Angel Falls by Kristin Hannah Page B

the mittens and the extra woolen socks. He knew there was a box somewhere, probably marked
Winter clothes
, but he couldn’t remember where they’d stashed it last year. Maybe behind the stack of Christmas decorations in the attic.
    “Oh. Okay.”
    “Or maybe we could drive down to Turnagain Hill and go sledding. Mr. Robbin told us to come on down anytime for dinner.”
    “Oh. Okay.”
    Liam couldn’t think of anything else to say. They both knew there would be no sledding, no ice-skating, no snowmen, and no hot cocoa. Not now. They would think of such things, perhaps even talk about doing them, but in the end, as they’d done for the past four weeks, they would come together in that big house in the middle of the snowy field and go their separate ways.
    They would eat dinner together, each one in turn tossing out some inane, pointless bit of conversation.After dinner they would do the dishes, the four of them. Then they would try to watch television together,
Wild Discovery
or maybe a sitcom, but gradually they would drift apart. Jacey would burrow into her room and talk on the phone. Bret would settle in front of his computer and play loud, fast-paced games that required his full attention, and Rosa would knit.
    Liam would float from room to room, doing nothing, trying to keep his mind blank. More often than not, he ended up in front of the grand piano in the living room, staring down at the keyboard, wishing the music was still in his heart and in his fingers, but knowing that it was gone.
    He downshifted and turned left, passing beneath the rough-hewn arch his dad had constructed years ago, onto the driveway that was lined with snow-dusted four-rail fencing. In some distant part of his mind, he heard the gentle clanking of the iron sign that hung suspended from the cross-beam of the cedar arch, the one that read ANGEL FALLS RANCH . Or maybe it was his imagination, that sound, and all he really heard was the tinny silence between himself and his son.
    He pulled into the garage and turned off the engine. Bret immediately unbuckled his seat belt, grabbed his backpack, and hurried into the house.
    Liam sat there, hands planted on the wheel. He didn’t look at the album and present he’d tossed in the backseat, but he knew they were there.
    Finally he got out of the car and headed into thehouse, passing through the cluttered mudroom. At the end of the hallway, a light glowed faintly orange.
    Thank God for Rosa.
    He was still a little awkward around her, uncomfortable. She was so damned quiet, like one of those Cold War spies who’d learned to walk without making a sound. Sometimes he caught her staring at him, and in her dark eyes he saw a sadness that went clear to the bone. Sometimes he wished he were the kind of man who could go to her, smiling, and say,
So, Rosa, what happened to you?
But that’s not how they were with each other. If Liam had asked the personal question, Rosa wouldn’t have answered. And so, they moved around each other, close but not too close.
    Now, as he moved through the house, he flicked on the lights. No matter how often he told Rosa that electricity was cheap, she turned on only the lights she needed.
    Not like Mike, who hated a dark house.
    When he reached the great room, he stood in the shadows, watching Rosa and Bret set up for Yahtzee. Within minutes they had a game going. He wished he didn’t notice how quietly Bret played. There was none of the clapping or whistling or “All rights!” that used to be his son’s natural soundtrack.
    They were quite a pair, the silent little boy with the blackening eye and his equally solemn grandmother.
    She was such a small woman, Rosa, only a hand’s width taller than her grandson, and the way she moved—head down, shoulders hunched—made her appear even smaller. Tonight, as usual, she wasdressed all in black. The somber fabric emphasized the snowy whiteness of her hair and skin. She was a woman of sharp contrasts. Black and white, cold and