He let out a sigh that drifted like a cloud in the sharp air and rubbed his gloved hands together. Shifting his feet back and forth, he listened to the crunch of the snow underfoot and the quiet creaking of the porch. It really was a beautiful view from this spot. He would have been delighted to stay here, staring out, only hours earlier.
He had considered going further when he'd stepped out through the sliding door but he had stopped, despite all his instincts telling him otherwise. He breathed in, feeling the icy air in his throat, feeling an odd sense that the bright sky could commiserate better than those inside.
He heard the door slide open and shut. He wasn't sure it was her until she approached. Her footsteps were muffled but they were the same here as anywhere. “Do you want to come inside? It's friggin' freezing out here,” she said.
He shook his head slowly, trying to think of something clever to say.
“Dad's got coffee on,” she said, in her perfected casual tone. “Look, Gray, you can be as mad as you want at me, but I can't let you freeze to death.”
“I'm not,” he said slowly. “Freezing.” He turned to glance at her. She really did look sorry, and worried, and part of him felt bad, but the rest was annoyed at her, looking so sympathetic and so unreachable.
“Cedric and Grandpa are going to go to the lake, if you want to get out for a bit.”
“I'm not sure the lake is far enough,” he said.
“I thought we were just going to get through the next few days,” she said, her tone betraying an anxious edge as she glanced back towards the house.
“That's what I'm trying to do,” he muttered.
She heaved a sigh, gripping the porch railing in her hands and leaning back. Part of him wondered why she hadn't worn gloves, though he chastised himself. He wasn't supposed to worry about her now, was he? “I'm sorry. I was going to talk to you soon,” she said.
He gave a quick nod, though he saw, as he watched her in his peripheral vision, that her eyes were beginning to flash with a familiar fire. Somehow he felt compelled, against his better judgment, to poke the flames. “I guess I understand. Who breaks up with someone right before Christmas?”
“Who proposes to someone on Christmas Eve?” she countered, her voice rising. He noticed her glancing back towards the house once more, but she didn't stop her voice or gestures from getting increasingly intense. “God, could you pick a better time to load on the pressure? And were you reading the situation at all? What about this made you think it was the right time for – for that?”
“I don't know, okay Ginette?” He sighed. “I just wanted it, I think. So I tried to make it happen.”
“It doesn't work like that,” she said. “And I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you make me the bad guy. You can be mad, hate me, and you don't have to stay, but it wouldn't have been right.”
“How long have you thought that?” he asked.
“I don't know,” she said, and now she seemed close to tears. “But haven't you felt it too? I didn't know, for sure, I was still waiting I guess. Hoping. But I knew when you asked that the answer wasn't yes.”
He glanced down at his hands, realizing he'd clenched them into fists.
“I am sorry,” she said, raising her hand for a moment but then thinking better of it and folding her arms. “And sorry for suggesting you stay. You can leave if you want. You don't owe me anything, or them.”
He shook his head slowly. “I'll stay ‘til tomorrow. I can get through it.”
“Okay,” she nodded, for the first time swiping at her cheeks. “Whatever you want.”
“Thanks,” he said quietly. He glanced at her for a moment, and she stared back at him, her eyes wider than a deer in the middle of a country road. He hated it, seeing each other so clearly like this, but for the first time it all seemed real.
“I'll be inside,” she said. “And there's coffee. Dad says he wants to challenge you to a rematch.”
Her footsteps retreating were the only sound for a moment, though there was silence suggesting she had paused. “Ginette,” he added, without looking over. “I'm sorry too.”
She didn't say anything, but he heard the door slide open and closed again.
He breathed in and out, staring out the ravine her parents' house backed onto, the trees capped in white and the grey-blue shadows encircling them. He shouldn't stay, really. He hadn't been invited anywhere else, but that didn't mean he should be here.
It had once seemed like a strong pull, something keeping him close, but she was right, he'd been reading the story he'd wanted to read. Maybe it was time to look somewhere else, to do something different.
He surveyed the trees and hills again. This beautiful place. He would find somewhere else.
