Free Steady as the Snow Falls by Lindy Zart Page A

world around me will continue. Knowing my place, my irrelevance—it frees me.”
    Beth choked as she inhaled. She’d felt those words. She could see the seasons clashing, competing for dominance. All worthy, none relenting. A bitter fight until the water overtook the snow, or the leaves refused to not flourish. Until all the elements melded into one another and merged, life and death and loss and hope, together, as one.
    She could hear his words resonant through her being, promises and confessions whispered to her soul. I am much more than you see , they said. I am much more than you know. Dare to uncover all that I am. They were Harrison’s words, but they didn’t come from his mouth. They came from his heart, from his center. The part of him untouched by the tragedy inflicting his body and mind, that innocent part of a person that remained unscathed, no matter what happened to the shell. The part that could see beauty even as an ugliness ate away at them.
    “What did you want to be when you grew up?” It was a generic question, asked more times by society than should be allowed. Beth didn’t expect an answer, her blue eyes trained on the horizon. It would be dark soon, the nights coming earlier with winter, and it would be time for her to go. She wasn’t ready to go.
    “An astronaut.”
    Beth turned to Harrison. “And why did that change?”
    He shrugged, his head angled down. “It didn’t seem possible, and my dad was big into sports. He had me play anything I could, as early as I was able. Football stuck with me. I liked football. That seemed possible.”
    “You were a linebacker, right?”
    His answer was softly delivered. “Yeah.”
    Beth shifted her feet. The only details she knew about the sport were the ones she’s found online, and she was aware her knowledge was less than lacking. She felt silly talking about things she didn’t understand, but it was better than awkward silence. Maybe—maybe it was better than awkward silence.
    “Chicago Bears?” When he didn’t reply, she added, “You went to the Super Bowl a few times, even won one. That’s impressive.”
    In a sharp tone, he told her, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    Harrison removed the black stocking cap from his head, revealing rumpled red waves. He seemed agitated, and she realized she’d pushed too hard, too soon. Beth stared at the strands of his hair, wondering at their texture. Coarse silk, that’s how she imagined them to feel. Her stomach swirled as she pictured her hand lifting to find out.
    “Okay.” Beth blinked, the acidity of his voice stinging her skin. “Sorry.”
    He rubbed a hand against his head before resituating the hat. He sighed and glanced at her. “What about you? What did you want to be?”
    She shrugged, a self-conscious smile hovering on her lips. “I wanted to be a writer.”
    Harrison frowned at her. “Always?”
    “Always.” Her smile grew. “Of course, I thought I’d write one book and become famous, all by the age of twenty-two.”
    “Why twenty-two?”
    “I have no idea.” She laughed softly, feeling him go still beside her. “I must have liked the number. Or I thought I’d be mature and responsible by then. Shows what I knew.”
    “You have a nice laugh,” he said in a low voice, and it was her turn to go motionless.
    She raised her eyes to his. They were dark, and deep, and said so many things. The snow melted, the sun faded, the cold never existed—all while she looked into Harrison’s eyes. Time was a lock, but it was also a key. She understood that as they studied one another, and time held still. Beth swore she caught a shadow of fear, outlined in the furrow of his eyebrows, in the speed of his pulse at the base of his neck. Fear or something else.
    “I’d like to hear your laugh,” she said in a voice that wobbled.
    He jerked his head to the side as if to clear it, breaking the stare. “How old are you?”
    Beth shot him a look, her pulse racing and her throat tight.