A thin ray of light crept softly across the darkened floor. He stirred in his nest, rolling and hearing the creaking underneath him. His breath came out in clouds, billowing through the still darkness. The trailer was an echoing ice cave.

The light crept closer. He could barely see in the darkness, but he felt it was her approaching. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, scrunching his weary body back against his faded headboard. She was closer, and it was her, he knew, though he couldn't quite see her. Suddenly the air around him was warmer, awash with the scents and sounds of a day so long ago, so forgotten. He barely dared to breathe it in.

It had been a summer day, far removed from this blustery winter night. He had been so much younger then, his body moved with ease, and though he had moved through town with less ease, he had still been a part of life in Jericho, in a way he had nearly forgotten now. He had been doing a job, pruning the bushes around Stoneyvale park, when he had caught his first glimpse of her.

Preparations had been going on all day in the park, for the evening to come. Members of the women's league had been decorating the gazebo with streamers and paper flowers, husbands and young men who worked for the town were on ladders, stringing lights across the sky, or lifting tables and chairs. He had put up with the instructions Tabitha James had barked at him as she held her clipboard, going about his work with a solemnity he had mastered for all his dealings with people.

She'd been laughing, the first time he'd seen her. Really, he had heard her first. She had one of those laughs, fearless and jubilant. She laughed without the restraint common among those girls he'd grown up with. He'd turned, perhaps intuitively, attracted by that rare laugh.

The first time he saw her, she was wearing a blue sundress. It was printed with red flowers, it hugged her waist, it twirled around her legs. Her hair was a shocking red, falling past her shoulders, swinging around as she laughed. She looked as fearless as she sounded, when she laughed, throwing her head back. The way she stood was fearless too. Her feet, planted firmly, though she wore dainty blue sandals, one hand on her hip, casually asserting her opinion.

He wondered who she was for a split second. His eyes only had to travel a few feet, to see the young man she was glancing at over her shoulder. He was watching her, a grin on his face, and it was obvious he was taken by her fearlessness too. He came up beside her, putting an arm across her back, his fingers touching her waist, as he pointed to things around the park. No doubt explaining everything to her.

He knew who she was now. The girl who'd had the town in an uproar. The mayor's son's new girlfriend. The mayor's son seemed as taken with her as everyone had said, and it was obvious why. Neither of them noticed the quiet man, watching them laugh from the bushes.

He couldn't help but continue watching. There was something so much alive in the way she talked, the way her eyes lit and flashed as she took in her surroundings, the touches they exchanged in that frenetic, electric way of new lovers. He knew he should look away, as she backed into the side of the gazebo, pulling him towards her, pulling him into a kiss. The mayor's son and his girlfriend giggled to themselves as they broke apart, glancing furtively around, though they still did not notice the spectator by the bushes.

They stole quickly away a moment later as a group of women's league members brushed by with a wreath of flowers. He went back to his work, clipping at branches.

He had planned to retreat as soon as his work was done, but for some reason, he accepted Tabitha's invitation, and stayed at the park as the townspeople began to trickle in. He lined up for the plates and bowls of food, jostled by the crowd, and felt, as usual, the strangeness of being among so many and actually speaking to or looking at so few. He ate on the edge of the crowd, occupying little space on the end of one of the folding tables. He watched the crowds move, the people dance under the lights, congregate around tables, wander from one side of the park to another.

He could see the mayor and his wife, in the midst of many people, accepting compliments, wishing others well. Their son and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen, though he'd heard they had been witnessed swaying on the dance floor.

He wouldn't see her again until he got up to leave. He tried to avoid the crowd of people swelling across the edge of the lawn, blocking the sidewalk, so he ducked instead behind some of the bushes, thinking he would leave by Juniper Street instead. As he edged around the gazebo, he suddenly found himself face to face with her.

