Page 33 of Please Send Snow
The chewed-up picnic table has been replaced with two new ones that look to be made of cedar or something else that must be less delicious to bugs because they’re in great shape.
Only the metal merry-go-round remains from my memory. I can’t help smiling at the sight.
The smell here is familiar too. Even in the bitter cold, I’m catching the hint of damp earth that always reminded me of my great-grandmother’s blueberry patch.
“Swings,” Dylan suddenly blurts out before flying toward the swing set at an impressive speed.
I’m worried that it might be slippery from the rain, but the whole place is fenced in and filled with wood chips, so I guess if he falls he won’t get hurt.
I follow after him, feeling grateful for my warm new footwear, and sort of wishing that I’d worn my new coat out of the store too.
Dylan gets on a swing and starts pumping his little legs. It’s going to take forever for him to get into the air that way, but it’s nice to see a little kid trying to do it on his own.
I watch him get a little higher and then a little more.
“Want a push?” I ask him.
“Yes!” he sings out.
I go behind him and give him a gentle nudge.
“Higher, Maddie,” he yells.
I grab the seat and back up slowly, bit by bit, building suspense, and when he laughs, the sound is like a waterfall of joy.
Finally, I swing him forward with all my might and move quickly out of the way. He squeals with happiness and I can’t help laughing myself.
“I’m going to themoon,”he yells. “I’m going to thesun.”
He slows down and I’m about to offer him another push when he launches himself fearlessly off the swing, landing hard on both feet, and dashes toward the little cabin.
I trail after him, giving him a little space to explore on his own. The swings feel like a hanging out place, butthat little house might be more fun to imagine on his own.
While I’m watching him peek out all the windows, I hear someone open the gate.
I turn, hoping it’s another kid his age to play with, but it’s Jake.
“I dropped our bags in the car,” he says by way of greeting.
“Do you need to go right away?” I ask him.
Dylan peeks his head out the back door of the cabin, chuckling to himself, and then ducks back inside.
“We can stay for a minute,” Jake says, his expression softening.
Dylan flies out the front door of the cabin and goes straight to the firetruck, climbing up the ladder to explore the top.
“He’s such a happy kid,” I say, my eyes still on Dylan. “You’re doing a great job with him.”
I’m met with only silence, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped somehow.
“His mom mostly took care of him,” Jake says after a moment. “If I’m being honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
His deep voice is a little raw, and it hits me that it’s not a self-deprecating statement. He’s being real with me.
I steal a glance at him, but his eyes are on Dylan. Maybe that makes it easier to open up.
“Your wife isn’t around?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but hoping it’s divorce, not death.
