I know exactly what to do.

Outside, I grab the shovel and get started. Who cares if we’re expecting two feet more? This is what they call getting ahead of the weather. I can shovel all week, if I have to. It’ll be good for me. Fresh air, exertion. This will be great. Filling my time.

Each time the snow pummels my face in the icy wind, I only think about how much Declan, gentle Californian soul that he was, used to hate the snow. He was so right. Snow blows. I get the entire driveway done, and all the way around the court sidewalk to the Weeks house, without hardly exerting myself. Snow falls steadily the whole time, so when I turn around, everything is coated in white again.

Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?

Declan never once preached to anyone. He was conscious of sin, worked hard to avoid it and do good. But he only had these expectations for himself. He never faulted anyone else.

“He felt guilty about something,” I find myself whispering as Kane comes outside.

He’s wearing an inadequate coat, open, collar pushed up to his ears, once again saying eff you to the weather. He closes his eyes, and the snowflakes land on his eyelashes. “What?”

“Declan. Don’t you understand? If he’d had a problem, he would’ve prayed. What he did is a mortal sin. The worst of the worst. He wouldn’t have done it, and you know it.”

Kane’s fist, the one that’s holding his coat closed, is white-knuckled. “Maybe he wasn’t as perfect as you remember.”

I throw the shovel down. “I don’t remember a lot. So what’s that supposed to mean?”

For the first time, I notice he’s holding two sledding saucers: one his, one Declan’s. Not that Declan ever used his. “It means, stop asking me to talk about him. Please. Let’s go have fun.”

I snort. “Remember what happened the last time you wanted me to have fun?”

He grins. “This time, there’s no alcohol involved. Come on.” He inspects my shoveling job and laughs. “Talk about an exercise in futility.”

I follow him, head down, to the retention pond. When we get there, we duck under the fence. When the pond is iced over, the hill sloping down to it is perfect for sledding. It’s steep but not breakneck, and once you hit the ice, you can glide and glide for ages, straight over to the tree line on the other side. The two of us used to sled together, then go inside and drink hot cocoa, where Declan would be waiting for us, all warm and snug, reading.

“You’re going to be a big brother soon,” I say as we survey the hill for a place to push off.