The sky was darkening, the brightness of the snow finally less dazzling. He could glance into the distance for periods of time instead of briefly checking now and then. It was still impossibly empty, though his own shadow growing long in the mounds of snow at least reminded him he was still here. He hadn't become one of the ghosts, flitting around in plain sight and just out of reach.
They were back, he'd noticed a little while ago. Faintly he'd realized, so faintly, he could hear his mother's choir, making their way through “O Come all ye Faithful.” His father's voice, explaining the finer points of a football game, sometimes presented itself, surprisingly welcome in this hostile world of soft snow. The teacher welcoming everyone to the prom and wishing them a good night, and Karen Jenkins squealing in his ear. A few other things he heard were less welcome, and he tried to push them aside.
He tried to envision, as he looked out at the sky now bleeding purples and pale orange-gold, the place he couldn't see yet. His house, with the blue shutters and grey shingles, the living room couch waiting for him to sink into, the stack of blankets still there from his last night camping beside the fire. And the rest of the town, warm and safe.
It had been a year like others. Deaths still struck at surprising moments. News trickling from the outside was sometimes hopeful, sometimes devastating, and usually monotonously rare. The fights still broke out between town leaders and authority figures, between old ways and new ideas, between friends and family members. And they still hadn't learned how to erase the damages from their land, their buildings, and themselves. But they had been rebuilding, and planting, and somehow they were still going. And there were little triumphs all the time.
You could almost forget sometimes how fast everything could become a life and death battle. He wasn't sure how. How could he have misread the situation so badly at first? Did they develop a complacency when things were okay, or was it because the dangers only phased them when they were forced to take them on directly? In those moments, he wondered if the dangers were more real than that warm place he imagined. He could nearly always see it off in the distance, that place they could have, could be, but now and then he wondered if he was looking for something that wasn't there.
His mother's choir was singing “I Saw Three Ships.” “I hear ya,” he whispered, and stared down at his feet as he walked onward.
“Look out, dips down right here,” said Stanley Richmond.
Emily Sullivan turned to look and chuckled slightly. “I see. Here.” She stepped forward to where he was half crouched, one of his feet sunken into a deceptive but deep rut in the snow-covered path. She held out a hand and he gripped it in his own as he pulled his leg out. “Don’t you hate when it gets all icy on top? Thanks,” he said.
She let go and began walking at his side again.
“So I found it in a box in the attic,” he said, launching back into his earlier topic of discussion. “I think it'd be an awesome kerchief for Mama, so I just have to convince my co-star. If you see her before Friday, can you try to mention that you think the Night Before Christmas couple would look awesome with costumes?”
“I'm not sure it'll come up, but I'll try,” she said.
“Eric's gotta have some dorky shirt or something she can steal,” he continued. “Last year, it didn't really matter because we were just on the radio so no one could see us.”
“Well, I could -” she started.
“But this year, it's going to be all live and all awesome. It might even top my performance in the Christmas pageant.”
“The year you were eating a Fun Dip when you visited Jesus in the manger?” she asked.
“No, the year I was the baby Jesus,” he said. “My first Christmas.”
Emily smirked. “Right. Didn't your cousin forget to bring you onstage?”
Stanley laughed. “Yeah. Poor Loretta – got stage fright and left a baby in a Sunday school room once and never lived it down. But then I got to be the first Jesus ever carried in by Mrs. Larson during the 'O Come All Ye Faithful' chorus like Rafiki in The Lion King. Just before my mom could faint.”
She smiled, stepping carefully as they came to another patch of ice-covered snow mounded high over the path. “I always wanted to be Mary but they made me play an angel every year. The hair, I guess.”
“Or the irony,” he said with a smirk.
“That too,” she shrugged, laughing. “And Chris was always a shepherd. He didn't care, as long as he could wear a moustache.”
“That was Bonnie's favourite part,” said Stanley with a chuckle. “The year she was one of the wise men. She convinced me to get her makeup and everything, just to draw herself a beard.”
She looked sideways at him and smiled.
