Free Cover of Snow by Jenny Milchman Page A

was saying. “You boys can divide up. I don’t want any downstate assholes in those woods with their cross-country skis.”
    Someone chuckled. “Like we groom those trails.”
    Laughter mingled with his, the Chief’s included.
    Then Tim Lurcquer looked up and saw me standing in the doorway.
    I had never really liked Tim, with his snub features and flat, humorless smile. He didn’t quite seem to fit with the other guys, always attempting to squash the raucousness that ensued when all the men got together, Brendan’s jovial suggestions.
    Dave Weathers stood up. “Chief.”
    The Chief turned around on the desk. “Nora, honey.” He glanced at Club and Tim. “Into your grays now, boys,” he said. “Don’t report in civvies again.”
    He began to walk, indicating that I should follow. “Got that taillight fixed?”
    â€œDugger Mackenzie took care of it for me,” I replied, trying to match the Chief’s stride.
    There was a pause, and I went on, selecting one of the many questions competing for reply. “Do you know him?” The Chief glanced back without answering, and I felt compelled to continue. “Do you know how old Dugger is?”
    Vern touched some buttons on the keyless lock on his door and led the way into his office. He placed himself behind his desk and gestured for me to take a seat.
    â€œDugger? Thirty and change, I guess.” He eyed me. “A couple-three years older than Brendan.”
    I couldn’t believe it. Dugger was our age? The crazy thought occurred to me that the Chief might be lying.
    He glanced at his computer screen, and the movement spoke more loudly than words.
    I went on hurriedly. “Do you know anything about Brendan and skating?”
    The Chief leaned forward, folding his thick hands on his desk. “I know that he hated it. You know that. How many times did the boys try and get him to take a spot on the team?”
    â€œRight,” I said. “I know. But Dugger told me he used to skate as a kid.”
    The Chief chuckled then. “Well, you can’t trust much of what Dugger says, honey. He isn’t right in the head. Been that way since he was little.”
    â€œRight,” I said again. I had known that right away. Only in this case at least, what Dugger said turned out to be true.
    The Chief shifted on his seat. “Anyhow, what does it matter either way? Kids grow up, their likes and dislikes change.”
    That sounded so reasonable, I knew I would seem crazy if I pursued it. But this did matter. If only because Brendan hadn’t given me such a sound reason himself.
    The Chief must’ve seen something in my eyes. “Look, Nora, can I offer you a piece of advice here?”
    I nodded uncertainly.
    â€œTime to time, I’ve had to make a call. You know the kind I mean? Where you deliver news to someone, knowing it’s the last thing they’re ever in their lives gonna want to hear.”
    I nodded again, this time with more understanding.
    â€œIt’s the worst part of the job. I know Brendan thought so. Person like Brendan, sorrow just didn’t fit.” For a moment, the Chief glanced toward his window. Then he turned back to me, and his face looked smoother, more composed. “But we learn from those times. Boy, do we learn. And one thing I know is you’re going through something like a war right now, and the battle’s not gonna be lost or won for some time.”
    It was my turn to look away, to hide the tears running quietly down my cheeks.
    â€œThis isn’t a time to be poking around, asking questions, coming face-to-face with—”
    â€œWith what, Chief?” I broke in. “With answers? With the truth?”
    â€œNaw,” he said fiercely. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. With the lack of answers. With how few answers there ever are. Why did someone take that last drink before he crashed his