After their bacchanal at Christmas, New Year’s Eve they paced themselves, watching the ball drop, then heading straight to bed, and were up with the sun. The weather said it was going to snow overnight, but opening the blinds, it was still a surprise—four or five inches defining the wires and branches, softening the cars. The sky was cloudless, a summery blue. Like the boy he’d been, he wolfed his breakfast so he could go to the park.
Rufus heard the knob of the front hall closet and bounded around the couch.
“Did you want to come?” he asked Emily, but she was filling in their new calendar.
“Let Jim do the driveway.” She wouldn’t let him shovel anymore, terrified of finding him sprawled on the ground. In this case he didn’t mind.
“I’ll do the sidewalk later.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“We will.”
Rufus banged through the storm door and frolicked in the yard, rolling on his back and snapping at the snow, wild-eyed, popping up and barking for Henry to play with him.
“Yes, I know,” Henry said. “It’s very exciting.”
The sun was deceptive, and he was glad he had his scarf. The air froze his nose hairs, the snow powdery, drifted against the front steps. No one had shoveled yet, everyone sleeping off last night. As they trudged up Highland, the smooth lawns sparkled like mica. Rufus plowed ahead, stopping to look back, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He tossed a snowball at his butt and missed. “Doofus.”
A day like today, they’d go sledding behind the reservoir, where the road curved down to the zoo. The hill had no name, just the sledding hill, the whole neighborhood gathering there. When Henry was little, their father had taken them, soaping the runners, letting him sit on his lap, and again he thought what a shame it was that Sarah and Justin couldn’t come. Maybe next year.
Snow capped the twin statues guarding the entrance of the park, shrouded the flower beds around the drained fountain. A squirrel scrabbled up a tree and Rufus strained at the leash, pointing as if Henry were a hunter. The road was untouched, and the broad stairs leading to the reservoir. At the top he expected to find a line of cross-country skiers, but they were alone, the only tracks the tiny tridents of birds. On the water, a flock of geese sat like a fleet at anchor, turning with the wind. Out of breath from the climb, Henry leaned against the railing and tipped his face to the sun. With no cover, they were exposed, the sky a wide, unbroken blue. When he closed his eyes, he could hear a crow scolding, a second nearby echoing it. For once there was no traffic, only a boundless quiet that reminded him of church.
Rufus nudged his hand.
“Hang on, Mr. Impatient. I’ll tell you what, you go ahead. I’ll meet you here.”
The circuit took a half hour when the ground was bare. With the snow, it was work. Soon he was sweating, his breath wetting his scarf. His knee was creaky. He thought of Dr. Prasad and resolved on the spot to lose weight. He was tired of waking up with his fingers tingling. Now that the holidays were over, he vowed to drink less and exercise more. It would make Emily happy, a goal worth any sacrifice.
He would try to be nicer to Margaret. They were coming for Easter, a makeup date. Spring wasn’t so far off—days in the garden, baseball on the radio. Golf, the company of old friends.
He wanted to spend more time at Chautauqua. Maybe they could go up early. He’d have to check the calendar.
There was money, but he would always worry about money. A man could only change so much.
They were almost to the far end, where the spillway emptied into a rocky creek that ran past the remains of their old clubhouse, when Rufus stopped, stock-still, locked onto something. Henry followed his eyeline. In the hollow below, bedded down in the grass beneath an apple tree as if they’d sheltered there for the night, sat a ring of deer.
They were gray and sleek, arranged nose to tail around the trunk as in a medieval tapestry. He thought they might spook, seeing Rufus, but they didn’t. Regal and heavy-chested, the one buck eyed Henry impassively.
Rufus whined.
“Shush,” he said.
He wished he had a camera so he could show Emily. The light was precise, making them seem even closer. He could see their whiskers twitch, their breath curling like smoke as it rose through the low branches.
Rufus barked.
“Stop,” Henry said, but it was too late, they were standing, turning away. Silently, as in a dream, he watched them file into the woods, holding off until they were all gone to finally move.
Later he would see this as a premonition, but unlike Emily, he didn’t have the Sight. At the time, he had no reason to assign it a darker meaning. The light was pure, the park silent. Standing there with Rufus, entranced, he knew only that he was in the presence of something strange and sacred, like the visions given to saints, and he was grateful, overwhelmed by his good luck. Like a rainbow or a shooting star, it felt like a blessing on the year ahead. Tramping home through the bright, perfect world, he couldn’t wait to tell her.