“Hey, look,” he said suddenly, his entire demeanour shifting in a moment. She was instantly serious too, her eyes following the direction he was pointing. He raised the binoculars and peered at the blur of movement at the edge of the horizon.
“Oh, it's just them,” he said.
She gave a nod, still holding her muscles tense for a few moments longer, by habit. In a few seconds she could see. Two riders were approaching in the distance.
“I guess Santa really is coming to town,” he said with a grin.
“You guys run into any trouble?” asked Emily a few moments later. Skylar and Dale were dismounting their horses and Skylar shook her head, stretching her arms and twisting at the waist. “Other than nearly freezing, no,” she said. “We talked to a supplier who can get us seed and some extra food, but we'll have to go back with the truck when the snow lets up.”
Dale nodded. “We brought the stuff we could carry in the sled, though. Archie and Gus are unloading it at the warehouse. We wanted to check in at the store, make sure the last storm didn't do any damage.”
Stanley nodded. “Anything to declare?” His tone was somewhat joking, but he awkwardly shifted his feet in the snow.
“Got some spices we thought people might like for Christmas. Want to see?” asked Skylar, reaching for the big pack tied onto her horse.
“Any chocolate?” asked Stanley, stepping towards her.
“Sorry, you’re on your own with that one,” she said. “Though there is some cinnamon.”
Emily sent him a sympathetic grimace. “Emily,” said Dale. He had a more serious expression on his face. “We checked at the centre. We couldn't get anything else on him. I think the lead's dead.”
“Oh,” she said, finding herself slowly sinking from the place where she'd smirked about chocolate and Santa. “Okay. Thanks, for...”
Dale nodded, sending her a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.
“Do you guys want a hot drink?” she asked. “We've still got some left.”
“No, we're almost home,” said Skylar. “I just want to get to the store and then not move. Thanks though.”
“You're free to go,” said Stanley, putting on his somewhat playful official tone again. “We'll see you soon.”
They prepared to mount their horses again. “You still having that dinner at the school tomorrow?” asked Dale.
Emily nodded. “Drop by if you want. It's always nice when you guys can show them there's life after.”
Skylar chuckled. “Sure. See you later.”
“Those two as role models?” asked Stanley, shaking his head slowly, as he and Emily watched them retreating.
Emily nodded, though she couldn't quite bring herself to joke back. She could feel Stanley looking at her, but when she glanced at him, he was looking out at the landscape.
After a few moments, he said “Sorry it didn't pan out.”
She shrugged, feeling a strange slowness in her movements. “He's probably dead, right?” Stanley didn't answer and they stared out a little while longer. “I already thought so,” she said. “But I still hoped maybe...”
“Yeah,” he said eventually. “I get it.”
They stood in silence for a few moments longer. “You never know, right?” he asked. They looked at each other. His expression wasn't as hopeful as his words. They didn't need to say it because they both knew. It was nice not to have to pretend. She smiled a small smile.
“So, you're really going to wear a bonnet to the Christmas party?” she asked.
“It's a kerchief, and I'm just wearing it for the reading, not for the whole party,” he said in a tone that suggested the obviousness of it all.
“Yeah, that would be weird,” she said. “Well, I'm looking forward to it. Especially the look on Mimi's face.”
“I'll tell her you were the one pushing for costumes,” he said. She laughed.
Gracie turned a glare in the direction of a young man and woman, who were still laughing as they righted the rack they had knocked over, picking the books up off the floor. “If you damage anything you'll have to pay for it,” she said sharply.
“It's fine Mrs. Leigh, see?” asked the young man.
“Are you headed over to your father's reception, Jake?” she asked, a look of reprimand still on her face.
The blond woman with him was looking at the shelf in front of her, but Jake gave a quick nod. “Put in an appearance, sure.”
“Good,” said Gracie. “Can I ring in those sodas or did you want something else?”
Emily watched the man in the next aisle, carefully deliberating over some flower bouquets, before turning back to the shelf in front of her. “I think something else, Mrs. Leigh.” She glanced at Jake. “Chips? I'm really craving something salty.”
“Anything but pickle,” he said, making a face.
