stretched and taut. Her long, lean frame allowed her to nearly reach her nose to her knees. She lifted her knees back and forth a few times to prolong the stretch.
After a few seconds, Maeve stood and padded into the kitchen by the dim blue morning light shining through the windows. She resisted the urge to light a candle, preserving the few she had for the darkness of night. She needed to get used to the pale light of day instead of illuminating the room with a flick of a switch. Then, out of habit, she flipped the Keurig switch on, and when there was no sound indicating the water was heating for her, she regained the recollection that things were not as they used to be; there was no power, there was little food, and again she called herself a fool.
“How am I going to deal without coffee? Oh man, no coffee , no heat, no food?” she whined out loud. As weary as she sounded, she looked back into the living room and spied the bundle on the floor near the glow of the fire. Her son…she had Ben. She had everything she needed.
Coffee can wait , she thought. The house was quieter than she’d ever remembered it being. The refrigerator no longer hummed; there was a break in the wind and near tons of fallen snow. Neither the settling of the foundation nor water running through pipes made the slightest of sounds. It was as if everything was halted, perhaps just for her, at this moment.
She’d bought this place with Roger brand-new before the humming refrigerator was delivered, before the settling of beams. She’d walked in with him before the builder had arrived to explain the place. She knew this was to be her place before they’d even decided to buy the house. She saw herself here with Roger before Ben was even conceived. The rooms called to her; the surrounding land wanted her here. It was home the second she stepped over the threshold.
Now this place was a sanctuary for her even though memories of Roger were here as well. Her father thought she might take Ben and move home to Maine after Roger’s death. He thought perhaps life would be too hard to remain in a place with so many reminders of her dead husband. He offered to let her and Ben move in with him in Maine in her childhood home, but she only said, “This is our home. My life is here. I can’t imagine leaving.” So she’d stayed, and she didn’t regret that decision—not then and not since. She thought she might in time, but not yet. She felt grounded here on the edge of the Kootenai National Forest.
Thinking of her father— he must be worried— she reached for her iPad. She’d charged the device before the storm and checked her e-mail. As she suspected, there were a few e-mails from family and friends reaching out in shared catastrophe. Her father said that, in Maine, the snow was halfway up the garage door and that her brother had slipped on the ice and wrecked his truck though no real harm was done. She was to call and check in with him as soon as possible.
Elizabeth, her business neighbor, mentioned her husband had slipped and had a concussion. The state of the local hospital was alarming when they’d arrived. Luckily someone was able to stitch the gash in her husband’s head, and instead of waiting around in the standing-room-only area they opted to leave and recover at home. “Avoid the hospital at all costs,” she wrote, “unless absolutely necessary.”
There were a few more relatives’ inquiries, but the one that caught her eye was her aunt in Texas saying that the many local migrant workers were returning to warmer grounds in south Mexico due to the ruined orchards and cold weather.
After scanning a few more e-mails, Maeve returned her father’s message and let him know she and Ben were totally fine. They had the advantage of wood in their backyard to keep warm. She neglected to tell him about their lack of food, but she didn’t want to worry her father any more than she had to.
Then Maeve tuned to the news app, reading that the
After a few seconds, Maeve stood and padded into the kitchen by the dim blue morning light shining through the windows. She resisted the urge to light a candle, preserving the few she had for the darkness of night. She needed to get used to the pale light of day instead of illuminating the room with a flick of a switch. Then, out of habit, she flipped the Keurig switch on, and when there was no sound indicating the water was heating for her, she regained the recollection that things were not as they used to be; there was no power, there was little food, and again she called herself a fool.
“How am I going to deal without coffee? Oh man, no coffee , no heat, no food?” she whined out loud. As weary as she sounded, she looked back into the living room and spied the bundle on the floor near the glow of the fire. Her son…she had Ben. She had everything she needed.
Coffee can wait , she thought. The house was quieter than she’d ever remembered it being. The refrigerator no longer hummed; there was a break in the wind and near tons of fallen snow. Neither the settling of the foundation nor water running through pipes made the slightest of sounds. It was as if everything was halted, perhaps just for her, at this moment.
She’d bought this place with Roger brand-new before the humming refrigerator was delivered, before the settling of beams. She’d walked in with him before the builder had arrived to explain the place. She knew this was to be her place before they’d even decided to buy the house. She saw herself here with Roger before Ben was even conceived. The rooms called to her; the surrounding land wanted her here. It was home the second she stepped over the threshold.
Now this place was a sanctuary for her even though memories of Roger were here as well. Her father thought she might take Ben and move home to Maine after Roger’s death. He thought perhaps life would be too hard to remain in a place with so many reminders of her dead husband. He offered to let her and Ben move in with him in Maine in her childhood home, but she only said, “This is our home. My life is here. I can’t imagine leaving.” So she’d stayed, and she didn’t regret that decision—not then and not since. She thought she might in time, but not yet. She felt grounded here on the edge of the Kootenai National Forest.
Thinking of her father— he must be worried— she reached for her iPad. She’d charged the device before the storm and checked her e-mail. As she suspected, there were a few e-mails from family and friends reaching out in shared catastrophe. Her father said that, in Maine, the snow was halfway up the garage door and that her brother had slipped on the ice and wrecked his truck though no real harm was done. She was to call and check in with him as soon as possible.
Elizabeth, her business neighbor, mentioned her husband had slipped and had a concussion. The state of the local hospital was alarming when they’d arrived. Luckily someone was able to stitch the gash in her husband’s head, and instead of waiting around in the standing-room-only area they opted to leave and recover at home. “Avoid the hospital at all costs,” she wrote, “unless absolutely necessary.”
There were a few more relatives’ inquiries, but the one that caught her eye was her aunt in Texas saying that the many local migrant workers were returning to warmer grounds in south Mexico due to the ruined orchards and cold weather.
After scanning a few more e-mails, Maeve returned her father’s message and let him know she and Ben were totally fine. They had the advantage of wood in their backyard to keep warm. She neglected to tell him about their lack of food, but she didn’t want to worry her father any more than she had to.
Then Maeve tuned to the news app, reading that the
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