Snowed In & Falling Hard

Chapter 1

Eden

The insistent vibration of my phone shocks me from my thoughts, and I jerk my chin away from my cupped hand. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. I've been lost in thought for far too long, staring at the blinking cursor of my computer for the past hour or so.

I turn over my phone to check the time, halting the alarm mid-buzz. Time is slipping away from me. I must hurry – I only have a few more minutes to catch the bus, or I’ll be walking home. I stretch my arms above my head, rubbing my hand across my forehead.

I shut down my computer with a heavy sigh, dreading the cramped bus commute. “The rain isn’t going to make this any easier,” I mutter as I look outside at the steady downpour. I need to leave quickly to beat the number of people vying for a ride.

Gathering my things, I can’t help but think how impossible it’s been to make ends meet lately. Living in the city is expensive. My rent is increasing again, and my other bills keep mounting, yet my income can't keep pace.

 As I turn to leave, I glimpse all the upcoming deadlines written in red on my calendar. I’m under constant pressure, and I frequently doubt my ability to deliver. But hey, what else can you expect in the life of a journalist?

The crushing weight of my self-disappointment threatens to overwhelm me. My career just hasn’t taken off the way I’d hoped. All the articles I’ve written don’t seem to resonate with our readers. I need to pitch a story that will knock my boss out of his socks. 

Otherwise, I might as well polish my resume and look for another career.

My gloomy thoughts are interrupted by a call from an unknown number. 

“Hello, Eden Rivers speaking,” I say, attempting to sound cheery.

"Ms. Rivers, it's Officer Martinez from the Elm Ridge Police Department," a gentle voice says.

My chest tightens as an uneasy feeling rises sharply within me.  "I regret to inform you that your Aunt Clara has passed away. We found your name listed as her next of kin."

Everything goes silent as his words penetrate my shocked brain. 

Aunt Clara gone? But I just spoke to her yesterday.

 I halt in my tracks and almost sink to the floor, barely registering the chatter of my co-workers. 

Grief crashes over me as I process the news. Aunt Clara has been like a mother to me. Even though she didn’t have kids of her own, she generously took me in after my parents died. She bandaged my scrapes, nursed my broken spirits, and raised me with wholehearted love and support. 

Officer Martinez continues slowly. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of such news, but you need to come home and take care of her estate. She didn’t have much, but in her will, she left everything to you."

His kindness soothes my anguish slightly. "Clara brought joy to this whole town. Everyone will miss her." 

When he hesitantly mentions funds being raised by the community for her funeral service, I can’t help but feel touched by their care for the woman who had been my whole world.

I continue to answer the officer's questions numbly, still in shock. Though haunted by worries over work and money, I know I must get to Elm Ridge and honor the woman who gave me everything. 

I thank him and end the call, my eyes flitting around the room with tears, wondering what to do next. Aunt Clara was everything to me, but who knows if my boss will see it that way. Taking a deep breath, I steal a second to tug at my blazer and tuck my curly brown hair behind my ear. Then I pivot and enter my editor's glass office, dreading the conversation ahead. 

"Time off?" John sighs when I share the information I just received. "You know the news doesn’t stop. Deadlines don’t wait, and I need all hands on deck. I can't just allow you to leave for days on end."

Panic rises in my chest. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but I didn’t expect him to flat-out deny my request. 

How can I not be there for my aunt’s funeral? 

"Please, it's a family emergency. I'll work remotely and submit my articles on time. I promise. I just need a few days," I practically beg. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, considering. An idea sparks in my brain. "I have a week of vacation saved. Let me use it now instead."

Reluctantly, John agrees but warns me that this is my last chance. “You better follow through on your promises, or else there are plenty more who want an opportunity here.” I nod in acknowledgment. Though unsaid, I know failure to deliver means saying goodbye to my job at the paper.
Leaving him barking orders on the phone to another reporter, I rush out of the building and through the rain-slicked sidewalk to catch the next bus home. Rounding the corner, a pedestrian barrels toward me, nose buried in his phone. Luckily, I pull myself out of harm’s way, avoiding a collision as he swerves past.

“Watch where you’re going!” I yell after him. He barely spares me a glance.

The near crash has shaken me from my dazed state, but in the scuffle, papers fly wildly from my bag until they're soaked and strewn in puddles. I scramble to collect my wet, ruined notes.

Hopping onto the packed bus, I hurriedly look for a vacant space. Unfortunately, my knee connects hard with a chair corner as the bus lurches away from the curb. 

A hiss escapes my lips at the blossoming pain. On the way home, I watch raindrops race down the foggy windows as my thoughts drift back to sunnier days in Elm Ridge when worries seemed small under the town’s wide-open skies.

Even this dingy bus holds nostalgia, reminding me of high school rides spent chatting with friends. Now it's just me, aching and exhausted, left to ponder what awaits me back in the town where I grew up. 

Naturally, my ex pops into my head. At a time like this? Of course he does. 

An image of Rhen comes unbidden into my mind, but I forcefully push it away. It does no good to entertain thoughts of what could have been. There are more pressing matters to think about.

The next morning, I set about finalizing travel plans in a fog of exhaustion. I had spent the night tossing and turning, wondering what awaited my future. I miss Aunt Clara so much and hate that I wasn’t there for her in her final hours. Coupled with the agonizing thought of seeing Rhen again, my mind was a mess all night long.

Scrolling through flights, a thought emerges — Aunt Clara's cozy cottage is now mine, but what should I do with it? Living in Elm Ridge is out of the question. There were too many memories there, and I know I’ve sacrificed far too much to give up and go home now.

I could sell it… But then, I don’t really know what state it’s in. I don’t even know how much it’s worth.

I’ve visited a few times over the years, but I never stayed long enough to discern the need for repairs. Guilt grips me at the reminder of just how little time I’ve spent with her since I moved away.

 I may have escaped my demons but, in my deliberate effort to establish myself and make it in the big city, I’ve also deprived myself of time with my aunt.

I can’t bear the thought of offloading her beloved home, yet all my financial burdens are pulling me under. As much as I wish to honor Aunt Clara and her legacy to me, my career is hanging by a thread, and eviction is a very real possibility. This could be a potential solution to all my problems, and I’m determined to consider its possibilities, despite all the unknowns.

Saying goodbye to my aunt requires facing the ghosts of youthful passions and broken hearts. I traded sanctuary for busy city streets. I can only begin to fathom what awaits me when I return.

 Elm Ridge may be just what I need to gain some clarity… or it may bring about more questions. I guess I'll just have to see how things are once I get to town. 

I release a heavy sigh as I finalize my travel plans. To be honest, I want to take leave from my job and really figure out what I want to do with my life. But, realistically, I don’t have that luxury.

No point in worrying myself sick, I think as I confirm my flight.  I'll just have to brace myself for whatever Elm Ridge may throw at me. All I can do is have faith that the sun will shine through eventually.

No sooner do I open my suitcase, than my phone pings with a text from an unknown number. 

"Just heard the news about your Aunt Clara. I hope you can make the funeral. Looking forward to chatting more. 

- Mayor Anthony Caldwell" 

Something about the mayor's boldness rubs me the wrong way. My aunt just died the day before, and he didn’t wait long to pounce. 

What could he possibly want to talk to me about?

Before I can ponder further, another text interrupts - it's John, demanding this week's submissions. With a sigh, I push thoughts of the perplexing mayor from my mind and get to work, raw nerves now exposed. As approaching deadlines and obligations swirl in my head, one question lingers. 

What awaits me in the familiar streets and storefronts of the small town I once called home?