Free Angels in the Snow by Melody Carlson Page B

to accept that those footprints out there probably don’t really belong to them.”
    “Probably?” Jeannie lifted an eyebrow.
    “Okay, they don’t belong to them.”
    “That’s better.” Jeannie glanced up at the clock. “I’ll bet that turkey’s almost heated by now. We should warm up those potatoes and gravy and rolls too.”
    The three of them enjoyed a homey and delicious dinner, and Michael enjoyed the treats tossed his way from the table. Then Jeannie helped clean up while Claire made coffee to go with their pie. Finally, they were all sitting at the table, leaning back in their chairs and feeling stuffed and content.
    “It’s times like this when I wish I still smoked my pipe,” said Leo as he patted his full midsection.
    Jeannie stood and walked slowly over to the paintings. “The time has come, Claire. Are you ready?”
    Claire took in a deep breath. “Are you two ready?”
    Leo rubbed his hands together. “Well, if anticipation has anything to do with it, you’ve sure got me going, Claire.”
    Claire walked over to the paintings, wondering about the best way to do this. “All right,” she finally said, “if we’re going to have an art show, you need to give me a couple of minutes to set up, okay?”
    “Maybe we should step outside for a breath of fresh air,” suggested Leo.
    “Good idea,” said Claire. “I’m sure Michael would enjoy stretching his legs a bit too.”
    With the cabin to herself, Claire rearranged the table and chairs and lights to best accommodate and display her work. She set four of the paintings on the chairs and finally placed the picture of Scott and Jeremy on the easel, draping it with the sheet, still unwilling to show it to anyone. Then she went outside to invite them back in.
    Her voice actually trembled as she spoke. “Okay, the gallery is officially open.”
    “I’m so excited,” said Leo. And that alone filled Claire with dread. An art critic! What had Jeannie been thinking?
    Claire lurked behind them as they entered the cabin. She stood silently as they viewed the works, watching their every move, waiting for their reactions. But Jeannie and Leo said nothing—absolutely nothing. They simply moved about the crowded space, situating themselves to best view her various works.
    “Perhaps if they were framed,” she finally said weakly, almost inaudibly.
    The floor squeaked beneath Leo as he moved to get a better look at the night painting. His hands hung loosely at his sides. But still he said nothing.
    “Oh, I should’ve known,” muttered Claire. “I never should’ve. . . .” She walked over to the sink and stared blankly out the window, wishing desperately that her company would just quietly turn and leave. Or perhaps she could leave, maybe just vanish into the air, like an angel.
    Finally, Jeannie spoke, but her voice was different somehow; perhaps it was strained by all this. “What’s under this, Claire?” She was standing before the easel now.
    Claire stepped up to the easel. Well, why not get it over with. She might as well let them see it all. Like a felon about to be sentenced, she pulled the sheet from the painting, then stepped back, unable to actually look at it herself. Oh, if only this cabin had another room, besides the bathroom, where she might run and hide. She felt her teeth clenching and wished that this day could be over—that Jeannie and Leo could politely excuse themselves and get in Jeannie’s BMW and just leave. But still they stood there, just looking in silence. As if they were too embarrassed to speak. And Claire felt as if she were standing before the two of them naked and ashamed, with nowhere to hide.
    At last Jeannie turned around and faced her. But her expression was confusing. Was she upset? Angry? Frustrated by Claire’s lame excuse for art? Then Claire noticed there were real tears in Jeannie’s eyes.
    Jeannie pulled out a handkerchief and daubed at her eyes. “These are beautiful, Claire.”
    “Really?”