Kurstin stamped through a double-door, across a snow-covered porch, and to a frosted handrail, slapped tear-streaked cheeks. “Never should’ve trusted him!” she said. “I never want to see him again!” She shook her head. “Never again!”
“You don’t mean that,” a voice behind said, and she shuddered, peeked over her shoulder, and saw her mother, leaning out the double-door.
Kurstin swiped a cheek. “Mean what? The truth?”
Her mother sighed. “I know dad promised he’d be home, but the military is—”
“An institution which rips families apart? Yeah, I’ve figured it out, thanks.”
“Your father was reassigned, and he’d been trying to figure-out how to tell you.”
Kurstin clinched the rail. “A week before Christmas on a different continent during a five-minute phone conversation??”
“Given the region he’s stationed, he put those around him at risk for even that much.”
“Well, he’ll never have to do it again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because I…” She sighed, listened to the wind howl through surrounding trees and calm, and stilled.
“Because I understand mom: he’s a decision-maker others turn to and, so, has obligations.”
Her mother’s eyebrows bunched.
“So, I am okay.”
“You sure?”
Kurstin nodded.
“Alright. Well, I don’t have boots on, so come inside so I can hug you and then show you how to make extra-chocolate chip cookies.”
Kurstin forced a smile, turned toward moonlit snow, and gazed at across at a gazebo which sat amid shadowy trees. “In a minute. Just want to get some air.” “Well, not too much: All you have on is that wool hat, and it’s cold out.” Her mother clacked the double-door closed, and its sound echoed throughout the hushedness.