She had been reaching for the dill flavoured and sent a glance over her shoulder. She picked up a bag of the sour cream instead, and after a moment’s hesitation, grabbed the dill too. “Compromise?” she said with a grin. He smirked.
“So want to get a drink?” he asked.
“What about that appearance?” she countered.
He nodded, with a showy look of resign. “Sure. Ten minutes, then we can escape.”
She nodded. “The night is ours. But not too late, right? My mom's probably going to want me up early, driving around for last minute things.”
He grinned. “Robin's really going all out isn't she?”
She looked sideways at him. “Don't let her hear you say that.”
He chuckled. “Why not? You can call my parents Johnston and Gail.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You call them that.”
“I do,” he said. At the look she shot him, he shrugged. “Not to their faces. Think I'm an idiot?”
She laughed, gathering her items together. “Okay, I’ll pay and then I think I'm going to use the payphone. Meet you in there?”
“They'll be fine,” he said.
“I want to make sure Chris isn't burning the place down,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “You know what I mean,” she said.
“No, what exactly do you know about not burning things down?” he asked, barely suppressing a chuckle.
“A lot. I learn from experience,” she shrugged.
“They'll be fine,” he said, looping an arm around her.
“You know what he did the other night?” she asked. “Mom wanted hot cocoa, the real kind, so he made her some. With the kettle! I went to plug it in the next morning and it was still full of old milk.”
Jake laughed, and she reluctantly smiled, but then grimaced. “I want him to help but I just...he does such a half-ass job. Why can't he be more like your brother?”
“Trust me, you don't want an Eric,” said Jake. “The world can't handle another. Come on, try to take it easy. It's supposed to be your night off.”
She raised her eyebrows. When he gave her that look, it was a little like going back, even though she knew really that things were different than those sixteen-year-old days when they never called home. “Come on, one drink, then we'll make our appearance, then we'll escape?” he asked.
She smiled slightly. “Okay.”
Gracie kept her eagle eyes on both of them as they paid, though she smiled at them as they took their bag of groceries and prepared to go. “Take care of yourselves,” she said.
“Always do,” said Jake, holding open the door.
“How about you? Are you going to the mayor's party at town hall?” she asked, turning to the customer who was now stepping up to pay.
Gray nodded, handing her the flowers and reaching for his wallet. “Sure, I’ll put in an appearance.”
She gave him a look he had seen a few times in the past two months, though he wasn’t quite sure whether she was reprimanding him or smirking at a joke that they were both in on. “You’d better, if you want to really get to know the town. Mayor’s Christmas party is an event for sure.”
“I look forward to it,” he said politely, taking his change.
“These are lovely,” she said, pausing for just a moment of wistful admiration before she handed them back to him. Her eyebrows were raised in question, another expression he’d gotten used to quickly. You certainly had to be careful how much you gave away in these moments, when the operators of the small town rumour mill seized opportunities and ran with them.
“Thanks. Hope my hosts like them,” he said with a nod.
“Oh, I’m sure they will,” said Gracie, her tone bordering an edge. Before he could stare at her with his own questioning eyes, she was busying herself tidying the things sprawled across the counter. “Have fun at the party, if I don’t see you there,” she said.
He nodded again. “I’ll try.”
He paused for a moment to smile to himself as he opened the door. A blast of icy wind collided with his face.
It was strange the way the cold kept hitting, long after it’d first started seeping into his bones and settling in the dark corners of his mind. Like the scent of the tree lot in the middle of the city where he’d bought his first tree, that first time he’d spent the holiday by himself. You would find yourself adjusted and then you would turn your head a certain way and be hit with that pine smell again. Cold was like that, if you turned. He tried to walk in a straight line.
The silence was worst. It could drown someone. He tried to compensate with thoughts and memories, but the silence filled it all up, stretching into all of the curves and depressions in the landscape.
Except it wasn’t silent. How had he not noticed before? He could hear them now, the impossibly loud, moving across the ice and snow, muffled and thundering. All of them. So many. Stepping, onward and upward. Just like Superman. Onward. He had to go onward, didn’t he? For some reason.
