“Come on, you can make it. Just” —I looked again at the GPS— “another hour.”
My stomach growled as I held tighter to the steering wheel, feeling the way the wind gusts pushed me sideways. I shook my head, wondering if I’d see any signs of civilization: a gas station or small town. The darker the sky became as my car plowed through the accumulating snow, the more I admitted to myself that I should have stopped in the last town.
As I crept onward, the phrase ‘should have’ seemed to repeat on a loop in my thoughts.
I should have stopped in the last town, filled the gas tank, gotten something to eat, and found a hotel.
I should have said no to Skylar Butler when he asked me to marry him. I should have seen the writing on the wall. I should have discouraged my parents from planning the most lavish wedding of the century. I should have known his parents were more excited about our nuptials than he was. I should have questioned Skylar’s schedule, his trips, and the times he didn’t answer his cell phone. I should have trusted what I’d known most of our lives.
In my defense, as the sayings went, hindsight was twenty-twenty and love was blind.
In my case, I think a more accurate assessment of our impending nuptials was that our love didn’t have vision problems; it quite simply never existed, not in the way that made your heart beat faster or your mouth go dry. It wasn’t that Skylar wasn’t easy on the eyes.
He was handsome and he knew it.
That had been an issue since we were young.
Skylar was also capable when it came to foreplay.
Further than that, and I was in the minority of women in Skylar’s orbit. I didn’t know if the rumors of his sexual prowess were accurate. We’d agreed to wait for that final consummation of our relationship. That’s not to say we hadn’t gotten close. The thing was, we’d been a couple since either of us could walk or talk. It was difficult to think of one another in romantic terms.
The agreement of remaining pure was implied.
Apparently, it was an agreement between Skylar and me, not him and...well, anyone else.
My grip intensified on the steering wheel. It wasn’t the worsening conditions but the memory of finding the text message from my best friend and maid of honor, Beth.
Let me backtrack.
A year ago, at a large holiday gathering surrounded by family and friends along with some of the most powerful people in both our families’ world, Skylar took my hand and on bended knee proposed. Like everything else in his life, the entire scene was a performance. My smile and acceptance weren’t as important as the hushed whispers, the pregnant pause waiting for my answer, and the cheers from the crowd when I said yes.
And then my fiancé was off for cigars and bourbon with our fathers and others in the same social sphere to celebrate the uniting of our families. It wasn’t as if I were forgotten. No, I now had an important role. I was immediately surrounded by our mothers and all the ladies in Chicago’s high society who could welcome me into the married world of Chicago’s finest.
Becoming Mrs. Skylar Butler was a destination I never questioned. The road map had been not only sketched but written in ink since the day of my birth, just three months after Skylar’s.
Time moved on. My wedding showers were completed. Our newly constructed home was mostly finished, filled with gifts and all the luxuries money could buy. Our two-week overseas honeymoon trip was booked, and RSVPs to the big day were coming in by the hundreds.
Our wedding was set for New Year’s Eve.
It will be—was to be—the event of the decade.
No expense had been spared for the union of Julia McGrath and Skylar Butler.
This was not only a love story—according to all the society pages—but the business deal of the century. My family lost majority interest in privately owned Wade Pharmaceutical before fiscal-year 2000 when our stock hold went below fifty percent. The reasons could be cited as bad management, the economy, or a number of decisions that didn’t pan out. Regardless, my family lost what we’d possessed since my great-grandfather founded the company.
My family’s controlling interest existed by a paper-thin margin.
Dad blamed it all on my grandfather’s decision to offer shares of Wade—a privately held company—to outside investors. Over time, the chosen investors sold to others, increasing the number of investors, weakening my family’s influence, and increasing liability. As was spelled out in my grandfather’s will, our family’s shares of Wade Pharmaceutical would transfer to me upon my fulfillment of his criteria, the final step being marriage.
The Butlers held twenty-five percent of Wade stock. By combining the Butler and McGrath stock, the founding family could once again fend off attacks from Big Pharma. It was my father’s constant belief that a coup was in the works. He believed that the giants in the industry were picking up shares here, with another there, to swoop in and swallow up Wade.
With my family’s thirty-nine percent and the Butlers’ twenty-five, Wade would be secure.
The evening after my last bridal shower and a week before Christmas, Skylar and I were to attend a charity event at the Chicago Philharmonic. Before the performance, we drove out to our new estate, west of the city on a sprawling ten-acre plot of land—our future home.
Skylar had laid his phone on the kitchen counter before going out back to check on some last-minute construction changes. Our wedding was only two weeks away, and the house needed to be ready upon our return from our honeymoon.
When I saw my best friend’s name flash on the screen of his phone, I envisioned a planned pre-wedding surprise. I justified that she’d call Skylar; after all, we’d all known one another for years and also, she was the maid of honor in our wedding.
Opening the text message, I was without a doubt surprised.
“Oh no.” My scream echoed as the rental car lost its traction and began to spin, flinging me from the thoughts of the recent past to the here and now.
Still a ways from my destination, my life flashed before my eyes as the white ribbon appeared to be replaced by trees and then back to the ribbon. Like a child’s top, I continued around and around.
In those visions, I saw Skylar and myself as we were growing children. I recalled my desire to pursue literature and journalism, an unacceptable major for the future owner of a pharmaceutical company. Double majoring in business and literature, I squeezed in a minor in journalism from Northwestern. The academic road took me an additional semester, allowing me to complete my degree in time for the grand engagement.
The car came to a stop, bringing me back to the present.
Letting out my held breath, I laid my forehead on the steering wheel and closed my eyes. Opening them, I saw that I was no longer on the white ribbon of road. The hood of the car was mostly buried in a snowbank and from my vantage, it looked like the bumper must have stopped inches from a tall pine tree.
I reached for my cell phone. There was no signal.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, I saw my own blue eyes. “Happy holidays, Julia. You had a fiancé, a family, a company, and a brand-new home. Maybe you should have stayed.”
Swallowing, I stared out at the white surrounding me.
With each passing minute, determination surged through my veins.
If I stayed in the car, I’d freeze.
If I began walking, I could freeze.