The moment I won the tickets, someone must have also bashed me over the head because I was stupid enough to tell Mandy about the win and reveal that I was considering selling them on eBay. Mandy almost blew a gasket and basically dragged me into the car to head for Madison Creek.
The fight was lost before it even began.
Which is why I’m here—God knows where—with the enthusiasm of a turtle at the outlook of putting my poor ears through the torture that’s about to befall Montana.
Poor Montana, too.
Forget the band.
Fortunately, the tickets come with a ‘one-week all expenses paid hotel stay for two.’ That’s the only upside of my prize, at least in my opinion, and the main reason I agreed to keep it.
I desperately need the one-week vacation before the boring work routine engulfs me once again.
I’ve no idea where we are, only that we’re hours away from New York City, when I unplug Mandy’s iPhone in favor of some local radio station’s playlist of Sheryl Crow and David McGray songs. We’re halfway through the second song when the news comes through.
“Storm Janet is picking up speed as she makes her way across western Montana. Residents are advised to stay indoors as severe, rare storm force winds with heavy rain are expected across some parts of…” Mandy switches off the radio.
Suddenly the gray clouds gain an ominous new meaning and my throat chokes up.
“A hurricane? Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell at Mandy, who’s speeding along an unpaved country road, past green pastures and untouched nature.
“Relax. It’s just a bit of wind, Ava,” Mandy says. “Besides, we’re almost there. Relax and enjoy the scenery.”
Relax?
I cringe and bite my tongue hard so I won’t say something I may come to regret later. Mandy isn’t exactly irresponsible; she’s just easygoing, to put it mildly.
Maybe even a bit reckless, which is what I usually adore about her.
When I met her in kindergarten, we found our friendship based on opposites:
I loved to collect coins and shells; she amassed clothes for her impressive doll collection.
I collected novels; she collected the phone numbers of hot guys.
Today, I’m a journalist; she’s an environmentalist lawyer working for a non-profit organization and needs to work as a club hostess on the side to make ends meet.
I’m a worrier; she reminds me of the positive things in life.
While I have a list for everything, including the contents of my wardrobe, she would get bored halfway through writing a list and always ridicules me for being overly conscientious, which she lovingly calls obsessive-compulsive.
“You should have told me we’d be facing bad weather. We could have waited until tomorrow. We didn’t have to depart today.” I shoot her a venomous look, even though she can’t see me because her eyes are fixed on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on her thigh.
“And risk missing a day in a free five-star hotel? Maybe.” She shrugs. “But the thing is, if I had told you just how bad the weather might be, you wouldn’t have trudged along to see Mile High. We’ve wanted this for ages.”
As in, she’s wanted this for ages and sort of insisted that I come along.
I set my jaw and let her continue her little monologue.
A heavy gust of wind rocks the car. I wiggle in my seat nervously. “Are you sure the hurricane’s not heading our way?”
“Relax,” Mandy repeats. I swear she’s turning into a walking mantra. “Hurricanes can only form over water. Montana is far too inland to be hit by one. “
“Why were storm force winds mentioned then? What is this if not a hurricane?”
Mandy casts me a short side-glance. “A little storm or hurricane won’t stop us from having the adventure of a lifetime. For all we know, it might not even hit Montana. They said so on TV. We both know the weather newscast tends to be a little overdramatic.”
There, she just said the word.
Oh, my frigging God.
The wind howls louder, the trees whip back and forth in a wild frenzy, and the car trembles with the force coming sideways. Mandy tries not to show it, but I can see the whites on her knuckles as she holds on tightly to the wheel, forcing the car to stay on course.
I try to calm my thumping heart, but it’s hard. Hurricanes are unpredictable. Mandy might even be right about the last part, but I don’t want to be outside, in the middle of frigging nowhere, to find out. I sigh and slump into the passenger seat, keeping my eyes focused on the road ahead, praying we’ll reach our destination soon—a hotel near Madison Creek.
The tickets couldn’t have come at a more fortunate time. Mandy had been a fan for ages. She had also been talking about looking forward to a last adventure together. With my career as a journalist really taking off, Mandy figured we might as well see more of the world before we end up stuck behind a desk in an air-conditioned office in stuffy New York City. Not that I don’t like NYC; I’ve lived there my whole life and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in the world. But lately, it’s been oppressing…filled with people and memories I want to push into the proverbial filing cabinet deep inside my brain.