She leaned against the wooden lattice, one hand holding the edge of the frame, one twirling the edge of her skirt absently. She was staring off into the distance, but as he stepped into view, she turned sharply. Her smile was gone at this time, as her eyes widened and she looked at him. Her eyes were red, but she still looked fearless as she stared at him. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out. He found himself staring at her, not sure what to say himself.

He opened his mouth, trying to say something. She watched, surprise etched on her face. Their eyes connected, and neither said anything for a few moments, but he tried to give her a smile. He nodded his head slightly. She nodded back, dazedly.

"There you are! Listen, let's just get out of here. Really, we can go anywhere you - oh, hi Oliver." The mayor's son had appeared, had gripped her by the elbow, and now he was nodding politely at the gardener.

Oliver had nodded back, and with one more glance at the mayor's son's new girlfriend, he made a hasty retreat, leaving them to their own escape plans.

Now, so many years later, he felt a scratch in his throat as he imagined what words he might have said, back then, if they hadn't all been lost on the way to his mouth. He had barely known her, but he'd wanted to say so much. To ask her who she was, what she was doing in their small, nothing town, to tell her not to mind anything she heard anyone say, even the mayor's wife. To tell her that her laugh was the most beautiful he'd ever heard.

She wasn't laughing now, in the dark, icy trailer. She wasn't saying anything. He kept his eyes closed, and held his breath as he listened to her inhaling and exhaling. He could feel her now, standing at the edge of his bed, reaching her hands, gently grasping the worn old blanket.

She unfolded it, draping it across him, covering his aching old limbs with its weight. Though he had been pretending to be asleep, he let himself stir, turned his head towards her, and opened his eyes. He could still barely see her, but he could feel the blanket against him.

It was the same blanket he'd once seen her touch, a long time ago now. It had been a different day - a day in the late fall. He had been cajoled into staffing a penny auction table at the bazaar. He had sat, watching the people poking around at the wares offered by the women's league and the men's club, overdoing it on the purchases from the bake table, comparing colours of mittens at the knit table. He answered questions, when they came up to the penny auction table, and handled their money, doing his best to brave the loud voices and forceful holiday spirit.

He'd noticed her, partway through the day. She was on the other side of the room. She wasn't laughing this time, but she still took his breath away. Her hair was swept up, though pieces of it were falling down, and her cheeks had a glow, more brilliant than everyone else's, even though it was cold outside. She wore a black sweater, barely stretching across her swelling abdomen. She looked distracted as she carefully navigated the crowd, glancing politely at the objects spread across each table, one hand on her middle, and one hand pulling a toddler along with her.

He tried not to watch too carefully, as she greeted various friends and neighbours, flashing them that smile of hers, or turned to scold the toddler affectionately as he attempted to drag his heels.

"Come on, Jake! Longer you take, longer we'll be here," she was saying as she came up to his table. The little boy was protesting the entire time, but his mother pulled him right up to the table of raffle prizes. "Look at all this stuff we could win," she said, turning to smile up at the man behind the table. "Oliver," she said. She wasn't laughing, but he still could hear her laugh, in her voice. "They've got you working hard."

He nodded, with a wry smile of his own. "Just doing my part, ma'am."

She kept a hand on her belly as she perused the cellophane wrapped prizes. The little boy rested his chin on the table, his eyes level with a yellow gumball dispenser. "How've you been?" she asked, as she inspected a gift basket filled with cooking utensils.

He was used to getting that question, whenever he did venture out, and it usually irritated him, but when she asked, he wanted to answer. "I'm fine." She was looking at him, with a kind sort of concern, and his words sounded stupid. "I've been reading a lot lately."

She nodded, keeping her big eyes on him. "We don't see you around, enough."

He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. "I get by just fine, keeping to myself."

She was watching him, that concerned look on her face, as though she were thinking carefully about what to say next, but suddenly she looked down. "Jake! No, that's not yours to open, honey." She quickly grabbed the toddler's hands. He had seized a hold of the box of Nerf balls, and she quickly pulled his hands away before he could finish opening it.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, bending down to scoop up her son, who was now protesting. Balancing him on one hip, putting her purse on the table, she looked flustered.

