How to Host a Holiday (The Prequel to Ivy Stratton & the Time Machine) by Kathleen Kitson

Author:Kathleen Kitson [Kitson, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2012-10-20T16:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

“What’s going on?” asks Stella.

I hear a general rumble of surprised voices in the living room as I try to acclimate myself to the sudden loss of light.

Mindy makes her way over to the window, holding on to furniture for support. “You guys, I think the power for the whole neighborhood is out.”

“Are you sure?” I open the oven door and gasp. “No, no, no! The oven’s stopped working too.”

“Ok, it’s probably just a fuse or something,” Stella says, reassuringly. “In a few minutes, everything should be working again.”

“The ice must have accumulated on the power lines.” Cooper’s voice startles me. “The entire street is dark.”

“Are you kidding? On Christmas?” I feel my voice rising into higher octaves, and I stop talking to keep from sounding like a crazed person.

“Well,” says Stella. “There’s nothing to be done in the kitchen for the moment.”

“We should probably go into the living room and just chill for a while,” says Mindy. “And maybe the residual heat from the oven will finish cooking the turkey,” she suggests.

“Come this way,” Cooper says, and we follow the sound of his voice toward the doorway.

As soon as we cross the hallway to the dining room, I feel a bit calmer, seeing that all of my decorative candles are actually serving a purpose by keeping the living room and dining room illuminated.

Everyone has an opinion about the cause of the blackout, ranging from a buildup of ice, to fallen trees, to blown fuses, and this becomes the central topic for the next several minutes.

I don’t say anything, because I’m getting nervous about the possibility that there won’t be enough residual heat to fully cook the turkey. Something tells me there won’t be. And I can’t serve partially raw meat.

I sink back into the couch, wondering if I’m the only one who thinks the room is getting colder.

“I should call the power company and see if they have an estimate,” Mindy says. “Cooper, could you hand me my cell phone?”

“There’s a car pulling up in front of the house,” says M3, who has been standing at the window, marveling at how loud the ice sounds as it hits the glass of the windowpanes. “Are you expecting more guests?”

I move to the window. “It’s Giuseppe.”

Relieved that he’s arrived safely, I head downstairs to open the door.

The stairway is dark, and I grab a small tea candle from a side table to help me see my way down the door. At the bottom of the stairwell, the air is still and cold, and I wonder how much longer the temperature in my apartment will remain steady.

G gets out of his car and takes cautious steps in the street, hanging onto the side of the car to keep from slipping. I remember that the sidewalk is covered in a sheet of ice, and I open the door to yell to G to be careful.

With the door open, it’s apparent how much worse the weather has become since I last checked, and the swirling winds and icy snowflakes make it hard to even breathe.

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