Inside Town Hall, the music mixed with voices, laughing and frenetic. People were dressed nicely, though not overdressed, and they milled around, sipping drinks, eating baked goods from napkins, and making dramatic hand gestures. He was greeted near the door by a young man wearing a red tie who enthusiastically introduced himself as Mayor Green's son, home for Christmas break. Gray politely nodded at his directions to the coatroom.
He passed a few familiar faces on his way down the hall, and each person nodded or said hello. It had been somewhat of a process, infiltrating this small town – some had viewed him suspiciously, and others seemed almost overcompensating in their friendliness. Then in the past few weeks, everything had gotten a little easier. He hadn’t decided yet if this was as a natural result of the festive season or if people were truly beginning to warm to him.
Just as he was about to unbutton his coat, something slammed into him. “Dale!” He turned. A kid with a mop of curly hair and a fast reddening face was backing away. Several other pairs of feet were retreating quickly, but the kid stood frozen in place as a woman marched up to him. “Say you're sorry,” she said, putting her hand on the boy's shoulders. The boy looked as though he'd rather do anything but mumble his apologies to the stranger, but as his mother prodded him, he finally complied.
“It's alright,” said Gray, awkwardly sending mother and son a smile. “Everyone gets a bit excited around this time of year right?”
Dale felt his cheeks growing hot and was glad when the bald man in the fancy jacket continued on to the coatroom. He was less glad that his mother was still gripping his shoulders. “I didn't mean anything bad,” he said, leaning his head back and glancing up at her. “He got in the way.”
She peered down at him in silence for a moment, a familiar worried expression on her face. “Okay. But see why I don't want you running around with those Lewis boys?”
“They're alright,” he protested. “You don't have to worry.”
She reached down to smooth his hair, which he endured with a grimace. “Okay, let's go get some juice.”
Dale permitted his mother to hold onto his arm for a moment as they walked towards the foyer, but he sent her a pained look before the door. She relented with a sigh. “Go find your friends. Not those boys.”
He narrowed his eyes as he walked into the crowd. If she didn't like the Lewis boys, why did she hang out with their mother so often? He spotted several classmates as he slipped in and around the pockets of people, but no one he wanted to spend time talking to. Finally, he spotted Bonnie by the refreshment table. “Have a shortbread,” she said, holding out one of the pink and white cookies.
He accepted with a nod, looking around the room. He spotted the man he'd bumped into earlier, and retreated to the other side of the table.
“Who's that?” asked Bonnie.
“I don't know,” he said darkly. “But he got in the way and my mom made me say sorry.”
“Sad,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Whatever. So,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her. “Anyone steal the elf yet?”
His eyes had fully adjusted to the swirling white in all directions. About time, wasn’t it? He was beginning to feel giddy that he had discovered the secret at last. There were always people here, all around, pressing in. He wasn’t sure what they wanted, and, so long ago now, at first they had frightened him, but now they were comforting. He wasn’t alone, was he?
Never alone, they had said.
You’re always here, he had thought to himself, a realization and a question. Of course they were. There were more of them, for sure, all across this country than the measly group back in town. Millions out here, waiting, watching for someone else to take into their arms.
Maybe it would be warm, he thought. It had to be. So many of them. This was the country. The world that was, and is. The here and now. He could stop, here and now.
Faintly, very faintly though, he remembered the measly group. A very distant place. It seemed like a very wispy dream to hold onto, but something in him made him dig in. Remember, he told himself. Something warm.
He had spoken to a few people already when Shep Cale spotted him and waved him over to the group of men he had been swapping stories with. Soon he had been introduced to Shep's friends, some of whom seemed to extend back to his school days. They clapped each other on the back a lot after a joke or story, and although they made a few jokes about Gray's former life in Denver (asking whether or not he rode a bicycle to work or ate dried cranberries on everything), they nodded appreciatively enough when Shep mentioned his new scheduling system at the mine. It was fifteen minutes before he made it to the baked goods table. Spotting Harry Carmichael, he nodded a hello to him and his wife, Lorraine, who he'd met at the Anderson and Stevens party. “Enjoying yourself so far?” asked Lorraine.
