Continued from: 1. Impact   2. Home  3. Hiccups

Sara thought she was going to vomit.

She had never been this anxious before and wasn’t prepared for the hurricane raging in her stomach – and her chest, her neck, her skull… Her entire body hummed like a live wire stretched to the point of snapping. A rubber band. That’s what she felt like. She imagined a loop of red rubber crackling and buzzing, blue lightning snaking around as it stretched tighter and tighter, the electricity singing in pitches higher and higher.

I can’t lose it. Not yet.

Her brain wanted the band to snap - to stop fighting the fear and just snap. She wanted to throw herself onto the floor and shriek, pound the tiles with fists and open palms. She wanted to pull her hair, thrash her body, kick her legs; she wanted to run, hard. Run out all the terror and the tension, sprint away from the phone, the house, the fear. That deep, nauseating emptiness in her gut that told her everything was not alright; that nothing would ever be alright again.

Stop it. Not yet.

Oscar had settled down into an awkward ball on her lap and wasn’t asleep (his snores woke the neighbors, she was sure of it), but stared quietly up at her face. Concern? Maybe. More than likely just unnerved by all the fuss. (You miss your daddy, don’t you?)  The flash of memory drew up another wave of nausea.

Angus had been silent for too long.

But although he hadn’t said anything, she could hear his footfalls crunch in the snow and knew that at least he was still moving.

He had said he was back at the car. That wasn’t right. Was he delirious? In shock and already hypothermic? Sara pictured her husband – her steadfast Angus who always knew what to do and who never lost his cool, even when she did – treading mindless circles in the snow, shoulders hunched, body shivering through his thin “business casual” attire, white flakes collecting in his dark hair while ice water seeped into his old leather shoes. His favorite work shoes, she remembered.

Then, Angus’ voice came through the speaker, but distant, as if he had taken the phone away from his face.

“Hey!” Angus shouted, obviously not to Sara.

“Angus?” Sara asked. But he didn’t answer her.

“I can’t believe it. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Someone.

Someone was with him. The police? Another driver who pulled off the road?

A wave washed over Sara’s entire body. It hit the top of her head first: warmth, tingling, the smell of Angus, the pressure of his body hugging her own, the certainty that he was home, he was safe – that they were together. It all flowed down her body in a flood, melting her muscles into liquid and filling that horrible emptiness. She was no longer nauseous.

The band snapped.

Sara, phone tucked between ear and shoulder, scooped Oscar into a hug, buried her face in his chest and wailed. Oscar’s little tail nub waggled back and forth and he did his best to lick the saltiness off his mother’s cheeks.

---

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The man was huge.

Angus hadn’t heard him coming until his feet clomped onto the black roadway at his back, and he wondered at how quietly this man could tromp through the deep field of snow. When he had finally heard the man and turned around, Angus was startled and even felt a hint of fear blast through his body.

The stranger was almost seven feet tall and wide enough to match; although his width might have been exaggerated by the coat he was wearing. It was thick, fluffy fur, reaching all the way down to his ankles, closed up tightly, and white as the snow surrounding them. It had a matching fur hood that man wore over his head, a deep, heavy-looking hood that shadowed his face. But Angus could see enough to notice a gray beard, weathered skin, and strong eyes. The man’s lips formed a gentle smile – not cheery, but welcoming. Like an old man lounging in a creaky rocking chair and holding a glass of whiskey, inviting you to sit down, have a drink, talk about old times.

“I can’t believe it. I’m so glad you’re here,” Angus said, lowering the phone a few inches away from his face. He walked toward the road to meet him, and the man also walked forward.

“Sara, there’s someone here,” Angus almost laughed into the phone. “It’s okay,” he sighed. “Hang on a second.”

The newcomer was taking huge strides, seemingly unaffected by the little hills and valleys of precarious snow, and met Angus halfway between the road and the car.

“You look like you’re in trouble there,” he said. His voice corresponded perfectly to his attire; it was rich and robust, gravelly at the lower pitches, but strangely soothing. Like a friendly old mountain man. Something about his character put Angus at ease. He seemed – capable. Sincere.

As if trying to confirm his thoughts, the man produced another, smaller fur coat seemingly out of nowhere - as if he had grabbed a chunk of fur from his own coat, yanked, and magically created another - and handed it to Angus. The coat extended only to the waist, but it looked just as fluffy as its larger cousin. It was also gleaming white.

Angus couldn’t speak. A coat. Warmth. He didn’t care why this bear of a man would be carrying a spare fur coat, one obviously too small for him to fit into. The fact was that he did, and he was offering it to Angus.

As he gratefully accepted the gift, Angus noticed that the man’s hands were meaty and weather-beaten, his nails thick and rosy; he had no gloves, but his hands didn’t look cold. Snowflakes that landed on them vanished in an instant.

“Thank you,” Angus was finally able to say as he pushed his arms through the sleeves and fumbled with the buttons. His fingers weren’t working the way they should, especially with the phone still clutched in one hand. “It’s so cold out here…” he started to say, to make up for his clumsiness, but he trailed off without finishing the thought.

The moment Angus had secured the last button, he was instantly warm, as if swaddled in a heated blanket. The block of ice that had been lodged in his chest melted away and his shoulders sagged, arms dropped to his sides.

“Oh…” was all he could manage.

Even his feet were warm.

He let his eyes slide shut and drifted in the sumptuous stillness that radiated through his body. He was no longer in the snow, no longer stranded miles away from everything, forbidden to leave and see his home again; no longer an office grunt stuck in a dead-end job. For just that moment, Angus was no longer Angus. He let go of the tension and uncertainty that he had been carrying for so long he hadn’t known the crushing weight of it until it was lifted away; he released the tormenting fear of being alone in the emptiness of this endless snow and let his body relax into the embracing warmth.

Angus smiled with his eyes closed, swaying on his feet, and whispered to the silence, “Sara.”

In her kitchen chair, stroking the dog hunched in her lap, Sara closed her eyes and smiled.

Conclusion:

5. Snow

Thank you for reading!

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