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Show HUNT They were sitting in bed. New Hampshire farmers were preparing snowplows in barns and garages all down the highway and across the hills. The thermometer was stuck at zero. And it seemed unusually dark. Hunt told Leah that he thought he could almost hear the ice freezing on the lake outside, hardening with rigid snaps. Leah said that what he heard was the start of deer season. Then some time near dawn, Hunt told her. Leah shook. He tried to hold her. She fought him. Fought and then got up to pack. "I'm going to take the children," she said. "Where?" "To tell your parents." "It's still dark." "I don't care." "J. do." "You've made your choice." But Hunt held Leah back until after breakfast. Snow had started. The sky looked like soft, faded stone. They put one bag and the children in the back of the wagon and set off for Boston to tell his parents about divorce. Every fourth car heading north, passing or passed by them, was racked and spread with a dead deer. "Isn't it awful!" one of the children said, as they passed a camper laden with two. In the rearview mirror, Hunt could see blood running down over the camper's windshield. |
