The Sea in Winter by Christine Day

Author:Christine Day
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Heartdrum
Published: 2020-11-16T00:00:00+00:00

25

An Empty Stomach

February 19

The morning light seeps in, and I am somehow awake. I’m sitting in the armchair by the open window, watching the slow turn from indigo to periwinkle dawn to light gray morning. The clouds have thinned. The road is clear and slick; the sidewalks are crusted in snow.

My body feels jittery. Twitchy. The corners of my eyes feel scratchy and dry. And my mind is buzzing. My hands are restless. I grab my phone and check the screen. I lean forward to adjust the pillow at my back. I reach for the remote and turn the TV on. The local news shows that other areas were hit harder by the storm. A reporter stands in a park somewhere, speaking directly to the camera as she gestures to the snowy hillside, the shaggy white trees. A list of school district closures scrolls across the bottom of the screen. Aerial footage shows cars abandoned at the edges of freeways and side streets. Huddled and buried in the whitened landscapes.

Mom stirs. She props herself up on her elbow, squinting in my direction. “Good morning,” she says after a pause. Her voice is rough; she clears her throat. “You’re awake early.”

I nod in response.

“Is everything okay?”

I say, “It snowed.”

“Oh.” She sits up a little straighter. Smiles at the open window. Her hair is a tangled pouf at the back of her head. “How lovely.”

I tell her, “Connor will think so, too.”

“Should we wake him up?”

She doesn’t wait for my opinion. She slides out of bed; Jack senses the movement in his sleep and rolls into the open space, flinging one arm out across Mom’s pillow. Mom crouches at Connor’s side of the bed; he’s asleep on his stomach, his face turned to the side. She presses a kiss to the top of his head and brushes his bangs back from his face.

“Connor,” she whispers. She strokes one hand down from the top of his shoulder to the middle of his back. “Sweetie, look outside.”

Connor groans. Shakes his head without opening his eyes.

Mom chuckles. Gives him a gentle nudge. “Connor, it snowed last night.”

For a second, he goes perfectly still. Then he snaps upright in bed. “Snow?” He looks out the window and his entire face lights up. “Snow!” He swings back around and throws his arms around Mom’s neck, grasping her in a tight hug as she laughs and embraces him back. “Today,” he declares, “is going to be an awesome day!”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Mom beams.

My heart feels lighter as I watch Connor scramble out of bed. He really is the human version of a ray of sunshine. I hope he never changes.

I hope he never becomes a human storm cloud. Like me.

We’re on our way to the Cape Alava Trail. This drive is much longer than the one we took to the clam-digging beach, so we’re eating breakfast in the car. Connor is making a mess of his bagel. Globs of cream cheese have smeared on his booster seat, his pants, and his chin.

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