“Really? That little shack?" I wondered aloud. It was quite a sad and lonely thing to look at. As we drew nearer, I could see that it was indeed a small, strange house of sorts.
“That paint looks pretty new. Does someone live here?" I asked.
Despite a fairly fresh coat of white paint, the little house looked a dingy yellow against the glistening fresh snow.
“We painted it last summer," Luke replied.
“Oh? Who is we?" I questioned.
“Me and Bill. We painted this place every few years for as long as I can remember," he stated.
I pictured my father, the smiling, dark-haired young man from the fireplace photo… little did that young man know then that he'd be abandoned by his expectant lover to ultimately die heartbroken and alone.
A deep sorrow cast over me.
Luke reached up to help me
