The Snow Man Ch. 01

The Snow Man – Part 1

Alex was driving on the interstate about fifty miles west of Denver when the world turned white. First came the blanket of fog, then thin sheets of snow that blew in over the rocks on either side of the highway and drifted, snakelike, across the pavement. The snow flakes became bigger and heavier. Soon the road signs were unreadable and the drop-off beyond the guardrail disappeared into a featureless void. It was all Alex could do to keep his Blazer pointed in the tracks left by the truck ahead.

Alex was a traveling salesman for a company that manufactured sports equipment. Standing at six feet and weighing 190 pounds on a muscular frame, he was the picture of a strong outdoorsman. His wide shoulders and blond hair gave him a rugged, masculine appearance that brought him plenty of stares from women, and with his easy-going personality he had all the customer accounts he could manage. But he wasn't happy in his job. He was weary of the constant travel and the petty dishonesties that make up a salesman's repertoire -- the pretenses, the empty promises, the insincere handshakes and smiles. Watching the snow drifting on the road, Alex felt a giddy sense of relief like a schoolboy who has learned that school has been cancelled. He'd have to get off the highway and find a safe place to wait out the storm. It was inconvenient, but at least he could spend the afternoon doing something different.

Alex turned off at the next exit and saw a sign that said: "BRUSH CREEK 3 Miles." He'd never heard of Brush Creek before and the surroundings looked rather alien, but he had little choice. The roads were quickly becoming impassable. Gusts of wind buffeted the Blazer as he shifted into 4-wheel drive and steered around a sharp curve. Progress was slow and he'd traveled only about a mile when he saw a sports car on the side with its emergency lights flashing and a person, evidently the driver, making his way through the snow on foot. Alex stopped and rolled down his window.

"Need help?" he yelled.

"Car went in the ditch!" replied the man, gesturing. He had no coat or gloves and a cloud of vapor accompanied each word. "I'll have to get it towed, I think!"

"I'll give you a lift. Hop in before you freeze!" said Alex.

Without further encouragement the man opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. His teeth were chattering and he rubbed his hands over the dashboard vents. He was younger than Alex had first thought, perhaps 22, or 23. As a sporting goods salesman Alex was good at judging people's sizes and he estimated his passenger was about 5'9 and 160 pounds –suited for soccer if he played sports. His chestnut colored hair was thick and curly and he had clean-cut, almost delicate, features. The most striking thing about him, however, was his eyes. They were dark and intense, and darted quickly at his surroundings. Alex thought there was something unusual about the young man but couldn't put his finger on it. He was dressed inadequately in a ribbed navy pullover, denim jeans, running shoes and socks. He'd make a good model for L.L. Bean, thought Alex.

"Man, I've never seen snow like this! I didn't know it could snow so much!" The young man spoke rapidly. His accent was mid-western but Alex judged he was from a big city.

"You ought to have a coat, you know," said Alex. "Do you live around here?"

"No," the young man replied, "I'm from Chicago. Going out to Utah for spring break. I left my coat at home. Stupid, huh?"

Yes, it was stupid and it happened all the time. Folks who didn't live in the mountains didn't understand the dangers of late spring blizzards. Every year Alex read stories in the paper about travelers freezing to death in snow drifts. But there wasn't any point in giving lectures.

"I think there's a town a mile or so ahead. Maybe somebody will have a tow truck."

"Gosh, I hope so!" replied his passenger. They looked at each other and the young man smiled, showing an even row of perfect, sparkling white teeth. "Hey, my name's Rob," he said, and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you!"

* * *

Brush Creek was an old mining town situated in a narrow valley with one road leading in and one going out. Like most mining towns it had seen better days. Many older buildings were abandoned, but there seemed to be a community hanging on with a block of businesses and some modest ranch houses. They passed a McDonalds on the edge of town and saw a gas station which Alex pulled into to inquire about a tow truck. The proprietor, a middle-aged man with tattoos on both arms, informed them that the town's only tow truck was out on an emergency run for the state police, so it looked like Rob's car might remain buried for a while.

Leaving the Blazer at the gas station, Alex and his companion walked down the main street. The air was iron-cold and the snow felt like needles on their skin. In the middle of the block they spotted a diner that was open and they went inside and ordered coffee. They were the only customers.

While they sat talking, Alex described his job as a traveling salesman and Rob related that he lived in Chicago near Lincoln Park and waited tables for a living while he took writing classes at the University of Chicago. He wanted to become a novelist. Despite their differences in age and occupation, it took no effort to keep the conversation going. They laughed and talked easily, like old friends.

When the waitress, a buxom redhead, refilled their coffee cups Alex said he needed to use the pay phone. "My wife thinks I'm going to Ft. Collins tonight," he said. "She gets bent out of shape if I don't report in."

"How long have you been married?" Rob asked.

"Seven years," replied Alex, feeling the gold band on his ring finger. "I got married when I graduated from college. No kids." He wanted to add that his marriage was rockier than the Grand Tetons, but he didn't like to burden strangers with his personal problems. "How about you?"

Rob took a drink of coffee and paused, waiting for the waitress to leave before he answered. "I'm not married," he said finally. "I have a boyfriend back in Chicago."

"Oh," said Alex. "I see." They exchanged a long look and Alex could tell that Rob was watching his reaction. He excused himself and got up to use the phone.

"I must be blind," thought Alex as he dialed his home phone number. The clues were obvious – the Abercrombie and Fitch clothes, the eye contacts. On some level he had seen the signals. But he tried to put it out of his mind. After six rings the answering machine came on and Alex spoke into the receiver. He left a message telling Judy he was caught in an unexpected snow storm and described where he was. He didn't say anything about meeting Rob, though, knowing it wouldn't make any difference to her. When he returned to the table he saw that Rob was still watching him.

As they sat in silence, a man in a brown sheriff's uniform put his head in the front door. "Hey, Peg, they're shutting down the roads. They say we'll get three to five feet tonight. I'd close up early and skedaddle home if I was you!" He glanced at Alex and Rob but said nothing to them.

"Thanks, Ray," called the waitress. "I've got plenty of grub and a nice little cot in the back if I need it." She looked at Alex when she said this.

"I guess we're not going anywhere tonight," surmised Alex.

"Nope," Rob agreed. "You think there's a motel around here?"

"You could try the Melody Inn," said the waitress, who apparently had her ear cocked in their direction. "It's just around the corner from the McDonalds. That's where most out-of-towners stay, not that we get many. You boys picked a pretty out-of-the-way place to get stuck in a blizzard!" she added, laughing.

Alex and Rob looked at each other and shook their heads. Alex left five dollars on the table when they paid their check.

(To be continued)