“It’s nice to have a fire,” Ruth says. “Thank you.”

Wilson brushes his hands off on his thighs. “I’m going to bring a few more loads in,” he says.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Ruth says. “Why don’t you relax, read the paper or something? It’s the weekend. It’s your birthday. We don’t need more wood right now.”

“Might as well, while I’m at it,” Wilson says. “And I need to get the logs I just cut under the tarp before it starts to rain.” He looks out the window. “It looks like it just might rain.”

“Maybe snow,” Ruth says. “Wouldn’t that be exciting? Maybe if it snows you could even sled tomorrow, Isabelle.”

“Or we could build a snow fort. Remember that one last year?” Wilson says, going over to stand by his daughter’s side. Isabelle slides her hand over the drawing. Wilson’s face goes slack. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m not looking.” He ruffles his daughter’s hair and hurries through the kitchen for the door.

“Wil,” Ruth calls after him. He turns in the kitchen doorway, his face red, whether with cold from outside or heat from the fire or something else Ruth can’t be sure. “I made reservations at Luigi’s. For seven o’clock.”

Wilson nods and smiles stiffly. “Great,” he says. “Sounds good.”

If it does anything, it will snow. Even with the gloves he wears for handling firewood, Wilson’s fingers have gone numb. He throws the last of the wood onto the rack and covers the pile with the tarp. He straightens up, pauses to catch his breath. Across the street and down a ways, he can make out a moving truck beeping its way backward down the driveway toward Mr. Sullivan’s old house. He sniffs, takes the ax from where he’s rested it against the side of the house, and brings it into the garage where it belongs.

The garage is a mess. There are boxes of who knows what stacked ceiling high and piles of other clutter: garden hose, sprinkler, paint cans, drop cloths, bicycles and tire pumps, croquet set, deflated basketball, old moldy hammock. There is no room for a car in here, though there could be room for two. He should make room. He should clean this garage out. If it’s going to be a bad winter, truly, his truck might appreciate the shelter of a garage. His truck would probably be in a lot better shape if it had wintered in garages all its life. This is something he should do, before the snow, before it’s too late, right now.