Forever Wife And Mother

But no. Not this morning.

This morning, marring the clear blue of the sky, a wisp of smoke rose from one of the chimneys; rose, and swayed in a gust of wind off the river, and rose again.

Gabe rammed his hands into his pockets and glowered at the smoke. As a child, he’d been ordered never to trespass on Lockhart land, but once, when he was seven, he’d dared to sneak down there, and he’d peeked in the kitchen window. He’d seen an old wood stove in the shadowy room, and he’d always remembered it because it had been so old-fashioned compared to the modern appliances they had at the lodge.

He imagined someone in that kitchen, a young woman from the city who would be lighting that stove every day.

And though he knew he was sending hostile vibes to the wrong person, he couldn’t help wishing that whoever had set that fire would vanish off the face of the earth, because any sign of life from the old log house was a reminder of something—and someone—he dearly wished to forget.

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