Gray nodded. “I'm heading out soon, pre-Christmas dinner at Stevens's, but I thought I'd stop by and check it out.”
Harry smiled. “Definitely. It's a town tradition, you don't want to miss your first one.” Gray chuckled lightly. He'd learned early on that although Harry had only begun his position at the mine last year, he'd grown up in town and often seemed amused to act as a tour guide. “Everyone seems to get pretty involved,” said Gray, looking around the room.
“Sure,” said Harry. “Hey, Jimmy, Margaret, any day now?” Gray glanced over at the couple Harry was waving at. The man, holding his partner's hand and both of their coats over his other arm, reminded Gray of a kid on a field trip. Maybe it was his beaming smile. “Any day,” said the man named Jimmy.
The woman shook her head, putting a hand on her stomach and laughing. “Not quite, and good thing. We're not even done the nursery yet.”
“Have you met Gray?” asked Harry. Soon he had been introduced to Margaret, Jericho pharmacy tech, and Jimmy, sheriff's deputy, who stayed and chatted a few moments, jokingly accepting advice and recent wisdom from Harry and Lorraine, who had an eighteen-month-old at home with a babysitter. Soon they were heading over to the dessert table themselves, Jimmy exclaiming over the shortbreads on the way.
“Hey Stanley, going to make it out to the pageant this year?” asked Jimmy as he passed him at the beverage table.
Stanley nodded. “Bringing one of the wise men. Looks like the Baby Jesus sweepstakes is going to just miss you this year.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Always next year.” He gave Stanley a nod as he picked up the second plastic juice cup and, carefully balancing, made his way back over to where Margaret was waiting.
“So dinner at the Stevens' place,” Harry was saying. “That must be why Stevens didn't drag himself out here tonight.”
“Yeah, I'm sure he's slaving away over a hot burner right now,” said Lorraine with a joking tone, though Gray wondered if he imagined a tiny, more biting flicker in her voice. If Harry noticed, he was brightly smiling as if nothing had happened. “I'm sure it'll be nice. You've met the missus already right?”
Gray nodded. He'd been introduced to his partner's wife at the Christmas party. “Everyone but the kid. She's going to be there tonight, he said.” The beloved Skylar. He was sure he would be able to pick her out of a line up, from the number of pictures of her he’d seen displayed around the office. Meeting her was probably the most daunting prospect of the night. Miners, engineers, storeowners, and sheriff’s deputies were one thing, but kids, they were a true challenge. He glanced down at the bouquet he was still holding. “You don't think I should've brought something for her too do you?”
Lorraine's lips twitched into a smile. Harry shook his head. “Nah, she'll get tons of things the day after tomorrow. Don't they all, this time of year? It seems like we should own a share in Fisher Price after this one. Thank God Jamie's not old enough to want one of those Furbies.” He made a face. “You just look out,” he said, glancing at Jimmy and Margaret. “By the time yours is old enough, these things’ll be even weirder. Space age toys.”
“Sounds like something Kaitlyn would be all over,” said a man in a sweater vest who had just been greeting Harry and Lorraine at the edge of the circle. “She asked for a telescope this year.” He nodded a hello to the others in the group, peering over at Gray. “Anderson, right?”
Gray realized then that he had met the man before, at the homecoming game. Last time he had seen him, he'd been sharing popcorn with his wife and children, spilling a good deal of it in the bleachers. He thought fast, trying to pull his name from the corners of his mind. “Yes. Rennie?” he asked.
“Please, Scott,” he said, reaching to shake Gray's hand.
“And you can call me Gray.” As Gray shook the man’s hand, a pair of children bumped into them, nearly knocking the drink out of Scott’s hand. “Boys!” he said sternly after them, but he smiled as he turned back to Gray. “Kids at Christmas, huh?”
