Edith Mair flipped the bottle of Absolut Vodka into the dispenser with a motion made smooth by thirty years of practise. She listened to the conversation at the corner table. After all, four or five new customers in Ender Bar was a good year - and here were three, all in one night.
"Let's go," said the younger man, his voice keen with anticipation. "It's only another three hundred miles."
The woman sounded apprehensive. "And if the visibility is still zero?"
Edith pulled a stool up behind the bar and laid the newspaper out on the counter. She'd guessed they were grounded by the storm.
The older man said, "The snowmobiles are ready to race. And we always get there on time!" He seemed to be the team leader, if indeed they were a team. Their leather snowmobile suits had different brand names written on them - perhaps they only travelled together.
"I know we're used to driving in an ice fog!" The woman laughed. "But not this bad." She walked to the front door and stared through the glass into the swirling snowstorm. Edith didn't need to look; she could tell the wind was still strong by the rattling and clanging of the bar's metal roof.
"Another round please," said the woman, returning to her chair.
Edith poured two shots of Absolut into tall glasses. She wondered what kind of demon drove people to race anyway; and why they would risk a night like this, just for some trophy. A loud cheer erupted from the living quarters in the back - John's team must have scored.
This afternoon it was Fred's problems that had filled Edith's mind. He was thinking about leaving his wife again. Sometimes she felt like the local counsellor. She'd talked people through bankruptcies, runaway kids and spouses, new jobs ... why, she thought she knew human nature from the inside - out. Now here were these three fools she couldn't understand, courting danger like it was the prize.
Balancing the tray in her left hand, Edith crossed the hardwood floor to the corner table. Ender Bar was a small place, just half a dozen tables and six barstools, so there'd be room for the pool table. But it was all a town of fifty people needed! John called it rustic, from the unpainted slat walls, to the antlers that hung between the hunting and fishing pictures.
"One vodka coke press, one Caesar, and one straight coke," said Edith, setting the drinks down.
The woman's blue eyes sparkled. "Thanks. Do you know how long the storm is supposed to last?"
Edith deftly removed the empty glasses. "Sorry. Don't have the radio on. My husband, John, is watching Hockey Night in Canada." The young man looked like a caged cougar. "Let's drink up and go," he said.
Edith replaced the ash tray with a clean one. "No sense trying to rush the weather!" None of them responded.
The woman handed Edith a fifty dollar bill. "I'll have to get you the change," she said, rummaging in her apron. "Business is pretty slow tonight."
Edith opened the drawer on the cash register. The afternoon had been busy before the wind started to howl. Then the regulars had hung up their pool cues and scurried home.
Edith could sympathise with the stranded racers. She hadn't planned to be here either! John had talked about selling the tiny bar after the wedding, and buying a business in a bigger community, where she could go back to nursing. But somehow, the months after their honeymoon had turned into years, and she was still here. Still wiping tables and serving drinks. And listening.
After counting out the change, Edith gave in to the urge to ask a few questions. "So, do you race lots?" she said, resting her arms on the fourth chair at the table. She gazed at the group.
"Sometimes, too much!" The woman shrugged. Her expression seemed to contradict her words.
"But, it's worth it when your picture hits Snow Journal," said the younger man, proudly patting the woman's arm.
The older man's quiet voice added, "We follow two circuits. Run drags and ovals, although we're doing better at drags right now."
"I watched a snowmobile race last week-end on t.v.," said Edith. "It was pretty exciting. But fast! Doesn't all that speed scare you?"
The three racers glanced at one another, as if sharing a secret. "You could say we live for it," said the woman.
Her partner added, "Every mile an hour faster gets me closer to victory!"
"Oh." Edith didn't know how to respond. The whole idea of gambling your life was insane to her. Especially for a small chunk of embossed wood and metal. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No thanks," said the woman, turning back to the men.
Edith returned to the bar while the trio spoke quietly. She wiped down the counters, putting things away, still listening to them talk.
"Looks okay to me," said the woman, staring out the window a few minutes later. "A lot better than when we stopped."
The men rose quickly. Within a few seconds they disappeared through the door, almost as if they'd been spectres of Edith's imagination. She followed them, intent on locking up. There was no sense staying open at this hour. The hockey game still had an hour left in it.
A truck and snowmobile trailer sat in a maelstrom of hurtling snow. Glancing down the street, Edith realized the Ender Elevator wasn't visible. It wasn't safe to leave at all!
As she opened the door to shout at the snowmobile racers, an icy blast took Edith's breath away.
The truck engine roared to life.
It occurred to Edith that the racers didn't know the Ender Elevator even existed. And that they probably didn't need to see as far ahead as she did, in order to move on.
Edith closed the Ender Bar door.
