Page 32 of Please Send Snow
“You too, Maddie,” Jake says firmly.
I can’t even argue. I don’t have gloves or a scarf of any kind. And at this point, what are a few accessories compared to the fortune he’s insisting on spending on me?
Dylan picks out green ones to go with my new coat, and Jake heads for the counter.
“But what about you, Dad?” Dylan asks plaintively, standing stock-still by the racks.
“I’m fine,” Jake says.
“Don’t you want to play in the snow with me?” Dylan asks softly.
I swear Jake’s usual tough expression melts into sadness for a fraction of an instant. Then he frowns again and marches over to the racks, spinning one aggressively as if he’s not sure what color he should choose.
“Blue,” I hear myself say out loud.
“That will bring out your eyes,” Dylan adds wisely.
It’s exactly what his dad said to me earlier, but somehow I feel my whole face burning up and I wish I could throw myself into icy Angel Lake.
Jake turns away from me and pulls a pair of blue gloves off the rack, then grabs a scarf as well and marchesover to the counter again with our mountain of new items.
He’s not even looking at me, but somehow Ifeelhim taking me in.
He’s getting the blue because I liked them.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, but I feel almost breathless by the time we get to the register.
“Can we go to the park?” Dylan suddenly asks. “It’s not raining anymore.”
I look down at him, but he’s not asking me. He’s tugging at his father’s sleeve, and suddenly all I can notice is the size of Jake’s arms, and how wide his shoulders are. You don’t have much use for a frame like that in a boardroom.
“Sure,” Jake says. “You two go on. I’ll be right there.”
I’m honestly grateful—both to escape him for a moment, and not to have to see the total on that register.
Dylan grabs my hand and blasts toward the door, like his dad is going to change his mind.
I’m pretty sure he’ll be glad to have us out of his hair. He’s asking the lady at the register to remove all the tags, so he’ll probably be standing there forever.
I open the door and the blast of icy air from outside feels heavenly on my heated cheeks.
We pass the knitting store, and a touristy candy shop that must be new. Next is the Lenni Lenape Museum where my dad used to take me every time we visited Angel Mountain. I remember getting lost in the displays about how Native Americans lived and fingering the beautiful turquoise jewelry at the checkout while Dad bought a book and the owner smiled at me indulgently.
I wonder fleetingly if Dylan is the right age for the museum, but he’s already spotted the park and I practically have to jog to catch up with him.
He opens the gate and we walk just inside before I turn back to close it.
When I turn around again, I expect to see Dylan heading off on his first adventure.
Instead, he’s still standing in the entrance, looking paralyzed with indecision at all the options.
There certainly is a lot going on here. When I was a kid there was a metal swing set, a set of monkey bars, and an old painted metal merry-go-round.
And of course there was also a termite-eaten picnic table where my parents used to sip coffee out of a thermos while I yelled at them to watch me swing or spin or hang upside-down.
Now there’s a newer swing set with a cute little baby swing and a swinging platform that must be for a wheelchair.
There are also horses and dinosaurs on springs that you can ride, a log cabin with a front and back door and windows, and a firetruck with climbing stuff all over it.
