Three things cross Jonah’s mind as he steers the sled over the three-point-two miles of snowdrifts to Cutter Church: his father, and the undying son-love he has for the man; the slashing cold against his eyes and his semi-exposed cheeks; and Sandy’s gorilla-like grip against his middle. The snowmobile bounces up and down through Channing’s streets, this way and that way. Snow blows behind the metal and thick rubber tread like a tail, rising in the day, shooting and lifting off the ground in a ten-foot flue. Sandy grips his center like a football player, tackling him to the seat. He screams something behind Jonah, but Jonah can’t make out the words. Again and again the snowmobile bounces over the rolling hills of Channing. The metal beast swerves left and right. And their bodies move with t
