It was becoming an all-too-familiar pattern. The awakening. The shock of something outside, new and strange. The summoning of the rest of the household.
Orla and Shaw stood in their slippers side by side on the front porch, matching portraits of what-the-bloody-hell. Maybe they’d grown accustomed to the temperatures, or maybe…it was warmer, above freezing. Water dribbled from the eaves, plunked down and splashed on the porch’s saggy railing. But one warmer night couldn’t explain the melt-off. And the yard—had anything actually melted? Orla would have used the word restored. Restored to how it had been before the ten feet appeared. Minus the remains of the snow dragon. It was a miracle, and now she understood how Shaw had felt as he’d witnessed the aurora borealis. It was all so terribly wrong. So terribly impossible.
“See?” she whispered to her husband. “It’s gonna be okay.”
At least they could safely leave.
He was in a daze as they studied it: the perfect foot and a half of snow that remained in the yard, the water dripping from the gutters. Tycho, per usual, remained unaware of the improbability of what they were seeing. But not Eleanor Queen, who slipped her hand into Orla’s.
“Nothing flooded.”
“Hmm?” Orla glanced down at her apprehensive daughter.
“If it had melted so fast, there’d be flooding. That’s what happens.”
“Yes, usually—”
“We prayed it away!” said Tycho. “It worked, Mama—now we can play outside!” He bounded around the porch, indifferent to the puddles that soaked his sock-covered feet.
The temptation to revert to denial was strong. But she’d promised herself—and her family—to face reality, such as it had become. She’d asked for this. And here it was. Had something heard her? The same thing that was trying…she didn’t want to think about the night before, or the voice demanding entrance into Shaw’s head—not until they were far away. Orla wasn’t as hopeful as she’d been at first, even with their escape route unblocked. Something—in the air? In her gut?—didn’t feel right. Poison came to mind. A silent and deadly weapon descending around them in an invisible mist. What if they were all breathing it in?
But to Eleanor Queen, still clutching her hand, she tried to sound cheery. “Nothing to be afraid of now, we can come and go as we please.”
“No, Mama—you don’t…you’re being so blind. This isn’t so you’ll leave, it’s so you’ll be happy.”
Eleanor Queen didn’t sound very happy. The deepening connection between her daughter and what was happening around them turned her bones to ice and she shivered despite the balmy temperatures.
“Okay, it’s time to go, let’s go.” Orla ushered her family indoors just as Shaw had during the glorious night of dancing lights. She was certain she and her husband were of one mind now, with a definitive, if unspoken plan, even if he was overwhelmed and confused.
Inside, she helped Tycho strip off his sopping socks. “Hurry up to your rooms. Pack your favorite things; it’s time to go. Papa and I will come back later for the rest.” Or maybe not.
Shaw stumbled in from the porch, a thousand times more alive than he’d been a moment before. Something had jolted him back to life. “No, wait. We can’t. Not just yet.”
His words stopped the children. They looked from one parent to the next, in search of clear direction.
“We need. To go.” Orla carefully measured her words so as not to alarm the children with the volcanic emotions that rumbled within her or the scalding reminder she wanted to spew at her husband: Have you forgotten last night? “We’ll work out the details later, with the house—”
Shaw’s look cut her off. He wasn’t disagreeing with her; something else was wrong. And he widened his eyes, desperate to say or not say something. He cocked his head toward the kids.
Orla wanted to cry. Massive snowfalls were within the realm of possibility; it happened sometimes in nearby Oswego County, that’s what Shaw had said. But could so much snow just…vanish? Momentum surged within her, an urgent and primal desire to flee. Now, while they could. Why couldn’t they? She beseeched her husband without words.
“Why don’t you guys go up and get dressed,” he said to the kids in his composed-father voice. Thankfully he could still appear normal, not like the broken man who’d sat with his back to the wall, a shotgun…
Tycho dashed off, but Eleanor Queen assessed them one final time before following him up the stairs.
“What’s wrong—why can’t we go?” Orla whisper-barked to Shaw.
He guided her back toward the door and spoke just as softly. “Did you notice the garage?”
Orla shook her head. Willed him not to say what he was about to say…
“It looks like one side collapsed, part of the roof and wall.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“The far side. And from where we were standing, the car looks to be buried in debris and—”
She threw open the front door and flew back out, even stepped into the snowy yard in her slippers. She’d been so distracted before, she hadn’t thought to look at the garage, but Shaw was right. And there was something else she hadn’t noticed. A little splotch of crimson off to the side, just a few feet away, soggy, atop the snow. The lifeless body of her little friend the cardinal. Had he been buried when the snow came down? Trapped, asphyxiated by the sudden, supernatural descent? Another day Orla might have cried over the loss, sentimental or symbolic, but now she was too agitated. Shaw joined her in the yard but didn’t notice the feathery red corpse. Instead, he looked behind them, up toward the roof. She followed his gaze.
Their satellite dish dangled askew.
“Shit. Fuck,” she muttered. “This fucking place. Did you check your cell?”
“First thing. I check it fifty times a day. Don’t panic.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m really sorry about last night.”
“I know.”
“Thank you—for everything, for understanding. I only want us all to be okay.”
“I know that. We’ll get everything sorted out. For now, let’s stay focused—we can still follow through with our original plan.” At least outside they could safely raise their voices without alarming the kids. And she didn’t care about her feet turning to ice or the snow seeping through the worn fabric of her sweatpants. Focus. “We’ll get into town, walk the whole way if we need to. And call Walker—wait. Are they traveling?” The other Bennett clan spent alternate Christmases with Julie’s family in North Carolina.
“It’s fine, they haven’t left yet.”
She plotted it all out. “We’d probably only have to stay a night. My parents will come and get us—”
“Maybe we won’t need to do that.” He must have read the lava surfacing on her face, readying as she opened her mouth to protest. “Have them drive here, I mean. Maybe…” He looked back to the car. “I can try digging it out. It doesn’t look too damaged, a few dings. If I can get some of the snow that’s blocking it out of the way, maybe I could just back it up under the wreckage. It doesn’t matter at this point if the rest of the garage collapses.”
Orla nodded. Smart plan. Whatever had infected Shaw hadn’t stolen all of his rational thinking. It would have been a long walk for the kids, and she’d never liked the idea of them being on the snowed-over road, without sidewalks and with the berms buried. And they had choices about where to head next, though driving straight on to Pittsburgh seemed by far their best option. She wouldn’t let her family make the same mistake again; wherever they ended up living, they needed to be around people. They could worry about the financial loss of all they’d invested later. Or maybe they could sell the house—and maybe it wouldn’t be so inhospitable to the next owner. The place was going to be their undoing, and Orla didn’t care about the why or how of it. Sixteen days had been long enough. It was time to go.