She called into three rooms, empty rooms. Crossing to the terrace, she
opened a door on the night. Snowflakes rode in on an icy draft.
"Well?"
"John! What are you doing out there? I can't even see you."
"That seems to be one of your habits recently."
She drew him inside, and leaned against the door, closing. "Is it going
to be like that tonight?"
"Maybe." His face was steeped in cold.
"Please. Not the day before you go."
The white crystals on his hair melted into drops, and a sudden warmth
strained all harshness from his voice. "No, you're right, Mary. Not the
day before I go."