The Descent From Truth Read Online Free PDF

held him at face level. “A-lex. A-lex.”
     
    “Ax,” the baby responded, more laughter bubbling out. “Ax!”
     
    Alex pulled him close.
     
    Pia walked in carrying a tray with the coffee pot and two cups. “What are you doing?”
     
    “Getting acquainted.” Alex eased the baby onto the floor and shifted to the couch.
     
    Pia set the tray on the coffee table, filled a cup, and mixed in powdered coffee creamer until it looked like the instant Alex had mixed on the trail. She waited until he sipped and pronounced it excellent, then poured herself a cup and sat on the floor by his feet. From there she could watch the baby without turning away from Alex.
     
    The baby crawled to her. He gripped her blouse and pulled himself to his feet.
     
    She kissed his cheek and cooed to him until he plopped back onto the floor and crawled to Alex. Grasping Alex’s leg, he hoisted himself erect.
     
    “Too cold on the floor, Freddy?” Alex lifted the baby onto his lap.
     
    A serious expression settled on the youngster’s face. He ran his hands over Alex’s beard, tugged, then pulled harder.
     
    “Not used to scarred, hairy faces, little man?” Alex slid a finger over a miniature cheek. It felt as smooth and soft as a kitten’s belly.
     
    Pia stood and offered the baby his oversized pacifier. “There is oatmeal in the kitchen. I will feed him and put him down for an afternoon nap.” She lifted him into her arms and headed for the kitchen.
     
    Alex finished his coffee and stepped outside. Dark, low-hanging clouds now completely blanketed the sky. They looked pregnant with snow. Where the Warrior River flowed slowly enough for its surface to freeze, its banks were high and sheer. He would be in serious trouble if a snowstorm caught him while he was scaling them. Even if he got through before the storm hit, it would ground the company helicopter, leaving Pia and her son stranded. How long would the front hang around, making travel dangerous?
     
    A satellite dish rode the cabin’s roofline, and he’d noted a television set by the fireplace, so there had to be an electrical generator somewhere. Maybe he could crank it up, catch a weather report. A sheltered enclosure behind the cabin housed the generator. It took him a long time, working with only a rock and his utility knife as tools, but he disconnected the battery and lugged it inside to warm by the fireplace.
     
    Pia’s clothing, freshly washed, hung from the wood-slatted backs of two chairs, drying in the fireplace’s heat. He found her in the kitchen, draped in a thick wrap-around robe. Whoever had left it in the cabin was much larger. The robe hung to her ankles, and she had rolled the sleeves back over her wrists.
     
    She had cooked oatmeal and was trying to spoon it into her baby’s mouth. He kept turning his head and batting at the spoon.
     
    “Freddy doesn’t like your cooking?” Alex tousled the kid’s hair and received a broad, baby-toothed grin in return.
     
    Pia dropped the spoon into the bowl and pushed her short hair back with both hands. “He has to eat. My breasts are no longer sufficient.”
     
    Alex scooped a dab of oatmeal from the dish with his finger and popped it into his own mouth. “What did you put in it?”
     
    “The instructions said water and a pinch of salt.”
     
    He heated a half-cup of water and mixed in coffee lightener, laced it with sugar, and stirred it into the gooey oatmeal. “Maybe he’ll like it this way.”
     
    Pia tried coaxing a bite into the baby’s mouth. He refused to taste it.
     
    “Let me have a shot.” Alex turned his back and transferred the thinned, sweetened oatmeal into a bowl of a different size and color. “Freddy, look what I’ve got.” Moving the oatmeal-laden spoon in a circuitous route, first toward his own mouth, then toward the baby’s, he always stopped short of contact. Finally, when it was inches from his mouth, Alex lunged and wrapped his lips around the spoon. He pulled it