Conrad and I crunch along in the snow. I nod to the mayor as she walks by. “Merry Christmas, Quinn.”
“You too,” I say.
“Be sure to tell your parents I said hello.”
“I will, the next time I call them.”
She rubs her mittened hands together before passing us.
“Are they staying in Japan for Christmas?” Conrad asks.
“Yeah,” I say. They went back about a month ago, when I finally convinced them that staying at a motel outside the quarantine wasn’t doing anybody any good. This is our first Christmas apart. No caviar, which I won’t miss. No popcorn strings, which I will miss.
“What are you going to miss the most, you know, not going home for Christmas?” I ask Conrad.
He rubs his nose and stares into the snow. “How my mom wraps the gifts from Santa in white and my dad actually roasts chestnuts over the fire.” He puts his arm around me, hugging my cold body close. “But it’s time for new traditions.”
I twist too much to smile up at him and—in the effort to save the apple pie I’m carrying—I slip into a blast of snow. My bum is sore, but the rest of me shakes in laughter, along with Conrad.
He takes the apple pie first—priorities—before helping me up.
When we get to Luke’s house, I don’t knock. That would be weird. I just open the door and Conrad and I shuffle into the front hall, relieving ourselves of scarves and gloves and coats. Ginger dashes out from the kitchen to fuss about how the dogs, who swarm around our knees, should calm down.
“They’re fine,” Conrad says, giving the youngest one, Riley, a pat.
We head to the kitchen where Rachel stirs some potatoes and looks at her phone. “They made progress with the vaccine. They think it might be ready in just a few months.”
Conrad and Ginger sigh simultaneously, and Rachel and I share a look. We know what’s coming.
“Why would someone want to vaccinate themselves against this?” Ginger slouches, hands out.
“I know, it’s a gift from God,” Conrad says, his now purple eyes glistening with all the blessings he’s experienced.
“They’re talking about it being a voluntary vaccine, maybe,” Rachel says. “And, anyway, the sooner they make the vaccine, the sooner we can stop being stuck. I’m worried about this rationing talk.”
Ginger shakes her head. “No, the mayor promised to take care of us. We won’t be deprived. I believe her.”
“Me too,” I say.
“So you’re happy just staying here?” Rachel asks, brow furrowed.
I curl my fingers over one of the kitchen chairs and look at my feet.
“Quinn...”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” I say. “Obviously I don’t want to be trapped. But sometimes the things that you think will confine you, actually expand you.”
Conrad smiles. “Oh, that’s good. Can I use that later?”
I punch his shoulder gently as he grins.
With just the slightest noise coming from the front door, the previously lackadaisical dogs bolt to the entrance as a unit. Claws scrape against the linoleum as they pound toward the door. Luke. Following the dogs, I find him in the foyer, red cheeks below his five o’clock shadow. He crouches so he can be awash in snouts and tongues and fur, and he smiles up at me. “Hey beautiful,” he says, nodding his head to the back door as he tries not to fall over from the force of four wagging tails. “Want to help me take them out?”
I get my coat as he whistles and says, “Pees and poops, pees and poops, pees and poops.” The dogs frenzy and rush. I giggle.
Luke opens the back door. They spring out, swishing past his legs. “I would tell them to politely and gracefully use the facilities, but they wouldn’t understand that.”
“Pees and poops,” I say between hot laughs as we walk back into the cold.
“You can’t get over that, can you?” he says, side grin in full force.
We walk through the pristine snow, which is gradually becoming less pristine thanks to four dogs and their yellow creations.
Luke crosses his arms. Flakes rush against my cheeks. The world is eerie, quiet. It’s time for me to ask. He knows it. He’s waiting for it.
“Any news?”
And, just like every time before, his eyes crinkle, his chin stiffens. “No.”
I nod. No news is good news. Mandy is hiding. She is safe.
The three older dogs pounce back, ready to get back inside. It’s cold. But Riley has found a stick and insists on wrestling with it in the snow.
“Come on Ri-bear,” Luke calls. No response. He whistles. Riley looks up, but only for a moment, before lunging her jaws back around the unwieldy stick.
“Go in,” I say. “I’ll hang out with her.”
Luke scratches his chin. “I guess she just needs a little space.”
“Yes,” I say. “But soon she’ll want to come inside and be by the fire.”
He pulls me close, his hands pressing against my back, his warm breath spreading against my ear. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I know.”
* * * * *