Come Hell or High Water | mxm

2.4

2.4

Sam was more nervous than he had expected to be. Loosening his tight grip on the steering wheel, he let out a long breath.

Beyond the windshield, the winter day was glintingly pristine. A hidden sun gilded the feathered edges of downy, pearl-grey clouds. The road was a rough ribbon through quiescent fields hibernating beneath crystalline covers. In scattered stands of trees, dark branches bowed meekly under the gentle weight of heavy drifts.

The cheerful little house was a single vibrant spot in a white world. Christmas lights looped along sagging eaves glowed dim rainbows against monochrome radiance. Footprints and ski tracks pressed spiderweb patterns into smooth powder, crisscrossing the snowy yard. A black SUV was parked next to the familiar rusted pickup truck, the rental company sticker on the bumper nearly obscured by mud crusted all up the back.

Sam puttered his little silver hatchback up on the other side of the pickup and cut the engine. Shouldering his duffel, he grabbed the bag of groceries, as well as the box of chocolates. Juggling this load, he stepped carefully up the frost-slick path to the front door.

He had just started thinking about the best way to approach the door handle with two full hands when it was pulled open from inside and Gord smiled at him warmly.

"You made it."

Sam grinned back at him. "I promised, didn't I?" He leaned in for a quick kiss before handing the plastic bag and box over. "I know Christmas is over, and I know we said no gifts, but I brought you a little something anyways. Just to say thanks for having me."

Gord turned the beribboned box over quizzically, copper foil shimmering.

Sam explained, "I guess a bottle of wine would be a more traditional hosting gift, but, well--" He laughed sheepishly. "But I love these chocolates. I chose all my favourites, plus a few flavours that I don't enjoy but I think you'll really like."

"You didn't have to," Gord told him, smile still soft on his lips. "Sure and it's not like it's yer first time here, is it?"

"I've never stayed for a whole week before," Sam pointed out.

From further inside, a woman's voice called, "That your man, Gordie? You gonna make him wait outside all day? Some people's children, Jesus!"

The light voice of a child rose gleefully in response: "Swear jar, Mommy!"

"Oh, those little ears are too sharp," the woman retorted, annoyed and fond at the same time. "I'm gonna owe that darn jar at least twenty bucks by the time we're home."

With a chuckle, Gord backed away to make room. Released from behind his legs, Quip crowded forward and panted up at Sam, demanding to be petted. Holding his duffel out of the way with one hand, Sam reached down and scratched her behind the ear; her eyes rolled back in pleasure.

"We're just in the kitchen when yer ready, Sam."

Gord went away with the groceries and the chocolates, the dog waddling after him while Sam shed his shoes and coat. Leaving his bag by the bottom of the stairs, Sam smoothed his hair with his left hand, then his right, and tugged at the hem of his cashmere sweater to straighten it. Taking a deep breath, he followed Gord's path down the hall.

Normally so quiet, the kitchen was alive with sound and motion. The two older children, maybe six years old and four, were having a snack, though it looked like they were playing with the food more than eating it; they were shrieking with laughter, and little orange fish crackers littered the scratched surface of the table. Quip snuffled around below as more were knocked onto the new tile floor.