1. H e r | 1
Though her stance was rigid, her entire body was live wire. I looked down at her feet. She
wore no shoes even though the grass was tucked under a thin blanket of snow. She was irritated,
not quite mad. Her irritation caused her to do things like stand outside barefoot in the winter.
When she was angry, our little home shone like the sun off the lake. She made the best pies that
were as sweet as her smile, and that was on her good days. This woman was a funnel cloud, and
when she touched down the force of her emotions left irrevocable damage.
Behind me, Jack and Annie ran around in circles on the rug before the fireplace giggling
at nothing but their own silliness. I peeked through the curtains from where I sat on the couch,
letting my chin rest against the top of its cushion. My breath made a fog I had to wipe away
every few minutes. Absently, I twirled one of my loose curls around a nail bitten finger.
I wanted to see her face as she stared off into the mountains. But all I saw was the long
cornflower braid that hung down to her bottom and the back of a woman who time had turned
harder than stone. The clouds moved in and the wind picked up. I wanted to call out to her but
knew better.
For a moment I imagined she and I were the same person. If only I could feel what she
had felt, know why she did and said the things she had to cause her to be standing alone in the
cold staring after something that was as uncatchable as the wind. Was this the woman I’d grow
to be?
Her fists clenched at her sides. Behind me Jack fell into the old forest green recliner
causing it tip back then land forward with a thump. The giggling stopped. I turned to give my
best older sibling glare. For a moment, instead of my little brother I saw our father sitting there
in his coat, the one that smelled of him, pine and smoke, while he laced up his boots with
callused fingers.

2. H e r | 2
My gaze returned to the window only to find her facing our direction, and I nearly fell
backward. It was too late. She’d seen me there.
She blew into the house like a storm. The door slammed behind her, a gust of cold air
chased back the warmth the fire had given. She stood there eyeing the three of us, me on the
couch, Jack in the recliner, and Annie standing beside it wringing her small hands. We stared
right back.
“To your room. Now.” She told them.
They didn’t hesitate to disappear down the hall. Her fists were still clenched, and her
bottom lip trembled slightly. She stared into the fire with a look that matched it blaze.
She’d always told me to never ask a question I didn’t want the answer to. But now I
couldn’t help myself. “Think he’ll come back?”
“I don’t give a damn if he does or not.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and walked toward the fire, hands gliding
slowly up and down her arms. My mother was callous, hard-working, fiery, and a terrible liar.