A laugh startled him. It wasn't from the ones he had been watching. He turned to the side. A boy was running, a snowball in his hand, aiming it. He was slow to react, to shrink backwards, but the boy wasn't looking at him. A girl, her hair escaping from its barrettes, was holding out a cautioning hand. “You better not dare!” she was shouting. He knew her, didn't he? Her picture used to sit in the middle of the desk, in that other office.
The boy laughed again, so much it seemed his ill-fitting hat might fall off of his unruly curls. He tossed the snowball at the girl, and though she looked furious for a moment, she sprang to action, chasing him across the space.
“You're going to have to look out for them.” He turned. Ginette was standing, her powder blue coat somehow muted in this bright snow.
He shook his head, wanting to say so many things to her, but all the words seemed to melt on their way to his mouth. “It’s alright,” she said, looking at him with those piercing eyes.
What do you know, he thought. She was reaching her hand towards him, and part of him wanted to stop and wait. Her arm, nearer than all the others, vaguely hovering somewhere in the icy background, looked just as it must have, years ago, leaning against her porch railing, his car door, a windowsill. “It’s alright,” she said again, stepping forward.
He shook his head, grimacing, and kept walking. Right foot, left foot. Each a tiny triumph.
Someone was asking him a question. “What?” he asked. He turned back to Scott. “Sorry?”
Scott had an easy, unoffended smile. “How are you adjusting to the town so far?”
People had asked him this question a lot, from the moment he'd first set foot here. He'd answered simply and straightforwardly, the same each time and it seemed to satisfy them, though he rarely thought about it himself. It had really been a strange place at first. Someone had shown up on his doorstep the first day he moved in, with muffins and nosy inquiries. There were more arguments in the lunchroom at the mine than there'd ever been at his company in Denver. Stevens had informed him that it would be considered completely unacceptable if they didn't throw their employees a Christmas party and here they all were two weeks later, celebrating again.
Tonight he looked around the room at the chaotic gathering, the sometimes pettily sworn enemies greeting each other heartily, smirking behind each other’s backs, and then offering each other cookies. Some theatrical, telling their stories as if they’d taken to a dimly lit stage, and others using the opportunity of the warm haze to fade in and out of the background, darting between crowds and gathering greetings, handshakes, and sweets. It was a whole world in here. A strange one, where he often felt like an astronaut touching down, but somehow an enticing one.
“It’s nice,” he said. He looked at Scott again, but the sounds made it hard to hear what he was saying. If only they would stop shouting.
“Retreat!” He peered again through the burning snow. There they were, somewhere beyond the closer, more familiar spirits. The tiny line of soldiers, struggling to hold their ranks.
He wanted to shout out to them, suddenly. His voice just sputtered, like smoke in the air. He leaned forward, watching their progress.
They were sheltering against a small snow bank and now and then they would bravely heave a snowball over the top of their fortress, these adult figures, terror on their faces. One was slumped, clutching at his side. They wore the greens of browns of the border patrol, hardly effective against this cold and hardly camouflage against this white. “We have to go back for him!” a woman was shouting, gripping the icy ledge and sneaking a peek over the side, ducking as another snowball came flying over their heads.
“Forget it, we're dying out here!” said the bearded man who was clutching his wounded friend to him.
“Kids and their games,” said a voice in his ear. He glanced sideways, startled. His father was surveying the snowy war scene, his arms folded, a half-amused grim smile on his face. “You don't seem ready to play, boy,” he said.
The son gritted his teeth and kept walking. He could hear one of the soldiers sobbing, could see them flattening themselves further into the snow bank as the snow kept erupting around them. He should do something, shouldn’t he? If he could reach?
“How do you think you’re gonna help?” continued that voice. “You’ve been a real help so far, haven’t you?”
He stared as Scott Rennie greeted his wife and touched her arm, introducing her. Smiling at each other in the foyer lights.
“No,” he muttered to himself. Had he ever said it out loud before? He could now, with all of them listening. He looked down, watching his feet as he willed them forward.
The ground felt strange now. Lighter, somehow. He breathed deeply. He must’ve gone ten or fifteen feet, but Scott was still there up ahead. He tried looking away, but it didn’t seem to help.
