crackers,
butter, inelegant and obviously homemade stoneware, and a bowl of fruit. The
flicker of warm yellow candlelight on the faces of Rachel, Scott and Sharon
created a stark contrast to sleet and snow outside the window. “Sure thing.
Thanks.”
Scott was a perfect host, badgering Jim with questions about
professional soccer teams as well as lecturing him on the nutritional value of
lentil and veggie soup, which he’d clearly absorbed from Rachel and Sharon, and
pointing out the earth-toned stoneware, created by his mother. He eased the
slight tension that existed between Rachel and Jim, and by the end of lunch,
everyone was relaxed, smiling and chatting. Sharon stepped to the window and
pushed back the blankets, revealing mounds of snow that covered the yards,
sidewalks and streets, obscured the parked vehicles, and bent tree limbs nearly
to the ground.
“Boy, we’re buried,” she said. She sounded thrilled, not
distressed.
Hands linked behind his head, Jim asked, “How’s the snow
shoveling for the building? Although the scene is so pristine and beautiful, I
almost hate to ruin it. It would make a wonderful painting—all white and
blurry.”
“Kind of nice to be isolated like this. Nature-bound,” said
Rachel.
Jim nodded in agreement. “Practicalities must be addressed,
though. Safety. Do they do a good job with the sidewalks?”
“Afraid not,” said Rachel. “The manager doesn’t live on
site, and with this weather, he may not even be able to make it here.”
Jim straightened. “Can you get to the shovels?”
“Sure. They’re in the closet under the stairs.”
“What do you say, pal?” Jim turned to Scott. “Shall we give
the manager and your family a hand? And work off some of the calories from
lunch?”
With this suggestion, all four wound up outside, although
they spent more time tossing snowballs and running and screaming from one
another than shoveling the white stuff. As dark descended and the quartet
returned to the dark apartment, they quieted. Sharon flicked on a handy
flashlight and began lighting a few candles.
“Looks like the power’s still off,” said Jim.
“Yes, and so’s the heat,” Rachel said. “Brrr. We should
leave our coats on.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Jim said slowly. “You really should
get out of here and spend the night somewhere with a functioning furnace. Why
don’t we all head over to my place? I have electricity, at least I did when I
left, and we can heat up some frozen pizzas for dinner. As for beds, it’s a
little primitive, but I have several air mattresses you can use.”
“We couldn’t possibly—” Rachel began.
Sharon dug an elbow in Rachel’s ribs. “That’s a great idea,’
she said. “Good that you’re only—what?—a block away? Thanks for the offer.
We’ll go pack some necessities.”
As the sisters headed toward their bedrooms, Rachel hissed
at Sharon. “What’s the idea?”
“You’re right—he’s a great guy. I’m giving you two an
opportunity to be together more.”
Lugging only one backpack or tote each, the three Kinseys
joined Jim for a short but extremely difficult walk to his place. So deep and
wet was the snow that it formed enormous pads around their boots, forcing them
to pull up and push down as if traversing wet cement. The block took
twenty-five minutes to cover.
They reached the entry to his apartment house and paused
between the iron railings on the top level of the stoop to brush snow off their
heads, shoulders and boots.
“I still have juice,” said Jim, pointing up toward the porch
light that turned their surroundings into a glistening spectacle of snow and
ice.
“Juice?” called Scott from the sidewalk where he still was
decimating snowbanks by lying down and making snow angels. “I could use some.
Or better yet, hot chocolate.”
“Hey-ya, kid.” A slurred voice came from a bulky figure
lumbering from side to side on the walkway. “Ya need help?”
Jim’s stiffening body
butter, inelegant and obviously homemade stoneware, and a bowl of fruit. The
flicker of warm yellow candlelight on the faces of Rachel, Scott and Sharon
created a stark contrast to sleet and snow outside the window. “Sure thing.
Thanks.”
Scott was a perfect host, badgering Jim with questions about
professional soccer teams as well as lecturing him on the nutritional value of
lentil and veggie soup, which he’d clearly absorbed from Rachel and Sharon, and
pointing out the earth-toned stoneware, created by his mother. He eased the
slight tension that existed between Rachel and Jim, and by the end of lunch,
everyone was relaxed, smiling and chatting. Sharon stepped to the window and
pushed back the blankets, revealing mounds of snow that covered the yards,
sidewalks and streets, obscured the parked vehicles, and bent tree limbs nearly
to the ground.
“Boy, we’re buried,” she said. She sounded thrilled, not
distressed.
Hands linked behind his head, Jim asked, “How’s the snow
shoveling for the building? Although the scene is so pristine and beautiful, I
almost hate to ruin it. It would make a wonderful painting—all white and
blurry.”
“Kind of nice to be isolated like this. Nature-bound,” said
Rachel.
Jim nodded in agreement. “Practicalities must be addressed,
though. Safety. Do they do a good job with the sidewalks?”
“Afraid not,” said Rachel. “The manager doesn’t live on
site, and with this weather, he may not even be able to make it here.”
Jim straightened. “Can you get to the shovels?”
“Sure. They’re in the closet under the stairs.”
“What do you say, pal?” Jim turned to Scott. “Shall we give
the manager and your family a hand? And work off some of the calories from
lunch?”
With this suggestion, all four wound up outside, although
they spent more time tossing snowballs and running and screaming from one
another than shoveling the white stuff. As dark descended and the quartet
returned to the dark apartment, they quieted. Sharon flicked on a handy
flashlight and began lighting a few candles.
“Looks like the power’s still off,” said Jim.
“Yes, and so’s the heat,” Rachel said. “Brrr. We should
leave our coats on.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Jim said slowly. “You really should
get out of here and spend the night somewhere with a functioning furnace. Why
don’t we all head over to my place? I have electricity, at least I did when I
left, and we can heat up some frozen pizzas for dinner. As for beds, it’s a
little primitive, but I have several air mattresses you can use.”
“We couldn’t possibly—” Rachel began.
Sharon dug an elbow in Rachel’s ribs. “That’s a great idea,’
she said. “Good that you’re only—what?—a block away? Thanks for the offer.
We’ll go pack some necessities.”
As the sisters headed toward their bedrooms, Rachel hissed
at Sharon. “What’s the idea?”
“You’re right—he’s a great guy. I’m giving you two an
opportunity to be together more.”
Lugging only one backpack or tote each, the three Kinseys
joined Jim for a short but extremely difficult walk to his place. So deep and
wet was the snow that it formed enormous pads around their boots, forcing them
to pull up and push down as if traversing wet cement. The block took
twenty-five minutes to cover.
They reached the entry to his apartment house and paused
between the iron railings on the top level of the stoop to brush snow off their
heads, shoulders and boots.
“I still have juice,” said Jim, pointing up toward the porch
light that turned their surroundings into a glistening spectacle of snow and
ice.
“Juice?” called Scott from the sidewalk where he still was
decimating snowbanks by lying down and making snow angels. “I could use some.
Or better yet, hot chocolate.”
“Hey-ya, kid.” A slurred voice came from a bulky figure
lumbering from side to side on the walkway. “Ya need help?”
Jim’s stiffening body
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