she heard her mom call from the hallway a moment before she appeared in the doorway of the laundry room. Mom had that tone—the one that told Sorrow she was going to be assigned another duty she didn’t want. Whatever it was, it had to be better than ironing linens. She hated ironing. “Did you hear me, Sorrow?” Her mother had a white-knuckle grip on her purse, and that alone had her putting down the iron. Her mom never looked that tense. “I need you to call your friend again.” “Who? You mean Damien?” Edith nodded. “The road is closed. I thought he could make some calls. Get it plowed.” “Wait, our road is closed?” The lodge was on Irish Camp Road, an old mining road off Route 88. It wasn’t exactly a major thoroughfare, but it wasn’t a small street either. “I’m sure it was plowed hours ago. Why would Caltrans close it?” As far as Sorrow was concerned, Caltrans—aka the California Department of Transportation—were the unsung heroes of their area, plowing through the night, clearing rockslides, and managing avalanche control in the higher elevations.
