Snowstorm of Our Past novel · Chapter 14 of 32

Chapter 14: The Cabin

"Gabe."

He came across the room and looked over my shoulder.

He read the memo line twice.

"That's Clint's writing," I said. "I'd know it anywhere. He wrote it on every birthday card for three years."

"For Dale's family."

"Dale's family is Amber. Clint thinks he's paying Amber."

Gabe took the can and dumped it out on the card table.

We went through it together, standing up, our breath smoking in the cold.

There were more cashier's check stubs. Four of them, all from the credit union, all twenty-five hundred.

There was a rubber-banded stack of money order receipts from a grocery store in Colorado Springs.

Every one was made out to the name on the mailbox.

Every one was signed by the sender in round, loopy handwriting with a little heart over the i in Dwyer.

Amber Dwyer.

"She dots her i's with hearts," I said. "She did it on the card she sent Clint every Christmas. I used to think it was cute."

"How many?"

I counted.

"Fifty-one."

The oldest one was five years old. The newest one was dated November.

Then they stopped.

"She stopped paying him in November," Gabe said.

"Right before the baby."

He didn't say anything.

He'd gone over to the cot.

There was a shoebox under it, and he was holding a photograph up to the gray light from the window.

He held it out to me without a word.

It was this cabin, in summer.

Dale sat on the porch steps in a sleeveless shirt with his beard shorter and darker.

Amber sat on the step below him, between his knees, in a yellow sundress.

His arms were around her. She was laughing.

On the back, in the same loopy hand, someone had written: Our anniversary. Year 15. Still here.

Under that was a date.

Three years ago, in August.

"Three years ago," I said. "That's the summer Clint drove to Durango and knelt in the snow."

The words came out strange.

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