One
Snow flakes fell thick and fast as Luke Kirby stopped his 4x4 in front of the family cabin, just south of Estes Park. On a clear day, Longs Peak was visible from the cabin, but now his headlights had trouble penetrating more than a few yards ahead. The wind kicked up the falling snow, erasing not just the tracks his truck had made on the dirt road, but the place where sky and earth met, turning the world into a disorienting white tunnel. The storm hadn’t been bad when he left Denver but had turned nasty with the rise in altitude. If the storm hadn’t cut off his retreat, he might have turned back and faced a family determined to distract him from the significance of tomorrow–the anniversary of the death of his wife, Rosemary.
He rested his arms on the steering wheel, remembering a tim
