Paul Curtin - Gray Snow

Sean forced air out of his nostrils. “Will you stop this? For God’s sake, I don’t—”

“It was meant for me.”

Nobody spoke for a moment. Elise said, “What do you mean?”

“The bowl. The one he gave to me. I gave it to Andrew.”

Sean said, “This is crazy.”

“Then eat his soup.”

“What?”

Michael grabbed Andrew’s bowl from the coffee table and thrust it toward Sean. “Then eat the soup.”

“I have no idea what happened here. I’m not going to put myself at risk just to satisfy your delusions.”

“Did you poison him?”

“What are you talking about?” Sean yelled. “Dear God, Michael, I don’t want to die too if something was in his soup.”

Michael stared the man down, the bowl shaking in his hand. After a few seconds that seemed to last minutes, he tossed it aside. “You son of a bitch,” he said.

“You need to calm down. I didn’t do anything.”

“You want me dead?” he said. “Pull out that gun you keep on your belt. Come on. I know it’s under your clothes. Pull it out. Be a man about it.”

Elise cried, “Stop this. Both of you.”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. He could not understand how she didn’t see it. It was plain. Sean would never allow Andrew to keep eating his food while his daughter lay under a pile of frozen dirt in the backyard. No way.

He looked at her. “He’s not going to stop, Elise. He’s not going to stop.”

Elise, tears in her eyes, said nothing.

Sean had no devilish smirk or admission of guilt on his face. But Michael knew. He could see it. Something was happening, something intangible, something behind Sean’s eyes he couldn’t quite place, as if he were declaring a victory over his enemy.

Michael then understood fully what he didn’t want to accept before: that he would have to do something about it. He would have to do something about Sean.

THE DOOR SHUT, and the image of Andrew’s body, wrapped in a tarp, being dragged outside, went with it. When she heard the lock click, she turned to look at the blood streaks smeared into her carpet. Nothing would get the stain out. The carpet was now infested with ash and blood intermingled.

Her gaze rose. Michael stood there with his arms crossed. The seeds Michael had planted came back with a frightening pungency, filling her head like poison, making every move that Sean made and every word he spoke seem suspicious. She knew it wasn’t true. Sean may have done questionable things in the past few months—he was a flawed man—but he wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. Every life he took was out of a sense to protect his family. That was his primary goal. There was no need to think he was acting otherwise.

“Elise.”

“Unless you’re going to apologize, save it.”

He sighed. “Elise, there has to be some small part of you that knows I’m right.”

She approached him. “There’s a big part of me that wants you to shut up.”

“Elise—”

“You have zero proof, Michael. Zero. What do you want to do? Do you want to get rid of him? Huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t kill Andrew.”

“He’s done this before.”

“He was defending our home then.”

“He still thinks he is.”

She waved her hand, shook her head, and stormed past him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Haven’t from the beginning.”

“He’s not the same man you married.”

“He’s exactly the same man I married,” she said, turning back to him.

“He’s not.”

“What would you do with him?” she whispered, eyes narrowed. “Huh? What would you do?”

“Come on, Elise.”

“What would you do?”

“Stop asking me that.”

“Be a man. Say it.”

“Elise, will you quit asking—”

“Say it!”

It looked like the words sat at the precipice of his tongue, just behind his lips, ready to explode out of his mouth. But he said nothing. She pressed her teeth together and said, “You need to get out of my sight.”

Michael rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger and said, “Elise, I was wrong. About a lot of things. I was wrong.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m not now. Believe me, I’m not now.”

“He has done nothing but be generous with you. Did you know that we had a plan if a disaster like this were to happen? We had a plan. If anyone came to our door—anyone—we would turn them away. But we didn’t. All that food you’ve been eating your fill of, all the warm showers you’ve had. Warm fires, blankets, sleeping bags—they were ours to use. Do you get that? That was for my kids and me and Sean. Not you. Not Kelly. Not Andrew. And we were prepared to turn away anyone who was going to come by our home because we needed to survive.

“And then you and Kelly got mixed up in all this. Andrew too. And we changed our plans. For you. We risked everything so you could live too. Sean allowed the thing he valued most—the survival of his family—to be put on the line so your ungrateful ass could live too. How have you repaid him? By questioning everything he does. By accusing him of murder.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“Come on.”

“He’s just preserving what is most valuable to him, right? You said it yourself.”

“Michael, just stop.”

“Think about it. With Andrew gone, there’s so much more food. One less mouth to feed. What happens when I die next? Or what about Kelly?”

“That isn’t what’s happening.”

“What happens if you’re in the way of his survival?”

“Michael,” she said, more agitated.

“What happens to Aidan?”

A knot moved from her gut into her throat and it burned like acid. Sean’s a good man, she told herself, he would never hurt Aidan. He would never hurt Elise like that. Yet, she thought for a moment maybe he was right. Maybe there was something…

She jolted her head to the side as if to expel the thought. “You’re wrong.”

He threw his hands out in desperation. “You have to see what’s going on here.”

“I see exactly what’s going on here. You’re trying to turn me against my husband.”

“Elise, please, I’m—”

“Enough,” she yelled. Her limbs burned, the anger sinking into her muscles. Her entire body filled with pressure, and she exhaled to keep from exploding. “Go find my son and then do me a favor and stay out of sight for a while.”

“He’ll never let us live—”

“Get out of my sight,” she said, not able to look at him any longer.

She listened to his footsteps fade away from her. The sound of small feet emerged from the same direction a moment later. Aidan. She got down on her knees and pulled him into a tight hug. She rubbed the back of his head and settled herself so she wouldn’t cry.

“Did Andrew die like Molly?” he asked.

At least she tried. The watershed of tears broke. “Yeah.”

“He was my best friend.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“Are you and daddy going to die too?”

The question pulverized her heart. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, let alone speak. She had never considered what might happen if both of them died. She had always considered that Aidan’s conditions would take him first, but she never considered the possibility they might die before him, leaving him alone.

She pulled her son back into an embrace and closed her eyes. “Not for a very long time,” she whispered.