"Hey, Jake, why don't you ask your mother, nicely, if you can put a ticket in to win the balls?" he asked, giving the little boy the friendliest smile he could muster.

Jake nodded, and turned to look up at her, a perfectly plaintive expression on his face. "Please?" he asked.

"Well, when you put it like that," she said with a chuckle, balancing the toddler and fumbling through her purse with her other hand. "Whoa there, little guy," she said a moment later, putting a hand to her belly.

He watched her with his own look of concern. "Do you want some help?" he asked.

"No, it's fine," she said, dropping her hand back to her purse. She continued to talk as she searched for change. "It's funny. This one just gets really jumpy whenever we're around crowds, for some reason. I guess maybe he likes the sounds. All the voices."

He smirked. "Don't know why."

She finally produced a handful of coins. "I'll take a set of tickets," she said.

He took her money, and held up the page of tickets. Seeing her holding her son in one arm, her purse in the other, he hesitated a moment before beginning to crease the tickets along their perforations. He raised his eyebrows; she nodded her assent. He began to tear the tickets, handing her each one in turn. She shifted the child in her arms, and put him down on the floor. "Jake, pick one of these and put your ticket in," she said, putting one of the paper tickets into his little fist.

Quickly, he deposited his into the gumball machine's container. "I thought you wanted the balls," she said, a bemused expression on her face as she put a ticket into the container designated for a coffee set. The little boy shook his head.

He couldn't help but chuckle. She shook her head, with a smile. "Well, put one in for your little brother, then." He hesitated for a moment, but as his mother put a hand on his shoulder, he dutifully obeyed.

"A boy, huh?" asked the man behind the table.

She grinned at him, and again, he imagined her laugh, in her eyes and her smile. "That's the feeling I'm getting. Johnston's still holding out hope it might be a girl. But Jake here is wishing for a little brother, aren't you honey?"

Jake made a face, but as his mother smirked and ruffled his hair, he laughed, reaching up to pat his hand over his mother's abdomen.

"How is Johnston?" asked the man.

"He's good. Busy as anything, now he's working for his dad," she said, depositing another ticket, this time for the chance to win an alarm clock. "But good."

"Good," he said, with a gruff nod.

"Jake - one left!" she said, bending over her son. "Which one should I pick?"

Jake merely shrugged. His mother looked around again. "What do you think? This blanket?" she asked. "It's nice, huh?"

He nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist, suddenly seeming very clingy. "Jake, I've gotta put it in," she laughed, struggling to reach across the table.

"Here," said the man, tentatively reaching out his hand. She let go of the ticket, and he put it in the slot. "Good luck," he said, allowing himself another smile.

"Thank you," she said, flashing that fearless smile of hers.

"And," he paused, wanting to say all that he thought but not knowing how to explain it. "You - you look good."

She smiled gently, gripping the toddler's hand in her own. "Thanks," she said. "And good to see you, Oliver."

As he nodded his goodbye, she turned, and the mother and child vanished into the crowded church hall.

He wouldn't know that she had actually won the blanket from that raffle until many years later. He hadn't helped the next day, when they did the drawing for the prizes. That bazaar day had been a rare day for him, and as the years wore on, his ventures into the busy days of Jericho became less and less frequent.

It was that winter's night, the first year after the bombs, that he found out for sure. He'd nearly forgotten, but when he looked in the box, after she'd gone, he remembered that blanket, sitting out on the prize table, so many years before. When she had knocked on his door, her arms full, he'd been surprised. It had been so long since he'd last seen her. It had been so long since he'd seen any of them at his door. He stepped back, let her inside, as he'd retreated further into the darkness.

