Excerpt From A Killing Frost
By Myrna Milani
(Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3)
Although I requested a Toyota when I reserved my rental, I got stuck with a Chrysler, a car saved from total infamy only by the fact that it sported New Hampshire plates which I found symbolically comforting in my present mood. A short time later and genuinely trying to squelch my feelings of martyrdom, I pulled the vehicle up in front of the terminal just as the woman emerged from the building.
"Perfect timing!" she exclaimed with surprising animation as she stowed her luggage in the back seat with mine.
Although still quite pale, she looked well on her way toward full recovery. In fact, I found myself secretly hoping she wouldn't recover too much more. I already felt sufficiently rumpled and dowdy to delay, if not completely abort, my martyr-squelching process.
"I'm Sara Klafin, come from London to relive a few good old days and attend a bit of business in New Hampshire," my new traveling companion introduced herself as I pulled away from the terminal.
The statement struck me as awkward and contrived, especially the good old days part, and I forced myself to respond before my imagination caused me to wonder why.
"I'm StClair Upton, just a native just trying to get home."
Although normally I would have offered my hand, the airport traffic was exceptionally hostile that evening and I flashed my passenger a quick smile instead.
"Sinclair, as in Sinclair Lewis?" asked the woman, echoing a question I've answered in one form or another almost every day of my life.
"And Upton Sinclair. Unfortunately my parents loved word games as well as American literature," I explained. "It's pronounced the same as the writers' names, but spelled like that of a woman canonized for baking three million communion wafers in two hours without an oven for the Pope."
"Really!" Sara Klafin exclaimed in astonishment.
"No," I laughed. "I made up the wafer miracle when I was ten and wanted to be Catholic like my best friend. The ecclesiastical spelling comes from my parents' desire to spare me from going through life burdened with a masculine name. Consequently I go through life burdened with a name no one can spell or pronounce."
As I spoke, I threaded my way through LaGuardia's perpetual maze of construction and mentally programmed myself for home. Two cabs made maliciously good-natured attempts to cut us off from either side and I gripped the wheel grimly and slipped between one of them and a cement barrier with scant inches to spare. Noticing my passenger nervously rubbing that same corner of her handbag again, I assured her that the worst of the traffic would soon be behind us.
As if to remind me that life offered no such guarantees, a grey sedan suddenly materialized much too close to my car's rear end before moving to an equally unsafe position on its left side as the two-lane road converged into one.
"You moron!" I swore as I struggled to maneuver out of danger and glare at the shadowy driver of the other vehicle at the same time.
It all took place in less than a instant.
Surely I imagined it.
Surely the car didn't veer even more closely toward us before dropping back to take its place among the featureless stream of traffic that flowed onto the expressway.