Paul Curtin - Gray Snow

Maybe Kelly was right: maybe the lucky ones got to die. The rest had to live on.

AIDAN CLUNG TO her leg like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. She didn’t know what to say to a young boy who had already experienced so much death. She didn’t know how to reassure him she would not be next, or that his father wasn’t next, and that he didn’t have to worry. She wasn’t sure if it was true.

Sean split a log in the distance, grunting as the blade came down. He removed his hat for a moment and looked at her. She met his gaze, and he nodded. No telling what he was thinking since the incident two weeks earlier. His words told her he forgave her. His eyes said the same. But he had lied before about graver things.

There was no assurance of anything anymore. The world had become cold and hostile, with no mercy. She looked at the clouds, the rolling gray, and wondered if life would ever be forgiving again. Whether God might have any mercy left for them.

They both stood for a minute, and Sean went inside. The wind whipped over top of her. She didn’t even feel it after a while. A numbness clung to her bones. Finally, her son tugged on her coat.

She looked down at him. His big eyes—his father’s eyes—looked back at her. Her heart melted, and she bent and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, Mom,” he whispered.

A tear fell from her eyelashes. “I love you too, Aidan.” She patted him on his head. “Go on inside to your dad, okay? We can check on the garden again tomorrow.”

He nodded and trudged through the snow. Elise stood still for another minute, closing her eyes.

“Mom, look,” Aidan shouted up ahead.

The light beyond her closed eyelids suddenly brightened. Her eyes shot opened, and she turned to see her son halfway toward the house. Above him to the west, the clouds rolled and stirred. In one strip of gray, the darkness split to unveil a bright light. Visible rays cut through the slit and cast their radiance over the yard and forest.

She stumbled forward, stripping off her hat, and falling on her knees at the glory before her. The sunshine washed over her like long-delayed rain on parched land. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, and the warmth sank into her skin.

She smiled and laughter escaped from her lips. She never thought she would feel the sunshine ever again, and yet there it was:

Bright and present. Unceasing.

THANK YOU FOR READING GRAY SNOW .

If you would, please take a moment to return to where you purchased the book and leave a review. It would be much appreciated. Reviews help new readers find my work and decide if the book is for them.

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Thank you to everyone who helped develop this novel, including Jacob and Elizabeth Wershing, and all the members of the Columbus Creative Cooperative (now Ohio Writers’ Association), who workshopped an early manuscript and helped me clean it up.

Thank you to everyone who provided encouragement to me as I struggled to get this one out.

Biggest thank you, as always, to my wife, Kaiti. Your input was worth the wait.

Paul Curtin enjoys reading, backpacking, and camping, but only when the mosquitoes can’t get him.

He lives in Columbus, OH with his wife and family.

Gray Snow

© Paul Curtin 2019

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.