Chapter 2 - The Snow Past Grandma's Steps
The door clicked behind us and I felt it in my back more than I heard it.
Lily didn't move at first. She just stood on the bottom step with her boots half in the slush, staring at the green wreath on Grandma's door like if she stared long enough it would open again. The gold balls caught the gray light. My gloves were already wet from holding her hand too tight.
"Come on," I said. My voice sounded smaller out there without the porch over us.
I put my arm around her shoulders. She was so puffy in her light blue snowsuit I could barely feel her under it, just the slide of my gray glove on the wet fabric. I pulled her close and steered her toward the sidewalk. She stumbled a little and I held on tighter.
She had her bunny jammed up under her chin. The tan fur was dark where her tears had gotten on it. She wasn't wailing yet, just breathing in those short, hiccupy pulls. Then she started crying for real, loud in the cold air, and she pressed her face into the bunny's ear.
"Don't cry like that, your face'll get colder," I whispered. I didn't know what else to say. Daddy always said that about crying in winter. I could hear him saying it, and that made my throat hurt.
The walkway to the sidewalk was only a few steps but the snow had turned to gray mush on top of the concrete. Water was already soaking through the seams of my black boots. I stopped us before the curb and crouched down a little so I was eye-level with her cream hat. The pom on top was wet and stuck together.
I checked her like Mom did before school. I tugged her hat down over her ears. I pushed her gray mittens up her wrists so no skin showed. I looked at her black boots. Snow caked around the zippers.
"You got your bunny?" I asked her. She nodded and held it up to show me, like it was proof. "Good. Hold him tight."
She sniffled. "Emma, I'm—"
"I know," I said fast. "Just to the sidewalk. Then we can stop."
I stood back up and put my arm around her again and we stepped off the curb together. The snow on the edge of the suburban street was deeper than it looked. My boot sank and cold water ran over the toe. Lily's little boots left two dark holes behind her, then another two. Houses went both ways down the street, all quiet, smoke coming out of some chimneys, lights on inside windows. Nobody was outside.
We got to the middle of the wet sidewalk and stopped. I could feel Lily leaning all her weight into my side. My arm was getting tired from holding her up. The wind picked at my hood and blew snow dust across our legs.
May you like
I looked back at Grandma's brick house. The door was still shut. The wreath was just a dark circle from here. No one stood in the window.
Lily cried harder and clutched the bunny with both mittens. I shifted so the wind hit my back instead of her face and held her still against me. We didn't have anywhere else to go yet, so we just stayed there on the snow-lined sidewalk, the two of us, breathing white air that disappeared fast.
