One Snowy Night (Sweet Home, Alaska #1) - Patience Griffin Page 0,4

He’d had too much to drink. Sixteen-year-old Beau was three sheets to the wind, too. It was left to Hope to get them all home safely.

“But you’ve driven in snow your whole life. What’s the big deal?” her daughter prompted.

“There was a moose. He charged into the road in front of the snowplow.” Hope took a deep breath to get the next words out. “The snowplow hit the moose and sent it flying toward my side of the road. I hit it. The moose flipped backward and crushed the back of my car.” If only she’d had better reflexes to swerve and miss the bull. The biggest if only of her life.

Hope didn’t remember too much after that, only what the snowplow driver had told her and the state trooper at the hospital. She’d often wondered if she could’ve saved her sister if only she’d been prepared—stopped the bleeding, kept Izzie from going into shock. It was one of the reasons Hope was adamant about teaching her daughter survival skills, beyond hunting and fishing, although those things were very important, too. Alaska was wild and anything could happen.

“I don’t know why Donovan and I were brought to the hospital first.”

“Who’s Donovan?” her daughter asked.

“Nobody,” Hope said quickly. “I was dazed from the accident and only had a broken arm.” Donovan had just cuts and bruises. “Even though I confessed right away to my mom that I’d had some wine, she didn’t yell at me but was only relieved I was okay.” Beau arrived in the next ambulance and was pronounced dead on arrival. “When Izzie was wheeled in on the stretcher, she looked so small and broken. She only lived an hour before dying.” Hope would never forget seeing her mother collapse with grief beside Izzie’s hospital bed. “And that’s why I’m head of MADD in our area,” Hope finished, though the story was far from complete. She left out the part where her mother never forgave her. How her parents split up over Izzie’s death, motivating her father to move to the North Slope. How it was her mother who brought MADD to their borough, and then on her deathbed insisted that Hope take over.

Hope had been looking off into space but glanced down at her daughter now.

Ella’s mouth was open, making her look completely stunned. “You were driving the car? You killed Aunt Izzie?”

It was an icy knife to the heart, but it was true. Hope nodded bravely. “Yes. I’m responsible for my sister’s death.”

“That sucks . . .” Ella shook her head. “I can’t imagine. How did your mom take it?”

“Badly.”

“You would’ve grounded me forever. Whatever happened to your mom? You and Grandpa never talked about her.”

Hope definitely wasn’t ready to get into that. “She got sick—cancer—and died a few years later.” Mom had been livid when Hope got up the courage two months after the accident to tell her that she was pregnant. It’s a slap in the face, her mom had said. Haven’t you hurt this family enough? When baby Ella was born, Mom pretended her granddaughter didn’t exist. After her death, Dad had moved back to Sweet Home, continuing to work on the North Slope and commuting home on his weeks off, which eased Hope’s load of raising a child alone. But now he was gone, too.

Ella looked stricken, then turned to face the wall. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“What if you die, too?” Ella’s voice was strained.

Hope understood. They didn’t have anyone now, now that Dad was gone.

She wanted to tell her: There are worse things than death. Like being disowned at seventeen by your own mother and being forced from the house, alone and pregnant. Whenever she thought about that dark time, Hope tried counting her blessings. She owed Piney so much: for supporting her emotionally, for giving her a job and letting her stay with them in the bus until Mom died and Dad moved back to Sweet Home.

But all she said was, “You know how hard I try to be prepared for every contingency.” Hope wanted to reiterate how important it was that Ella be prepared, too . . . for accidents and to go it alone. If Hope had been prepared seventeen years ago, she might’ve handled her mother’s rejection better, instead of letting grief and depression nearly consume her.

Maybe it was time to tell Ella more of the truth. How Donovan and Beau had been in the car that night. How her mother couldn’t stand to look at Hope after she’d killed