Thaw

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month's prompt is to write about a favorite topic of Val's: melting snow.

Today's tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers. Keep a lookout for an illustrated re-release of the first three books, followed by the fourth!

 Thaw

by Val Muller

 Mara stared up at the clouds. The air smelled like snow. She knew that in her cold New England heart. Soon the nasty white flakes would blanket the ground and cover the tiny shoots of crocuses and all other signs of life.

Signs of death, too, she thought as she glanced toward the grave. It was nearly a year since she lost Jasper, and she'd promised in the spring to plant a memorial garden over his burial site, complete with a bird bath holding his collar and tags. Looks like that would be delayed. So much for that groundhog predicting an early Spring.

Mara's phone beeped. It was the breeder, one of those friend of a friend deals:

ARE YOU STILL COMING?

The lady had a liter of pups ready to go soon, four of them. A friend had hooked Mara up with the breeder like a matchmaker for the grieving pet parent.

Mara had said no, it was too soon. She only agreed because the puppies' ready-to-go date just happened to coincide with the anniversary of Jasper's death. She promised she would just take a look at the puppies, if for no other reason than to remind herself how annoying puppies were and tell herself for certain that her heart was not ready to be ripped apart once again by unconditional love.

But Mara knew how that would go. Best not to allow temptation. The snow was the universe's way of telling her that. A two-hour drive to the breeder, with snow expected. Best not to go.

IT'S SUPPOSED TO SNOW, Mara typed.

THINK CAREFULLY, the woman typed back, ABOUT WHAT YOU SAY NEXT.

What was that supposed to mean? What was she, some prophet? Some fortune teller, some peddler of witchcraft? What on earth did she mean?

SNOW IS EXPECTED, Mara typed. IF I HAVE TO LIFT A SHOVEL, I WON'T MAKE IT OUT THERE.

She knew what that meant. There was already a list of people to see the puppies, the breeder had said so herself. She was giving Mara first dibs as a favor to their mutual friend, but puppies this cute really sold themselves. If Mara didn't go in the morning, the puppies would be gone.

I WILL HOLD YOU TO IT, the breeder responded.

Mara looked at the sky again and sighed relief. Jasper would remain unique in her heart, and she would push the mistress idea of puppies for a different day.

In the morning, Mara woke with a start, a twinge of excitement knowing it was puppy day. But then like a child living through the first disappointing Christmas, she saw the blue tinge of snow reflected through the window. There had been no miracle from the universe. She would not visit the puppies.

Mara trudged downstairs and donned her boots. She eyed the shovel on the front porch but put it off, opting for cold cereal instead. The last time she held a shovel--poor Jasper. She didn't need to relive that memory this early in the morning.

And in such a way, she flitted about the house wearing her waterproof boots, always meaning to go out and shovel, always finding one chore or the next to occupy her time. All to avoid shoveling that awful snow.

WHAT'S THE FINAL VERDICT? the breeder wanted to know. DID YOU LIFT A SHOVEL?

The text broke Mara out of her cleaning trance. The house looked spotless and warm, not dull and blue like it did on snowy days. Before she responded, she couldn't help but glance out the window. The light was golden and rosy, a warm mix, not a cold one.

Outside, spring had returned as Mara cleaned. The last of the snow was dripping from the roof, and the driveway sparkled in the sun, the last of its watery covering evaporating in the rays. She had been so focused, she hadn't glanced outside. With Jasper gone, what need did she have to ever go outside again? But now, the snow was gone, and she did not, indeed, have to shovel.

As Mara drove off to start her two-hour journey, she only briefly glanced at the winter boots she left strewn next to the snowshovel on the front porch, both unused and out of place in the warm spring air.

 

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members: 

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/