A half hour later, Hunter emerged from the house, skin glowing, smiling. He had dressed in cargo pants, a cable knit sweater, and his shearling jacket. The snow gave way more easily under his feet, and there was the steady drip of it melting from eaves and tree branches. Squirrels scampered through the trees, foraging. The air had warmed up.
Could this be the heralding of spring? And how appropriate for it to fall on this day, the start of his liberation.
All the shades were drawn at Michael’s cottage. It was after ten, so Hunter thought if he wasn’t out of bed yet, it was high time. He marched up to the weathered wooden door and, without hesitation, rapped hard. When there was no response, he made a fist and pounded. He gave Michael a few seconds to answer, then pounded harder.
He was