She looked as beautiful as she had all those years before. As fearless. Her fiery hair was much closer around her face, her hips, arms, body different from that night she danced, carefree, in front of the gazebo and then snuck away, but beautiful, and strong. She was businesslike as she spoke. He didn't blame her. He knew the reputation, the effect he now had, on everyone he'd once known. She still looked at him with those big eyes, a concerned look on her face. She told him she'd gotten together blankets and clothes, to distribute to anyone who might be lacking, in efforts to help everyone get through the winter ahead. He'd muttered his thanks, she'd given him one small smile, and she'd disappeared as quickly as she'd appeared.

He hadn't looked in the box for hours. When he had, he'd seen the blanket. The same one she'd once examined on a penny auction table as she'd balanced her sons and her belongings. And now, it was the blanket she pulled over him, shielding him from the cold that hung over them, tucking the corners around him and letting go.

He wanted to reach up to her. To touch her, make contact with her. Somehow express to her, what she'd been to him. What she was to him. But she was moving away, back into the darkness, taking the warmth with her. He cleared his throat, but he couldn't get her name out. He could only manage one word. "Wait!"

She turned. She came back. She smiled. Fearlessly.

"You," he said. He said nothing more. He wanted to ask her. Why. Who are you. What are you. Someone I will never know, and always remember? A memory, a promise of something to come? An angel?

He had never believed in angels. Aliens, yes. The universe was vast. Angels, no. The world was not that kind.

"You," he said, hoping it could summarize all of this. It was the best he could do.

She stayed, standing over him, he could feel her laugh, nearby. He wished he could tell her, but he could only turn his face to her, breathe in.

She leaned in, her hands touching his arm, his shoulder, the blanket between her palms and his skin. She leaned over him, fearlessly, as no one else ever had. She pressed her lips to his forehead. He closed his eyes, feeling how hot they'd become.

There was a loud knocking on the door. He sat up slowly.

The knocking echoed through the trailer. It was like an ice cave. His weary body let out a shudder, and he pulled the blanket towards him.

"Oliver!" came a muffled voice. "Oliver, you in there?"

Grumbling to himself, extricating himself from his nest, feeling his bones creak as he walked, he forced himself to go to the door. He opened it.

The mayor's son stood on the stoop, his hands in his pockets, a grim look on his face. He looked carefully at the man shivering in the dark, but didn't say anything at first.

"Well, what do you want?" asked Oliver, to break the silence.

The mayor's son took an eternity to answer. "Just checking in on everyone. You okay in there?" He glanced around the man, trying to ascertain the state of his trailer.

"I'm fine," was the answer. "Can make do on my own, just fine."

The mayor's son nodded.

Oliver studied the younger man, and found himself wanting, for once, to ask a question. "How is your mother?"

His visitor's expression became even gruffer. He shifted his feet, folding his hands together, and said nothing at first.

Oliver felt the sinking feeling as he began to remember. Before he could say anything, the younger man was saying, "Take care of yourself, Oliver." He was gone then, as quickly as she had been.

Oliver stood in the doorway, feeling the winter wind tearing at his frail bones, watching the shadowy figure retreating. Remembering. Remembering he'd seen them, a month ago, walking from the church. Her son, the mayor's son, his face stricken, his sister-in-law by his side. Remembering that a few weeks before that, patrolmen had knocked on his door, searching for witnesses, and he'd learned that the mayor's younger son was gone. Remembering how he'd seen her daughter-in-law, now a widow, in line for food rations, and he's nearly asked about her. Nearly asked if the rumours were true. But he couldn't bring himself to find out the truth. Couldn't bring himself to brave the circle of people pressing in around her, offering that unhelpful sympathy he knew so well. So he had only found out a month ago, when she was gone and they were the only ones left.

He turned back to his cave, and shut the door behind him. He walked slowly back to his nest, sinking into the creaking mattress, pulling the blanket up to his chin, covering his frozen limbs and hot eyes.