Free Angels in the Snow by Melody Carlson Page A

vouch for the fact that I go out of my way to remain oblivious in that area. I’m that proverbial ostrich with my head—well, who knows where? I just don’t pay much attention to the reviews. I figure if someone praised my work I might turn into a prima donna and sit around on my laurels all day. And, on the other hand, if someone criticizes my work, I’m sure to take it personally and never want to paint again. And I’ve already been creatively paralyzed for over a year now. So, for me, it’s better not to know. Besides I trust that Jeannie’s keeping up with all that, and she sort of lets me know, gently, how I’m being received out there.”
    Leo ran his fingers down his goatee beard. “Then you probably want me to keep my mouth shut if I take a peek at your work today?”
    Claire sighed. “I don’t know. I probably don’t really want anyone to look at it just yet.”
    “Come on,” said Jeannie. “You can’t possibly think I’d drive all the way up here and then leave without even looking.”
    “I thought you said this was a mental health visit,” teased Claire.
    Leo laughed. “Yes, and I also heard you’ve been chasing angels in the woods.”
    Claire looked down at the table.
    “I’m sorry,” said Leo. “I didn’t mean to—”
    “Oh, come on,” urged Jeannie. “Claire isn’t as thin-skinned as that. Are you, Claire?”
    Claire looked up. “No. But you’re right, Leo. I have been chasing angels in the woods.”
    “Well, good for you.” He clapped his hands. “I like an artist with spirit and passion. It’s always sure to show through in their work.”
    “So, you don’t think I’m crazy? I mean, did Jeannie tell you that I found footprints and that I thought they belonged to my deceased husband and son—or maybe angels?”
    He smiled. “Yes. I think it’s a charming story. And who are we to say what’s real and what’s not? If it seems real to you—”
    “Enough!” Jeannie stood up. “Please, don’t encourage her along these lines, Leo. Claire’s been through a lot this past year. She needs to move on now.”
    “But perhaps this is part of the moving on process for her,” he argued. “Maybe she needs to chase angels in the woods to escape something. Maybe it’s how she’ll become free of her grief. Who are we to say?”
    Jeannie sat down again. “Oh, I don’t know. I just want to see her get better. And all this talk of angels-angels-angels . . . frankly it worries me.”
    Claire reached over and patted Jeannie’s hand. “I appreciate your concern. To be honest, it worries me a little too. Sometimes, in the middle of the day when I’m doing something ordinary like heating soup or feeding the dog, I think all my obsession with angels is pure nonsense. But then, at other times, like in the silence of the snowy woods, or in the middle of the night . . . well, I’m not so sure.”
    “A lot of people believe in angels,” said Leo quietly. “There are all kinds of books written about them.”
    “You two.” Jeannie pressed her lips together and shook her head.
    “Have you read any books on angels, Leo?” Claire leaned forward, eager to hear anything he had to say on the subject.
    “No, but my mother has. She happens to be a devout believer in angels.”
    Claire sighed. “It’s encouraging to know I’m not alone.”
    “Come now,” said Jeannie. “It worries me to think of you out there in the snow trying to track down your dead husband and son—forgive me for being so blunt, Claire. But it sounds pretty outrageous to me.”
    “Oh, I don’t really think it’s them. . . .” She gazed out the window with a longing to be out there, walking in the cool snow.
    “But you want it to be,” said Jeannie. “That’s almost as bad.”
    “Of course, she wants it to be them,” defended Leo. “Who wouldn’t want to see their departed loved ones again, if they could?”
    Claire nodded. “But at the same time, I know I need to let them go. I know I need