The Winter That Stayed Too Long - IP

I could not believe what came through the door.

“You sure don’t look happy to see me.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I said. “I thought I closed the door on you last month.”

“I missed my ride. Won’t be until the end of the month. Mind if I crash in your basement for a couple of weeks?"

“You have got to be kidding!" I said. “To be honest. I hoped I wouldn’t ever see you again. Nothing personal. But after a couple of months you become downright depressing."

“Oh, get over it," he said. “It could be worse. It’s not like I’m here all year long. But that could be arranged if you don't behave yourself."

Winter was a mean old bastard. I was sure he had moved on. But there he was, trudging through my doorway, dragging in an array of frozen matter: A fishing pole. A scarf. Ear muffs. A dog collar. A pot-bellied stove. A small door. And what could only be described as two big lumps of frozen road kill.

“Must you be dragging all these things in here with you? You’re making a mess.”

“I didn’t know I was carrying such a load," he said. “I like to travel light when I leave town in my off season. I must have picked them up as I skirted over the lake looking for a place to hide. I’ll sort them out in the basement. Have you any plastic trash bags? And no generic stuff. Brand name only. Otherwise they leak. Nothing messier than a leaky bag full of frozen road kill. Creeps out the garbage men.”

“I waited this long,” I said. “I guess I can wait you out a couple of weeks more. Basement door’s over there. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

In the kitchen I grabbed a roll of trash bags and a mop.

My wife Vera was at the kitchen table toying with her ipad.

“What’s going on?” I said

“There’s a news report here on Yahoo,” she said, “about the Morgan family over on Lakeshore Drive.”

“What’s it say?”

“It says that Mr. Morgan took his dog and went ice fishing on the lake one Saturday morning last month and never came home. It also says the Mrs. Morgan went out to inspect her husband’s fishing hut that afternoon, but it was deserted and the door was missing. Like it was blown off its hinges. Not only was the door missing, but so was the pot-bellied stove she bought him that Christmas. She hasn’t seen Mr. Morgan or their German Shepard since. That poor woman. A whole month not knowing what happened to your husband.”

“Yeah,” I said. “A pity that.”

“Sure is,” she said. “What are you doing with the garbage bags?”

“Oh, I thought I’d get a jump on a little Spring cleaning in the basement,” I said. “But I think it can wait. What say you and I get away for a week or so? Head down to Miami. We deserve a little break. This has been the longest winter on record. What say we get this winter chill out of our bones before it kills us both?”

“I knew I loved you for a reason,” she said. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

As we pulled out of the driveway later that night, I looked down at the foundation of the house and noticed a few cracks starting to form on the basement windows.

“I love you,” said Vera. “But do you have to drive so fast? Miami’s not going any where.”

“I love you, too, honey,” I said.

And I didn’t say much more until we were soaking up some of that Florida sun.