Winter is Coming

Winter is Coming

by John Britto

Standing in his dusty closet, Corbin Beeson steadied himself on his cane with his right hand. With his free hand, he grabbed the hanger holding his wife’s red cashmere sweater and pressed its collar to his face. Mercifully, the faintest hint of her favorite perfume lingered. He swallowed hard as tears gathered in his eyes. That unmistakable fragrance — Chanel N° 5 — caused cherished images to surface from his collection of faded memories.

A brilliant, momentary flash of light coming from behind him instantly illuminated the closet and yanked him back into the present. A millisecond later, a sharp crack of thunder rattled the windows, followed by a series of other rumbles ripping across the sunless afternoon sky. Corbin hurriedly replaced the hanger and gingerly turned around. He padded into the bedroom and sat on an armchair next to the nightstand. He twisted his head slightly towards the window anticipating the sounds of fierce winds and torrential rain. He didn’t have to wait long.

Chilled, Corbin struggled to pull his sweatshirt tighter around his chest as he pushed back into a thin throw pillow, but his frail hands were getting noticeably weaker. At eighty-four, that was to be expected. What he didn’t foresee was the constant pain throughout his body, the feeling of being helpless, and being alone.

A second flash of lightening filled the room with dazzling light so bright that it caused him to squint. Corbin jerked his head back and pressed his hand to his throat as a stabbing pain raced through his chest.

He took a deep breath and blinked rapidly to center himself. An unfamiliar sound made him turn his head toward the window. A few small leaves from a hackberry tree had landed between the screen and the window and were being pushed by the wind, quivering across the glass.

Corbin shook his head and briefly hiked up his shoulders in surrender to the power of Father Time. He forced himself to lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees. He placed his hands together as if he might say a prayer. Instead, he stared at his slippers and wondered how many he had owned in his life.

“What a stupid question,” he blurted aloud. Sitting upright, he inhaled deeply and pushed the air from his lungs. He quickly added, “I’m just wasting time. Delaying the inevitable.”

He willed his eyes shut for a long moment, hoping the stillness would allow him to steady his confusing thoughts and emotional torment. When he opened his eyes, he immediately reached over and pulled open the shallow drawer in the nightstand. The two plastic vials of pills were exactly where he put them—where he needed them if he decided to act on his dark plan. Gently, he pushed the drawer closed. When he saw the bottle of water next to the lamp, the ugly reality of his potential decision frightened him.

Next to the water he saw an ornate silver frame holding a photograph of his wife, Jordan. His chin began trembling as tears gathered. He grabbed the frame with both hands and held it in front of him as if he were reading a book. He leaned back into the chair, studying his wife’s face. He remembered where the picture was taken, but he couldn’t be certain about the date.

Corbin returned the frame to the nightstand and removed his glasses. He arched both eyebrows and pinched the bridge of his nose and felt the deep sockets on either side. With his eyes closed, he allowed his fingers to linger for a moment longer. He could feel the tension start to diminish.

An unexpected vibration of his cellphone startled him. He turned his head to face the slim phone lying next to the picture frame. He put on his glasses, pressed the button, and held the phone next to his ear, “Hello.”

“Hi, Corbin. It’s Mark next door. That stormfront is moving in fast. Are you doing, okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” He covered the phone and cleared his throat

“I’ll tell ya’, my kids are excited about romping in the snow—it’s supposed to be four feet deep next week. I bet your winters were fun when you were a kid, right?”

Corbin paused a moment before responding. “I hated winters. As a kid I had to stay indoors every winter. I couldn’t go outside at all—health issues with my lungs. It always felt like God was punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

Mark didn’t speak right away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“That’s okay. So much time has passed. What can I do for you?”

“I just looked out the window to make sure my Christmas decorations were where I left them, and I noticed your sprinklers are running. Would you like me to come over and turn them off? I know it’s not easy for you to get around. I’d be happy to do it, but I shouldn’t wait much longer.”

“Yeah, please. I’d appreciate that very much. Thanks, Mark.” Corbin pressed the disconnect button and then activated the silent setting and returned the phone to the nightstand. He sat for a moment wondering what he should do.

With effort, Corbin used both hands to help him stand, then grabbed the rubber grip of his cane to steady himself. He glanced around the room, quietly admiring how his wife had tastefully decorated their bedroom. Without her, he felt like a man missing his shadow.

Carefully, he walked down the hall into the front room and sat in his leather recliner. He removed his glasses, then reached for a blanket and covered himself to ward off the cold. Outside, the worst of the storm appeared to have passed, leaving an irksome wintry wind. Within minutes, Corbin fell into a much-needed sleep.

“Dad? Are you okay?” A woman’s voice inquired.

Disoriented from his deep sleep, the first thing Corbin recognized was the intoxicating fragrance of Chanel N° 5. “Jordan?” he called out as he opened his eyes.

“No, dad. It’s me. Alison. I’ve been calling and calling, but you never answered.”

Corbin looked up at his daughter’s face. “I didn’t hear the phone ring. I didn’t hear you come in either. Is everything all right?” He swallowed hard and blinked often as he reached for his glasses. “How’s mom?”

“That’s why I’m here. I just came from the hospital. She’ll be discharged tomorrow.” Alison spoke rapidly as she gushed the long-awaited news. “She’s coming home, dad. She’s coming home. Isn’t that wonderful news?”

Corbin sat still for a long moment. He looked at his daughter and smiled broadly as the wish he had desperately hoped for was being granted. “She’ll be home tomorrow?” He covered his mouth with his hands as joyful tears began to form. “I’ve got to get things ready. She’ll be here for Christmas. Isn’t that grand?”

“Don’t worry, dad. I’ll take care of everything. Right now, I’ve got to pick up her new prescriptions, and then stop at the grocery store, but I’ll be back soon.” Alison bent down and gave him a quick hug and kissed his forehead before leaving as quietly as she had arrived.

Wearing a grateful smile, Corbin pushed back into his chair. He placed his open palms across his chest and lowered his head. With his eyes closed, he could still recognize the slightest hint of his wife’s favorite perfume lingering in the room. He took short, even breaths—until they stopped. Corbin Beeson’s last words were sheer jubilation, “Isn’t that grand?”

Father Time had granted him eighty-four white Christmases, but he would not attend an eighty-fifth. As Corbin began his entrance into his eternal rest, the winter solstice began in earnest. And too the delight of many small children, the frigid winds of winter, the season Corbin detested his entire life, began to cover the sprawling city of Duluth, Minnesota, with deep drifts of icy snow.