Paul Curtin - Gray Snow

SEAN RAISED THE maul axe, pretending the log was his boss’s head. He brought the blade down and cleaved it into two clean pieces, stomped over to the wood pile, grabbed another thick log from under the tarp, and placed it on the stump.

His fat boss’s face appeared again on the log. In his fantasy, his boss was talking down to him in that tone of his. Arrogant. Dismissive. Unappreciative. Sean lifted the maul axe high into the air and dropped it through his boss’s skull, cutting off his words midsentence. Silence. Sean took off one glove and wiped his face, tipping his head back, breathing in the menthol-like air and releasing his anger little by little in vaporized breaths that floated into the darkening sky.

His family had already spent so much on the house and the supplies and the move. They couldn’t go back. Not even if his boss demanded it. Not after everything.

“Why aren’t you using the machine?” a small, high-pitched voice asked behind him.

He put his glove back on and looked at the wood-cutter—a bulky machine he could chuck logs into and receive split wood. He turned to his son. Aidan seemed so small, sitting on a nearby stump with his shoulders hunched to block the wind from creeping into his neckline. Sean said, “Just want to do it by hand today, bud.”

“Why do you chop so much wood?”

“Because it’s good to be prepared. Make sure we can keep ourselves warm if something happens.”

“Like what?”

“Like a lot of things.”

“Like?”

“You don’t need to be worrying about that.”

“Like if the power goes out?”

He nodded. “Something like that,” he said, grabbing the end of the axe and wiggling the handle back and forth to loosen the blade. “It’s always good to have more.”

“How long will the power go out?”

“I didn’t say it would.”

“No, I mean how much do we need?”

“Enough to last the winter.”

“Would the power go out that long?”

Sean freed the axe. “You won’t have nightmares if I tell you this, right?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“No, you’re not,” he said and moved the split logs to his already massive woodpile. “Sometimes bad things happen, and you don’t want to be unprepared.”

“What kind of bad things?”

He looked at his son. “You don’t have to worry about it. That’s my job.”

He set another piece on the stump and readied his swing before bringing it down. Split chunks flew in opposite directions.

“Can I try?”

Sean put another log onto the stump and looked at his son. The boy’s arms were the same diameter as the axe’s handle. Probably couldn’t lift the thing. “Maybe your mom needs help in the kitchen. I can take care of this.”

Aidan stared back at him, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. Sean didn’t want trouble from his wife, making the kid exert himself against doctor’s orders. But she didn’t understand men—about the need to be strong and rugged. A boy could only hear he was weak so many times before it crushed him.

“Come over here.” Aidan’s face lit up. He jumped from his stump and rushed over to his father. “Stand here,” Sean said, pointing in front of himself. The boy slid against his father’s legs, Sean towering over his frame. “Grab the handle.”

The boy took hold of it, looking up at Sean with a smile.

“Just hold on tight, okay? Make sure you’re putting enough force behind it.”

Aidan nodded and tried to lift the axe, but Sean reached out and stopped him. “Whoa there. You’re going to hit me in the head,” he said, stepping back. “The blade’s really sharp. Always make sure there’s nobody around when you swing an axe. Could hurt someone.”

When Sean was clear of the vicinity, Aidan looked back at him as if to ask permission. Sean nodded. “Keep an eye on your target. Where your eye goes is where the blade will go.”

The boy lifted the axe, resting its weight against his hip to keep it from wobbling. He didn’t have nearly enough momentum bringing it down, only lifting it a couple feet, so the blade chipped against the side of the wood and thudded to the ground.

“Try again.”

He did. The blade made contact, hard, with the wood. The handle vibrated, and he dropped it like it had burned his hands. He jumped back, startled, and crossed his arms.

“You’re all right,” Sean said, walking to the stump and picking up the axe. “You want to try again? I can help you.”

The boy shuffled snow around with his foot. “Maybe later.”

He roughed up Aidan’s hat, the boy smiling and readjusting it. Badgering him would only make it worse. Aidan had enough on his plate and had won plenty of battles in his few short years. There was no need to discourage him over chopping wood. “Go on and help your mother make dinner. Tell her I’ll be in soon.”

Aidan nodded and ran toward the house. “Slow down,” Sean yelled after him.

He smiled, watching his son disappear through the door at the back of the garage. As he returned to the task, snowflakes floated down like feathers settling toward the earth. He would not leave, no matter what his boss said. He couldn’t leave the majestic snowfalls, high and deep and wet. The smell of a fire nearby. The soft breeze carrying no sound at all except, maybe, someone shooting a rifle in their backyard miles away. No traffic, no people. Serenity.

Security.

He’d be damned before he let his boss take that from him.

He squeezed the handle and brought the axe into a perfect arc and tore the log open. A few more pieces and his anger would subside like a fire reducing to ash.

SEAN OPENED THE door from the garage and heard the television across the house. He kicked the snow off his boots, removed them, and threw his coat onto the couch in front of him. He walked around through a long rectangular den that led to the living room. The volume of the TV grew with each step. Cartoons. His son was settled into the living room couch. He grabbed the remote and muted the TV. “What’re you doing?”

His son looked oblivious.

“I told you to help your mom, not watch TV.”

“She told me she didn’t need help.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Yeah.”

“So she’ll say exactly what you just told me?”

He nodded.

Sean set the remote down and moved toward the kitchen, sighing. He could already hear her reasoning. He doesn’t need to be exerting himself. The doctors said he should be resting. She coddled the boy. Always did. But she couldn’t do it forever.

He adjusted a napkin on the dining room table before rounding the corner into the kitchen. Crossing the threshold was like hitting a wall of heat, like entering a furnace. Elise had the oven cranked to full blast, every stovetop burner simmering a pot or pan. She stood behind a counter, working a beige paste in a bowl with a wooden spoon. Sweat darkened the auburn hair around her temples and beaded on her forehead. She wiped it off with her sleeve and kept going. He waved to make his presence known.

“Hey,” she said, not looking away from her work.

Sean came around her side and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “Smells good in here.”