Snow Day
Cathy Carroll-Moriarty
The emptiness in the bed awakened her like a gentle caress. She remained motionless hoping to retreat back into slumber. But it was persistent, and it squeezed tears out of her eyes that rolled sideways and dampened her pillow. At least it didn’t sucker-punch her like it used to right after she moved away from her childhood home. Back then, she would gasp for breath every time she woke to the silence of her own apartment. Now, the sounds were familiar, and the homesickness wasn’t so much a sickness anymore. Just a subtle ache reminding her that Mom wasn’t down the hall brewing coffee for them before rushing out the door for work.
Movement at the foot of the bed made her smile. She stretched so that her toes touched the corner of the bed, causing the little dog slumbering there to scramble toward her. He stared her down with as much fierceness as his underbite and soft brown eyes would allow. She scratched him behind the ears until he gave in and snuggled in next to her.
“You make this a home, Toby-dog,” she whispered while wind and snow swooshed against the window. Her phone beeped an alert; she checked it and grinned. One benefit of a career as a Kindergarten para? Snow days. She snuggled deeper under her duvet and settled back to sleep.
She woke again to the dog frantically pacing the bed and wagging his tail.
“Fine. But you won’t go out in it anyway.” She pulled a bulky sweater on over her flannel pajamas and followed him to the patio door. A burst of frigid air and pelting snow greeted them when she opened the door just enough for him to squeeze through. With a sound between a sigh and yelp, he darted out and a short time later pawed the door to be let back in. “You must’ve been desperate,” she mumbled. He trotted past her and sat among the blankets in the corner of the couch he always claimed as his.
Looking at the microwave clock and realizing that she’d slept most of the morning away, she opted to start a kettle of water for tea rather than brew coffee. She lit a candle, glad of the tiny flame against the gray colored day.
While waiting for the water to heat, she stood at the kitchen window at the threshold of coldness and warmth. The solid chill of the windowpane before her while the warm embrace of her apartment steadied her from behind. Wrapping the bulky sweater tighter around her body and trying to distinguish the branches of the tree, she breathed in the sweet fragrance of the caramel pecan candle that flickered cheerfully from the stove top. Her exhale left a circle of fog that condensed into water droplets against the frosty glass. The world was white with blowing snow. When the gusts quieted, snowflakes swirled in the air like a snow globe that had been shaken ever so slightly. A momentary peace like an empty church seemed to hover in the courtyard.
With a reawakened ferociousness, wind howled between the apartment buildings and rattled the loosened downspout against the siding. A rather aggressive gust slapped a slushy mess of snow against the window with a force that made her step back. Frigid air pushed itself under the windowsill, making her shiver despite the bulky sweater.
The tea kettle hummed with the promise of water soon to be hot enough for tea. She pulled the curtain over the icy window and the wind moaned in protest over its lost observer. Padding over to the cupboard, her slipper sock bottoms squelching with each rise and fall against the wood floor, she pondered the rainbow of choices before her—chamomile, black currant, peppermint, cranberry pomegranate, Irish Breakfast.
Settling on the packet which appealed to her the most, she poured the almost boiling water into her favorite cup and lowered the tea bag, swirling it around until the color was just right. She inhaled the scent of lemon and ginseng with a hint of honey. The steamy warmth caressed her face, removing the winter chill from her hands and cheeks, still rosy from her sentinel at the window.
This was perfect.
Tea and ginger cookies—the soft-baked ones from home—in hand, she sank into her corner of the couch, surrounding herself with fluffy down and cozy pillows. The dog stretched from his spot and scrambled across the lumpy mountain of blankets, sniffed the plate of ginger cookies, and implored with his eyes.
“Here you go Toby-dog.” She fed him a morsel and gave him a gentle pat before he curled next to her. Taking her own bite, cloves and ginger melting on her tongue. She savored the spice on her tongue and the scent of home tantalizing her nose. She licked sprinkles of sugar from her fingers; this moment was exquisite, but soon it would be even better.
A leather-bound English novel beckoned her from the end table. Falling into its pages, she disappeared into the landscape of Regency England, subtle banter, and unlikely romance. Every moment in Jane Austen’s world would be a delight on this wonderful, cozy, quiet snow-day.
Cathy Carroll-Moriarty
Cathy is a 50-something emerging author from the Midwest. She enjoys reading a variety of genres and she writes in various forms including poetry, flash fiction, short stories, and a novel. Her short stories have appeared in Ariel Chart, Adelaide, and Grande Dame Literary. One of her short stories was a finalist in Four Tulips’ New Beginnings Contest.