They wake up to snow. They’ve been expecting it, but the reality shakes them both a bit. Sara makes coffee in honor of the day. Grissom comes in from the stable, wincing.

Outdoor plumbing has never been more . . . outdoors.

It’s not a heavy snow, and within a day or two it melts off, but both Sara and Grissom start talking about another trip to the pharmacy for more socks and gloves, if they can find them.

# # #

The drug store is still untouched by human hands when they get there, although the tracks of a few animals are abundant around outside. Sara searches through the tiny section of clothing, snagging a couple of sweatshirts before pulling every pair of panty hose and socks she can find. She hears something and assumes it’s Bruno coming down the aisle.

It’s not.

Two minutes later, Grissom hears all about the family of possums that hissed at Sara before marching off towards the stationary.

# # #

Grissom looks over the infant supply aisle, his gaze taking in the plastic packs of diapers. Part of him wants to take them now, even if Sara isn’t pregnant, and in any case she wouldn’t be giving birth until July or so if she was. He does spot a book, however and picks it up, tucking it into his pack.

Might as well read up in the meantime.

Sara comes around the end of the aisle, catching him in the act. For a moment her face shows so much: fear, love, amusement, delight, compassion. He tries to shrug, but he can’t. She comes closer and slings an arm around him in the semidarkness.

# # #

On a chance, Grissom points the truck down the road; they’ve got nearly a full tank, and he’s curious if there are any other stores. They drive a few miles, enjoying the heater, comfortable for the moment. As they round a bend, they find a tiny strip mall: a Burger King, a hardware store and a Pay-Less.

Sara announces they’re going Christmas shopping.

# # #

Neither one of them feel good about breaking the plate glass window, but it’s the quickest way in. Boots, slippers. Socks. Laces. A padded stool. They load up and put it in the truck in a few trips.

The hardware store is harder to break into, but when the go around the back, they use the tire iron from the truck to snap the lock on the roll down door. It’s dark inside, and smells dusty and slightly mildewed. Grissom leads the way, moving methodically down the first aisle.

They’ve got priorities here.

Saws, axes, propane, kibble—neither Grissom nor Sara are exactly sure the goats will eat dried dog food, but it’s worth a try—Sara steps into the garden department and begins looking through the seed displays. Cucumbers, pumpkins, carrots, cabbage, green beans . . . she’s momentarily dizzy looking at the selections. Quickly she fills her pockets with the little envelopes.

# # #

Grissom finds the rack of books and takes a moment to look through them. Home Repairs he takes, along with the Nevada Gardening Guide and Home Canning. He looks towards the front of the store, wondering if there’s still room in the truck for one of the aluminum rowboats.

Sara picks up a few gardening tools, humming to herself. The plot she’s been working on is bedded for the winter, but by spring it should be more than ready for planting.

She freezes for a moment, realizing she’s already thinking about next year.

# # #

As they drive home, Grissom asks if they’re going to observe Christmas. Sara tells him that they have enough stockings now, so sure.

# # #

Goat-milking is a hard won skill, and Sara always gets more than Grissom. He knows it’s because her hands are warmer, and she sings to the nannies. Regina is a bountiful girl, and they have milk everyday with lunch and dinner. Sara has experimented with trying to make cheese, but it hasn’t been a success; not like her bread.

It’s snowed again, and Grissom wishes heartily that the indoor plumbing still worked.

# # #

A flock of Canadian geese pass overhead, honking. Grissom tells Sara that if he gets the chance to bring one down, he’ll cook it himself.

Sara nods; he’s got a right to eat what he wants, too.

# # #

When Sara goes out a week later to milk, she spots the body on the dirt. The other three goats are crowded away from it in the furthest corner. She freezes, then slowly comes closer.

The other nanny—Sylvia—lies cold and stiff on the stable floor, tongue hanging out, froth on her mouth. Sara touches her cold flank and blinks back a few tears.

Yeah it’s just a goat. But she had a name.

# # #

Grissom carries the body in a wheelbarrow down a mile from the cabin and buries her. He checks her mouth and slowly pulls out a cold, saliva-covered dishtowel from the slack throat.

The irony isn’t lost on him as he digs the grave, cursing the frozen ground. All that worry about coyotes or bobcats—but this—

Just an accident this time.

# # #

Sara is depressed for a few days, and spends her time in the stables. Grissom lets her—they’re both more attached to the animals than they want to admit, even to each other.

He gets ready to walk the perimeter. Here’s what he takes: a hatchet, clipped to his belt. One of the whistles. A compass. The shotgun. A small first aid kit. A notebook and pen. Sometimes if Grissom’s doing the short route he takes Bruno, but for longer trips he leaves the dog with Sara as extra security.

