A Week in the Snow Read Online Free PDF Page B

she had run away. They gave him sideways glances when he mentioned her, as if asking what he had done wrong to make her go, and so he had stopped bringing up her name at all. That made them even more suspicious. His mother had taken lately to quoting biblical verses, telling him how a man should cleave to his wife, and how once a marriage was sworn before God and man, it was the real deal, complete and never to be broken.
    She was telling him, in no uncertain terms, to put his life on hold and wait for his wife to return.
    As time went by, Richard wasn’t happy with the idea of being alone for years, but the idea of divorcing Amanda and alienating his family was even worse. So he found himself sitting still while life passed him by with frightening speed. He thought about Amanda quite a bit, but he no longer jumped when he heard a car in the driveway, and he no longer went to the mailbox in anticipation of a postcard or a letter. She was never on the other end of the phone line, and nobody down at the cafe ever saw her. After a time the work of the newspaper had taken over his life, and the townspeople had simply assumed she would never come back, so they had stopped talking about her. Richard was just fine with that.
    Now he listened to the water running downstairs and thought about the young woman in the shower. She had been through hell out there in that car—that frightened look in her eyes spoke volumes, even when she was warm and safe in his house—and he was glad he had taken the time to drive back. What would it have been like to read of her untimely death in the paper, when he had zipped right past her on his snowmobile? The guilt would have eaten him alive.
    He looked at the clock and considered going out on the snowmobile again, but, just as quickly as the thought came, he decided against it. It would probably be incredibly bad form to tell the woman downstairs that he was going to go out for a joyride in the very conditions that had caused her so much fear and worry.
    But the desire to go back out there was strong, the memory of all those childhood winters coming back, the thrill of making those first tracks in the pristine snow. There were lots of other snowmobiles out there, and plenty of people would be out by the light of the moon tonight. He loved to see the snow clean and unmarked in front of him, just like it had always been when he was a kid.
    He rolled over in bed and looked at the bookcase, all the books he had read a dozen times, and contemplated which one he wanted to open up tonight. He would forget all about the snow. He would fall asleep while reading, and get up early in the morning to make breakfast. Then he would help the young woman make her plans for getting back on the roads as soon as they were passable again.
    He studied the books for a while, but reading wasn’t what he wanted. He rolled back over and looked at the ceiling, thinking. The excitement was still begging for an outlet. His hand moved down his body, the motion entirely natural and familiar. Since Amanda had left, it had been only his hand for company, and he needed that company quite often.
    Usually the fantasies that filled his mind were of a nameless, faceless woman, maybe dressed in leather and wearing high-heeled boots, daring him to come and take her—if he could. Sometimes it was a trip to the sex toy store, where the clerk behind the counter was more than willing to try out all the merchandise with a good customer. When nothing else worked, he thought about two women, and that always seemed to trip his trigger.
    This time it was the sex toy store. He slid his hand up and down, not quite ready to start stroking yet. He thought about sex toys hanging in neat rows on the corkboard walls. He imagined browsing through all the dildos and vibrators, not all that interested in buying one but intrigued by the different shapes and sizes. Then he would find the row of plastic pussies, the holes inviting him to stick it in, and