So after all the chili con carne had been spooned up, the cornbread devoured, and the kitchen cleaned, they set out this Thursday evening pulling a sled and a flying saucer.
Powderhorn Park was just four blocks away and an easy walk. And Afton, Tess, and Poppy weren’t the only ones out on this wintry night either. Snow blowers roared to life all around them as neighbors emerged from hibernation to clear their sidewalks and driveways. Impromptu snow forts sprang up amid all the piles. Some enterprising and highly territorial residents even cleared on-street parking spaces and then staked out their boundaries using yellow highway department cones.
“Let’s go right to the big hill,” Tess begged. “After all, we’re not little kids anymore.”
“It’s okay with me,” Afton told them. “But it’s a lot more hill for you guys to climb. It’s a lot steeper.”
“We can do it,” Poppy said with confidence.
“Okay, just be careful.” Afton watched as the two of them scrambled up a slope where the snow had already been packed hard by sleds, toboggans, flying saucers, and inner tubes. The kids reached the crest, then turned and waved at her. Afton waved back, grinning at her little munchkins. Then Tess flopped down on her sled and Poppy squatted on her flying saucer and they both flew down the hill.
The kids went back up the hill again and again. As the evening wore on, they were joined by dozens more kids, so there was a constant din of squeals and shouts as sled trains were formed and impromptu races took place.
Good for them, Afton thought. Her kids were having a ball. It was about time they got outside and breathed some fresh air. She was, she decided, a true Minnesota mom. She subscribed to the notion that winter should be embraced and that kids should be encouraged to get out there and enjoy winter sports. And even though sliding wasn’t technically a winter sport, it would certainly help build their confidence for the skiing or snowboarding lessons that were yet to come.
“Look at me!” a child’s voice shrilled, and Afton couldn’t help grinning as a small boy shot past her on his sled. Then she turned her attention back to the top of the hill, where two dozen kids danced around, silhouetted in a bright patch of moonlight.
“Tess, Poppy,” Afton called out. “One more time and then we’ve got to go home, okay?” She searched the hill, looking for an acknowledging wave, but didn’t see a thing. In fact, she didn’t see her kids anywhere.
No, that can’t be. They were right there.
“Tess, Poppy,” she called out again, this time a little more urgently.
Still nothing.
Where did they go?
Afton glanced at the crowd of kids and parents who were at the bottom of the hill, but didn’t see them anywhere.
Her heart lurched inside her chest. This is how it happens, she suddenly thought. This fast. You look away for one miserable second and your kids are gone.
Afton was pounding up the sledding hill now, digging hard into the churned-up snow, slipping a little because of the stupid rubber soles on her stupid leather boots.
Hurry up. Faster.
She dodged a little girl in a pink-flowered parka who was balanced atop a yellow plastic runner, and sprinted the final twenty feet to the very top of the hill, her breath feeling ragged and labored.
“Tess! Poppy!” Afton was shouting now, the other kids looking at her with either bored or puzzled expressions. She was clearly a worrywart parent who’d shown up to spoil their fun.
Afton was panting heavily, spinning around as if in a daze, looking for her kids.
They’re here, they have to be here.
And they were.
She found them just over the crest of the hill. Daredevil Tess had decided to slide down the other side. The dangerous, steep side that ended abruptly in a church parking lot. Poppy was hunkered in the snow, a few feet down, watching her.
“What are you doing?” Afton screamed at them. “What were you thinking? I couldn’t see you guys.”
Tess looked thoroughly chagrined. “Sorry, Mom, but we were—”
“I was so worried.”
Afton’s heart was still hammering inside her chest as she grasped their little mittened hands and dragged them back home.
*
AFTON made a conscientious effort to try to relax once she was back in the warmth and comfort of their own little dwelling. Nothing had happened; the kids were okay. She’d had a Nervous Nellie brain fart; that was all. Still, she felt pent up and restless. Every time she got up to do something, Bonaparte jumped up to follow her, like a friendly ambassador. She settled into an easy chair and tried to read the new John Sandford thriller, but like an old-fashioned stuck record, her mind kept skipping over and over the same sentence.