# # #

The perimeter is a wide four mile walk around the landmarks that define what Grissom calls home. The turnoff from the main road is the first landmark. Grissom checks to make sure that the metal gate across it is still closed, and that the new lock he’s put on it is still in place. Then a mile along the hill and ridge to the grove of big pines. The land is hilly here and Grissom goes slow so he doesn’t disturb any snakes.

From the grove across the log that spans the creek. Grissom checks for wildlife: Squirrels. Chipmunks. A few foxes once in a while.

On the far side of the creek is one of the cabins of the dead. One body in it, old and at rest on the bed. Grissom hopes whoever the woman was that she died peacefully.

Back across the creek on the footbridge and along the now overgrown path. He’s keeping an eye on some of the plants along the upper bank—cattails by the look of them. Edible, come spring.

Down between the cabin and the lake, where the slope of the land runs down to the water in the distance between the trees. Grissom checks the bark for territorial marks. Deer are around, he knows.

He worries about what hunts the deer.

# # #

Sara has a secret for Christmas. Something good; something Grissom will love. She’s kept it hidden from him, but it’s hard to keep doing that now that the two of them are indoors most of the time. The holiday is two days away, and both of them have been cooking and keeping secrets.

# # #

Christmas comes. Out of bed they both hurry through the chores. The day is cold and foggy and smells like snow; Sara is glad for the mittens as she pumps water up from the well.

When she comes in, she sees that Grissom has set up a tiny branch of a tree on the kitchen table, and decorated it with paperclips and small pinecones and little plastic bottle caps. The sight hits her hard, and for a moment Sara tears up, thinking about everyone who isn’t looking at a Christmas tree this year.

So many of them. Gone.

She wants to smash it; sweep it off the table with a swing of her arm and make it go away, along with all the hard black pain welling up in her stomach. Flu for God’s sake! Nothing noble about it.

Then Grissom is there at the doorway to the living room, his smile tremulous and not comprehending. She looks away from the tree, wrapping her arms around herself and he goes to her.

He tells her it’s a mistake. He’ll take it down.

No, she says. Greg loved trees. Nick too. And Catherine always bitched about whether you put tinsel on before the lights or after. And Warrick used to help himself to the little candy canes off the one in the break room.

They both hold each other and cry.

# # #

After that it’s better. Grissom cooks up massive amounts of spaghetti, and she helps him. They eat too much and curl up on the sofa, touching each other.

He’s made fudge for her.

She gives him the surprise: a Complete Works of Shakespeare she found in one of the empty cabins, and asks him if he’ll read to her at night. Grissom nods, quietly delighted.

Grissom gives Sara a green sweater, the book on canning, and the best surprise of all—ten two pound plastic jars of peanut butter, some of the chunky, some smooth.

# # #

The both figure it was probably that night.

# # #

He hates to tell her, but his throat hurts. And he can’t stop sneezing. His nose is red, and Sara’s on the alert before he can say anything. Swift, efficient, quiet—she’s got decongestant and throat lozenges and Tang out.

Grissom can tell she’s terrified.

Just a cold, he reassures her. All the congestion means it’s a cold. He honks his nose into one of the clean rags and goes off the take a nap in the recliner.

Sara bites her lips and makes more Tang.

# # #

Chores without Grissom are a massive pain in the ass, she decides. He’s been out for two days, and she’s had to do it all: Haul water and firewood, muck the goats and feed them, dump the shit bucket and cook. She’s tired and a little resentful.

And then she feels like crap for that.

# # #

Winter rolls on. Sometimes it snows, but there are sunny days too. Grissom has taken to hunting an occasional goose and roasting it. Sara won’t eat it, but she will drink the broth, and use that with her rice. She’s managed to make goat butter, but realizes without rennet tablets, she can’t make cheese until spring, if Regina’s milk holds out that long.

She’s tired a lot, and Grissom encourages her to take naps in the afternoon, when the fire is banked and she can have the bed to herself if she wants.

Sometimes he joins her.

It isn’t until mid-February that Sara feels a startled panic and checks the calendar, counting back impatiently.

# # #

Grissom can’t believe he’s doing this. Driving out in the snow at nightfall, without chains, and not actually caring about the risk.

Two trips to the drug store loading up everything in sight, and neither one of them thought of picking a test up. Two intelligent, far-sighted people. He shakes his head and concentrates on driving.

# # #

Sara laughs when he returns, seven tests in hand.

And rennet tablets.

And a can of chocolate frosting.

# # #

It’s awkward, both of them crowding into the bathroom. They never use it anymore, not since the water stopped running, and their reflections in the only mirror in the place stop them for a second.

Sara sees her hair down just past her shoulders, and sharper cheekbones than she remembers. She sees eyes that seem too big for her face.

Grissom sees some old stranger behind Sara. A man with gray going to white, with a bushy beard. A man with a leaner face than he remembers.

For a moment, they forget to check the test and simply stare in the mirror.

# # #

It’s amazing how everything in the universe can change in three minutes.

end of part three