Covered in dirt and dried snot and . . .
And . . . ?
Gravy?
It glistened on the boy’s cheeks and chin.
Mason was smiling.
Smiling?
Dan could not remember the last time his brother had smiled. He would have bet that Mason couldn’t do that anymore. That Dan himself couldn’t. That smiles had died out with most of the people. With all the people they’d ever known. Mom and Dad. Janie. Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Sally.
No more smiles.
Except that Mason was smiling.
“Mason?” he said. It came out as a croak.
Dan shifted, tried to roll onto his side. That’s when he realized that there was a blanket over him. No, a quilt. Thick and brightly colored. A quilt over him, a pillow under his face. And no wind.
The door was closed.
And Mason was eating something covered with rich brown gravy.
There was light in Mason’s eyes.
Actual light.
It took a long time for Dan to sit up. Years. It was like jacking up one of the great pyramids. Slow, requiring so much strength, so much engineering. Just to sit up.
He sagged back against the wall. They were in an entrance foyer. Eight feet long. Umbrella stand with two umbrellas, a hiking stick, and a yellow plastic Wiffle bat. Pictures on the wall. Seascape on one side. The kind you get at Ikea. Comes already framed. Smaller pictures on the other side. One big family portrait, lots of small individual pictures. Husband and wife, kids. Grandparents. A smiling dog with a lolling tongue. Dad was black, mom looked white. Kids were in assorted shades of coffee with and without cream. Grandfather—clearly hers, not his—with a heavy beard shot through with gray, and kind eyes. Dog was a chocolate Lab. Everyone looked happy.
“Is anyone here?” Dan asked.
Mason shook his head.
“No one?”
“Just Santa Claus,” said the boy.
Dan said, “What?”
8
Mason showed him.
He helped Dan up. Another feat of engineering. The floor canted and rippled, the room spun on its gimbals. Settled slowly. Became steady after a lot of crooked moments.
“In here,” said Mason.
He pulled on Dan’s hand. The kid’s fingers were still cold. Still too cold.
But there was warmth here. Heat.
When Dan staggered after his brother into the living room, he saw why. There was a fire in the fireplace. Nearly out, but still burning. There were candles standing in piles of melted wax. There was a Coleman camp lantern. Lots of light. More warmth than Dan had felt in . . .
In too long a time to remember.