Commitment
When the furnace kicked off, the house became silent. Other sounds swiftly filled the auditory void: the freezing wind battering the old clapboards, the veil of icy snow pattering the windows and frozen-over gutters. Outside, the snow piled higher, skirting the window ledges, snaking along like summertime ivy. He could already feel the remaining heat bleeding through the cabin's walls.
He sat on the sofa he and Paula bought as newlyweds. Brown and green plaid, its cushions sagging and threadbare smooth, it was as familiar as his face in the mirror. And just as tired. It was full-on night outside, yet the moon reflected off the snow, setting the night off kilter, a perpetual near-dusk.
He waited. Staring into the gloom, he hoped to soon see his own breath. Sensing movement, he turned to the French doors leading to the bedroom. The sheer curtain swayed before settling back in place. His hands shook in his lap, the cold and depths of age sinking their barbs to his marrow. Closing his eyes, he focused on his skin, the minute sensations traveling across the listless landscape. Soon enough, a bathwater warm pressure traced his nape, caressed his gray-stubbled cheek.
"Paula?"
He stood, spry as a cat. An amorphous shadow melted away from him, crossing the carpet to the dark crease beneath the French doors. It slid beneath, retreating to the room he and Paula shared for fifty years.
When this first happened three weeks ago, fear and longing paralyzed him. By last week, he reached the bedroom door, but only after a protracted hesitation. Today, he rushed over and shoved open the doors and stepped inside. A fleeting warmth washed over his chilled skin, leaving behind gooseflesh and raw emotion. He stood in the near-dark, feeling the cold reclaiming its dominion. If it wasn't for the overwhelming scent of lilacs, he would've wept until no more tears were left to fall, when he could be certain his heart was finished breaking.
"I miss you, babe." His voice was a mere croak after these last long weeks of absolute solitude. He closed his eyes, inhaling long slow breaths, savoring his wife's scent until it was gone, until he could open his eyes again and walk away, convinced he wasn't insane.
It was the cold. Of course it was. Paula was his snow bunny, all these years, taking to the drifts and sweeps of snow like something borne of the arctic. They'd bought this retreat for weekends in front of the fire, shared mulled wine, rubbing warmth into one another under homespun comforters. In these mountains, a mile to the nearest neighbor, Paula's presence was strongest, and his will the weakest.
Through trial and error he learned her ethereal ways, not altogether different than when she stood vitally by his side. After today's lunch, he'd opened the front door and let the flakes settle where they may.
The midnight moon shined across his doorstep. The bare trees crackled under a layer of ice. His limbs felt under similar burdens, but still he waited. She stepped into the moonlight on the eve of dawn. She was more beautiful than he'd ever seen. Her every feature was a snapshot of Paula at her peak. Her hair shined with the fullness it had during her pregnancies, but also the steel gray of her later years. Her face had the trace lines that he remembered as her beauty coming to full bloom. Her blue eyes carried the intelligence of experience, but the clarity of her youth. His heart ached.
"Am I dead?"
She stepped inside, not too far, and motioned him to stand.
His limbs were slow to respond. "Are you real?"
He'd forgotten how tall she'd once been, before age withered her bones to nothing. Her essence drifted over him, and if Paula wasn't standing before him, he would've closed his eyes and swooned in the pleasure of it.
"Come with me, love. We'll make snow angels."
When he took her hand, her warmth traveled up his arm, until it rested heavily in his chest. There it tightened like a fist. He staggered for a moment, wondering if he was in the beginnings of a heart attack. But her essence permeated everything, his nostrils, his clothes, the very structure of his cells. He didn't take his eyes from his beloved Paula as she escorted him to the rising drifts, to the eternity of peace.
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