Susan Prause
Our romance started at a cottage much like this one, tucked away in Northern Minnesota, blanketed with snow. The memories of that weekend—hours spent in front of the crackling fire, drinking too much champagne, and our first professions of love—have waned over the years, dimmed by a marriage exhausted from career demands and disappointment over two lost pregnancies. My heart longs for a renewal.
Jack emerges from the bedroom, fully dressed for an outdoor trek.
“I made coffee,” I offer. “And your favorite blueberry muffins!”
“Maybe when I get back. I want to hike to the creek while the sun is still out.”
“I’ll come with you,” I plead, but he simply holds up his hand to decline.
He lifts snowshoes off the wall rack and heads towards the door, stopping for a brief moment. I wait for him to say something, anything….
“Jack…” But as the word leaves my lips, he is out the door.
Through the kitchen window, I watch him disappear on the trail into the woods. He used to hold out his hand for me to join him on hikes. Being together felt so easy, just strolling by his side, our steps in sync. It wasn’t so very long ago, was it? The last walk we shared was when I told him I was pregnant again. He picked me up and twirled me around.
After that second miscarriage, we both poured ourselves into our respective careers, his at his father’s real estate company and mine at the magazine, and neither of us brought up the idea of trying for another baby. In fact, we never discussed those losses again. Our lives busied with overtime and late-night meetings, and the intimacy that was the core of our bond gradually dissipated. And all the while, I told myself we were just fine.
Last month, on my 40th birthday, he was out of town at a conference. I received a floral delivery with a card that read, ‘Happy Birthday, Jack,’ and a five-minute ‘sorry-honey-it’s-been-a-long-day’ phone call at 11:55 that night. I cried myself to sleep and reserved this cabin the next morning.
I want a do-over. I want to call ‘olly olly oxen free’ at the top of my lungs before it’s too late. Before he decides it’s too late.
The door opens, and he stomps in, removing his snow-covered hat. “It’s coming down pretty hard out there, Callie. We should leave today rather than tomorrow.”
“Jack,” my voice cracks. His eyes flash with a glimpse of tenderness I haven’t seen or perhaps haven’t warranted in quite a while. “We need this time. Away from the rest of the world. I miss you. Please?”
He sighs and looks to the floor for a long moment. “We’ll talk at home. I don’t want to get snowed in. I’ve got too much to do on Monday.”
He heads to the bedroom to begin packing as I stand seething in the kitchen. My tears now come in gulps of desperation. As he walks out the door with our suitcases, my body lurches after him without thought, my feet still in slippers as I suddenly find myself in half a foot of snow.
There is no rational thought in my brain. I look at the man I desperately love and feel nothing but rage. My bare hands reach down and scoop up handfuls of snow and I round it into a ball. His back to me, I summon every ounce of fury in my body and hurl the orb, hitting his back square between the shoulder blades.
He turns in disbelief, his face registering a look I can’t decipher. His head shakes back and forth slowly. My body trembles, suddenly filled with dread.
“Jack Turner,” I cry out with equal parts desperation and despair. “I want you to fight for us, for our marriage! I love you!”
My shivering hands ball into fists against my chest as my knees give in to the weight of the moment, and I collapse to the ground, weeping quietly.
He bends over, his hands on his knees, for what feels like an eternity. And then, without warning, he scoops up handfuls of snow and propels a trajectory at me, a direct hit on the side of my head. My mouth drops open. I look up to see his devilish grin staring back at me.
“You want another?” he taunts, his blue eyes glistening.
“Oh, it’s on!” I fire back.
In an instant, we’re both forming and lobbing snowballs as quickly as possible, while attempting to dodge the incoming missiles. Soon, we are both shrieking with laughter, a sound absent for the better part of the past year.
He rushes toward me, hefting me over his shoulder and rushes me inside the cabin. He sets me to standing and to my surprise, pulls me tightly into an embrace. “Callie Turner, what have you done?”
I wipe snowflakes from his eyelashes with my fingers as he lowers his face and kisses me with a longing we have both missed.
We retreat to the bedroom, where we stay for the better part of the day. As the snow continues outside, we fall asleep in each other’s arms, knowing this storm will end, and we’ll still be together when it’s over.
In addition to writing, Susan is mom to a teenage daughter and two cats, enjoys reading, the theatre, a great cup of coffee, and socializing with friends and family.
Spark Flash Fiction 