Cold Tomorrow

[33]

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

When I get out of school, Katherine is waiting across the road.

"You win," she tells me as I approach the car. "Get in. We're going to the farm."

The clouds have come over dark this afternoon and threaten to pour. I can feel a storm brewing in the air, shaking the trees and tossing up the leaves. The temperature has dropped at least five degrees.

We make a quick stop at the house before heading off. It's a long drive. An hour to get out of the city. Another hour to reach the old farm. The scenery shifts as we go – from bustling highways, to roads cut through hills, to bridges over valleys and rivers. Soon it starts to smooth out. The trees grow sparse and the landscape transforms into a rolling blanket of golden grass. Memories from my childhood rise up and pool at the front of my mind: lying in the grass and watching the clouds, driving into town for groceries and – occasionally – gelato, sitting on the porch and scanning the road, waiting for visitors that rarely come.

Katherine turns off the highway and navigates us through a small town before we break back out into pure countryside. Half an hour later we turn onto a dirt road that leads through a grove of trees. When we emerge from within their shadows, I realise that I recognise my surroundings; the particular pattern of hills on the landscape aligns with my memories and produces a spark of nostalgia.

"If memory serves," I say, "the farmhouse should be just beyond this hill."

"Are you sure?"

I look sideways at Katherine, furrowing my brows. "Positive." It doesn't sound as confident as it should.

Katherine slows down as we drive up to the hill. Beyond it there's a large expanse of flat land, pockmarked with small ponds. But there's no fencing. And certainly no house.

"I don't – I don't understand."

Katherine pulls off to the side of the road and stops the car. "Now you understand my problem. I remember it being here. I know it was here. But it's not."

I can't stop shaking my head. "No. No. It's meant to be here."

Katherine just stares out the window, forehead furrowed.

We search for a few more hours, driving around local towns, taking random roads until we hit dead ends, sweeping the surrounding countryside for our farmhouse – which seems to be in the midst of a vanishing act. Eventually the sun sets and the light dims to a deep blue. The world takes on a mystical, almost dreamlike quality as we finally stop our search and pull over.

"It's getting late," Katherine says. "There's a small motel in the last town we passed through. We should grab some dinner, take a rest. We can start up again in the morning."

I want to say that it's pointless – the farmhouse is gone. But I can't bring myself to do it. Admitting that we failed to find the stone means admitting that I may never see Caden and Sarah again. And the very thought makes me sick.

I don't say a word as Katherine turns the car around and brings us back the way we came. It's a half-hour drive and by the time we see signs of civilisation, the sky is black. The town is quite sizeable – as far as country towns go – with a petrol station, a pub, a convenience stores and a smattering of inelegant houses. The motel rests on the very edge of town. It's a two-story building of ten rooms sitting on a plot of dusty gravel. A red neon sign out front flashes Hillside Motel and beneath it, Vacancy. There's a small reception at one end, the window glowing orange with artificial light. Everywhere else is dark.