! How did it get so fucking cold so damn fast?”
During the few minutes she’d spent in the diner, the sidewalk had iced over. The cold pierced her light jacket as if it were cheesecloth.
Groaning under her breath, Dixie struggled to her knees and clamped a gloved hand around the thermos, thwarting the gust that threatened to roll it into the street. She clutched it to her chest, scooped up the bags, then stretched a hand to a windowsill to pull herself to her feet. The Mustang was only twenty paces away, but looked like a mile.
Head down, she moved off the sidewalk onto the snow-covered dirt and, testing her footing with every step, foughtthe wind back toward the car. She couldn’t recall ever being so cold. Why the hell did people live with such weather? She wanted to holler back into the diner, tell all those folks to come on down to Texas where a body can breathe without freezing her pipes.
When she finally ducked into the car and shut the fierce wind outside, Dixie fought down a shock of trembling that was only partially due to the cold. She couldn’t help wondering if she was courting disaster to try to drive in the coming storm. Stalling out anywhere along the highway would likely mean freezing to death.
She considered taking the room the waitress had said was available here at the diner. But in the backseat of the Mustang,
“I don’t suppose you have a spare set of chains I could purchase, do you?”
The two men looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Harold would have some up at the Texaco,” said red shirt. “Only he shut down at noon.”
“Good set of snow tires might do,” said blue shirt. “You guys have snow tires on that Mustang, do you?”
Dixie was beginning to regret she’d even stopped. Ten minutes wasted here would’ve taken her ten miles farther south. But the snow snaking across the road in hypnotic waves had started her nodding off.
“No snow tires,” Dixie admitted. Her tires were the best for driving through mud and sand. This time, she’d have to trust them on ice.
The waitress reappeared from the kitchen, to-go bags already turning dark where grease from the fries seeped through. At home, Dixie dosed up on salad greens every day to compensate for the junk food she couldn’t avoid on trips. She dropped some bills on the counter when the waitress presented the check, then eyed the loose button and ruined stockings, dropped another bill, and told the girl to keep the change.
“Watertown’s about a hundred and fifty miles,” red shirt said. “You might make that before dark, if the storm doesn’t close the road south.”
The clock above the counter said twelve thirty-five. Even poking along at fifty, Dixie could make Watertown in three hours. “What time does the sun go to bed around here?”
Red shirt scratched his unshaven jaw. “Four, four-thirty, this time of year. Earlier, maybe, with this storm.”
“Sisseton’s only a hundred miles,” the waitress said. “In case the road gets really bad, you might want to stop there. It’s only three miles off the interstate, and they’ll have a room. Emma Sparks will be sure to stay open for late travelers.” She smiled encouragingly. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks,” Dixie said. “I hope you don’t have to work through yours.”
“No, but thanks for asking. We close at one.”
“I was lucky, then, to get here when I did.” Dixie waved at the two men. “Cheers!”
“You guys take care,” blue shirt said.
The elderly couple were still staring, as if Dixie’d walked in naked. Pulling the door shut behind her, she shivered at the shock of frigid wind and started back toward the Mustang.
Her leather boot soles hit a slick of ice. Without warning the sidewalk zipped out from under her. She whumped down on concrete, jarring her spine, tailbone to teeth. Bags and thermos scooted away as tears of pain welled in her eyes.
“Damn! How did it get so fucking cold so damn fast?”
During the few minutes she’d spent in the diner, the sidewalk had iced over. The cold pierced her light jacket as if it were cheesecloth.
Groaning under her breath, Dixie struggled to her knees and clamped a gloved hand around the thermos, thwarting the gust that threatened to roll it into the street. She clutched it to her chest, scooped up the bags, then stretched a hand to a windowsill to pull herself to her feet. The Mustang was only twenty paces away, but looked like a mile.
Head down, she moved off the sidewalk onto the snow-covered dirt and, testing her footing with every step, foughtthe wind back toward the car. She couldn’t recall ever being so cold. Why the hell did people live with such weather? She wanted to holler back into the diner, tell all those folks to come on down to Texas where a body can breathe without freezing her pipes.
When she finally ducked into the car and shut the fierce wind outside, Dixie fought down a shock of trembling that was only partially due to the cold. She couldn’t help wondering if she was courting disaster to try to drive in the coming storm. Stalling out anywhere along the highway would likely mean freezing to death.
She considered taking the room the waitress had said was available here at the diner. But in the backseat of the Mustang,
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