The night was like a thing you could reach out and snap. It didn’t even matter if you were inside. Michael shifted on his quilts on the living room floor, looking up at his mother’s face. See, Michael baby, she said, her smile floating above him, like a warm moon, it’s like a adventure thing. She palmed the quilts flatter and fit his mittens on his fingers. You remember Indiana Jones? Wasn’t that movie fun? That’s what this is just like, baby. He’d heard Mom on the phone with the gas company earlier asking how could they have the heart in the middle of February, but it never occurred to him that the call and the adventure had thing one in common. All he knew was when she smiled at him, like they had a secret, he couldn’t imagine ever feeling cold again. He whispered to her: Really? Very really, baby, she said. Yes, yes. They lay down, curled against each other, beside the crackling fireplace.
