The box sits on the shelf, still sealed and waiting.
And so am I.
four
. . .
Cole
The storm breaks at noon.Not gone, just paused. Outside, the silence is louder than the howling was.
I check the weather app. The window’s clear for now, but another system is building and heading toward the mountain. Should hold until tonight.
Holly sits at the table. She’s been quiet this morning, thoughtful.
“Weather’s clear,” I say. “For now.”
She looks up, her eyes hopeful. “Clear enough to leave?”
“No. Road’s still buried. But clear enough to walk.”
“Walk?”
“Fresh air. Cabin fever’s real.”
She nods. We put on outerwear and step outside.
The pines close around us, their branches bowed under the weight of the fresh snow. Everything is muffled here into a silence so complete I can hear the creak of branches overhead and the whisper of snow sliding off boughs in soft cascades.
No birds. No wind. Only our boots stepping in rhythm and our breath fogging in clouds that hang in the crystalline air.Sunlight filters through the canopy in shafts, making the snow glitter like crushed diamonds.
“It’s beautiful,” Holly says.
“Dangerous.”
“Can’t it be both?”
I glance at her. She’s smiling, eyes bright, snowflakes that fell from tree branches caught in her hair.
“Yeah,” I admit. “Both.”
The trail curves, following the ridge’s contour. Sunlight makes the snow glow. Our boots crunch in rhythm, my heavier steps and her lighter ones.
Holly tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and inhales. “I could live in this smell.”
“Pine and cold?”
“Peace and space.” She opens her eyes. “Does that sound crazy?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I think I’ve been holding my breath for years and I’m now remembering how to fill my lungs all the way.”
I know that feeling.
We reach the clearing, which has a view of the valley below. The town’s visible in the distance, smoke rising from chimneys, and the roads cutting through the white.
“That’s Lush Hollow?” she asks.