The others were there too, talking, clutching at their drinks. Harry miming a football pass, Jake and Emily squeezing past, trying to remain unnoticed. There was Shep again, showing off a new scarf and Gracie Leigh, gathering ammo amidst handshakes.
But there were so many strangers standing closer in the cold. So many faces. Some he felt he recognized, for a fleeting second, and he wondered where he’d seen them before. Walking, maybe, on the road out of town. Going towards warmer weather, towards a battle with their neighbours, towards another war zone. Here they were, his people, mingling with the others out here. Could he help? “No,” he whispered again.
He looked at his feet and realized he had lost the path. He wondered if there’d ever been a path. Maybe he was just following them, and everyone was going away.
He stumbled but remained upright, trying to find his footing.
“Come on, stay!” Harry was surprisingly insistent. “Just a few more minutes. The mayor’s about to give his speech.”
What had he answered, in that warm room? Surely he hadn’t been impolite, but it couldn’t have been all that pressing. What did any of them care about a speech anyway?
“You’ve got time, haven’t you?” Shep was asking.
He had time, and they all had, back then, but they hadn’t known it. Time marching on, bringing changes and surprises, nothing like the endlessness out here. Time to make mistakes, time to make better, time to show up and to sleep in.
He chuckled to himself. He felt a warmth growing in him. He closed his eyes and saw them, looking back at him expectantly. He walked blindly, listening to the hum of all of them, their inevitable one story. How good it was, not being alone.
The church loomed ahead of him. The figure in the yellow scarf was still far away. He smiled as he walked forward.
“Good evening, folks. I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight. First off, let’s hand it to the refreshment committee!” Appreciative applause sounded around the room. Everyone was settled for the moment.
Part of him wanted to stop and listen too. That room, those people. They were warm, they were waiting, and though they wouldn’t stay the same, there was still something ahead for them.
It could still be something.
He had never noticed how much the snow looked like flour. He nearly laughed at the thought. His mother had sometimes let him stand on a chair in the kitchen, peering over her shoulder as she mixed things in bowls, pouring and adding and checking the book. Every now and then he had been given the spoon. He would stir, smoothing the flour into hills and valleys, making tiny trenches, burying clumps of sugar, raisins, and other additions and watching everything become powdery white again.
It could be like that here. They were making it easy, these ghosts. He could rest his legs. Rest his heart.
He turned and looked again. There was a small child up ahead, in a hood and mittens, lifting his boots high in the snow. Taking on the world. He was struck with the impulse to follow, but it was hard to move.
He couldn’t see her, but he could almost tell she was somewhere to the side, just out of reach. What was she saying? Something she used to say. “You can’t take it all on, but you can take your share.”
He smirked. That wouldn’t really help now. He craned his neck, but he couldn’t see. A hint of yellow. Fluttering in the wind.
“You can,” she would say.
There were no tears, but he closed his eyes. An eternity passed, and he stepped on.
That child was coming closer. He could hear the footfalls, louder than any of the ghosts. How? What was he doing, in their midst?
Suddenly the face was right in front of him. Peering in surprise from under a knitted giraffe hat. “Dad!” she shouted.
He stumbled a bit. Her voice was a shock. He glanced to the side.
Yellow scarf in the wind. He could hear all the voices, the whole choir. She looked the same as those years ago, when they’d walked downtown secretly. The voices were rising higher. She smiled at him again, looking up to the sky. She might fly away again. Everything was so light, he suddenly wondered if he might be able to fly too.
But the voice was in his ear again, nagging at him. “You okay? What are you doing out here? Hello?”
He shuddered and looked back. The giraffe-haired child was standing with a man now and he realized that it was the man who had spoken this time. “Gray? Can you hear me, man?”
He knew the face staring at him, close and cold and sharp in this windy white plane. His brain struggled to form the thought.
“Gray? You're in rough shape huh? Come on, we'll get you somewhere warm.”
The man grasped his arm, a strange haunting feeling. The little girl was still staring up.
He closed his eyes, feeling at last that the cold was draining out of him.