“But I don’t mind staying back here with you,” he said now. “Jeremy and Kathy can go on, and you and I could veg out together in front of the fire. What do you say?” He tucked my hair behind my ear. Agh! I untucked it quickly, then took his hand.

“Dad, I’d feel bad if you stayed in. Really, I’ve got books to read and a stack of magazines.”

“She’s a big girl, Dad. Leave her alone,” said Jeremy, heading toward the door.

“Okay, well, I’m bringing my cell phone with me and I’m keeping it on, so if you need anything at all, just give us a holler, okay?” Dad kissed me lightly on the forehead. Then Kathy stepped in.

“Seriously, Sam. Anything,” she said. I saw Dad watching us apprehensively as she stood in front of me. She looked like she wanted to kiss me, too, but she wasn’t sure if that was okay. I wasn’t sure, either. So instead we just looked at each other, both kind of shifting our weight awkwardly.

Once they had left, I settled back in front of the fire. I had already showered and put on my clean jeans and my black turtleneck with my purple scarf. Yeah, it was kind of silly, but I was strangely looking forward to this walk with Eric and Fozzie. Of course, I hadn’t seen either of them all morning, but I tried not to think about it too much. We hadn’t set a time or anything. Or maybe they already took off before I got up.

Whatever, Levy — let it go.

“Man, everybody was doing their grocery shopping today. Must be the storm!” Eric came through the front door. He was carrying at least three paper bags full of groceries in each arm.

“Here, let me help!” I jumped up, but I guess I did it a little too quickly, and I got all of those little swimmy monsters in the sides of my vision. “Whoa,” I heard myself say, as I reached out to balance myself with the back of my chair.

“No way, sickie.” He smiled. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Here, let me just put this stuff away and then I thought we could head out past the Gallaghers’ farm. There’s a great trail over there that Fozzie loves. That is, if you’re still up for it.”

“Definitely.” I followed him as he carried the packages through the dining room and into the kitchen.

“Great. Give me just ten minutes. It’s already starting to come down out there. They originally said twelve to fourteen inches but now they’re talking two feet or more. My dad went into Burlington today to take care of some business. I just hope he doesn’t get stuck there.”

As Eric talked, he pulled out bags of oats, bunches of fresh carrots, eggs, milk, sweet potatoes, and cheese. I looked around. The kitchen was huge, with a big industrial-sized cooking range and two deep metal sinks. There were pots and pans of every shape and size hanging from a rack over a big wooden block table in the middle, and there was the tallest spice rack that I had ever seen. I had never even heard of a lot of the spices in there.

An elderly couple came in carrying more groceries. The woman was wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron and had tight curls that were dyed somewhere between red and purple, and crinkly skin around small, deep-set eyes. The man was at least a foot shorter than her, and had olive skin, a head of full, dark hair, and a thick mustache to match.

“Oh, thanks guys,” said Eric. “Martha, Luis. This is Sam. Sam, these are the two greatest cooks I know. They’re the real reason why this place is still here.”

The couple put down their packages, and Martha took one of my hands in hers. Her hands were amazing. They had big bulbous knuckles and a thousand wrinkles in them, roped with thick, green veins. She kneaded my palm like dough.

“What a pretty girl. Look at those eyes.” Then she squeezed my fingers until I thought I might whimper a little. She turned to Luis.

“Luis, say hello.”

He took my other hand. “Hello,” he said with a shy smile. His accent was Italian? Spanish?

I learned that Martha and Luis had been the cooks for the Bishop Inn since it opened ten years ago. They lived one town over in Scudderville, and they had been married for forty-four years. I loved the way they finished each other’s sentences and bickered over the tiniest things as they put the groceries away.

“What are you doing with that butter?”

“Putting it in the freezer like I always do.”

“But don’t put it in like that. Take it out of the box first.”

“What does it matter?”

“Because when I go to get it I want to be able to grab one stick at a time, that’s why.”

“Why can’t you separate it then?”

“Because I’m a busy lady, that’s why. Just do what I say.”

Luis swatted Martha on the butt. Eric crossed his eyes at me and smiled. I smiled back.

“Are you sure I can’t help?” I asked.

“No, no, this is Luis’s favorite thing to do. Right, Luis?” said Martha.

“Sure,” he said and then when she turned around, he pretended to choke himself. I giggled. When they were done putting everything away, Eric filled a small bag with almonds and raisins for us. Then he took out some scraps of bacon from the top of the garbage and put them in a bag, too.

“You like bacon, right?” he said to me.

“Ummm …”

“Just kidding. It’s for Fozzie, in case he gets too hungry,” he explained.

“Now, be careful out there. It’s coming down pretty thick,” warned Martha as we put on our coats and boots.

“Thanks, Martha. We won’t melt,” Eric said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “C’mon, boy!” he called, and then the three of us headed out the back door, with Fozzie leading the way.

The air felt crisp and alive with thick, fluffy flakes. We walked down the sloping backyard and then up over a slight hill. Fozzie was definitely in charge, racing around us, stopping to sniff through the snow and then doubling back, panting with excitement. Just over the hill we came to a small creek.

“Are you okay with this?” asked Eric, looking back at me as he stepped onto a smooth, flat rock.

“Sure,” I said, following him carefully.

On the other side of the creek, we went up a small bank that led into a big field. Eric explained that this was part of the Gallaghers’ farm. They grew corn and wheat in the summer and pumpkins in the fall. They also kept two horses, three pigs, a cow, and a family of chickens. The animals were all in the barn now, but when it was warmer out, Eric liked to come over and feed them leftover bread and carrots at night. The Gallaghers knew he came by. They always left the outside light on for him. We walked through the field and past the farmhouse, which looked like a small saltbox with wooden shingles and a bright red front door. Then Eric showed me how to squirm under a couple of loose boards in the fence. Fozzie knew the drill already, of course. Then up around another small hill.

The whole time, the snow was coming down in fat, downy flakes. But I barely noticed. I was too busy taking in the amazing views, the cold air. And of course, I was talking. It was really easy to talk to Eric about anything and everything. It felt effortless. He asked me about where I grew up in New York. I told him about life in the suburbs. How I went to public school, but still felt pretty sheltered, like everybody was kind of from the same social stratum. We all wound up wearing the same clothes, listening to the same music. Eric said he knew what that was like, living in West Lake for most of his life. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, but he was going to be a senior next year and he was looking to go away for art school after that. We talked about our favorite musicians, our favorite authors. He was a big fan of Thoreau. I admitted I’d never read him before. Sometimes we walked for a really long time not saying anything at all, and that was easy, too.

And then, I don’t know what made me do it, but at one point I just came out and said, “So what are these mom issues you have? I mean, is that okay if I ask?”