I sat down across from him and picked up my spoon.

Seeing how steady he was gave me a moment of real warmth.

My son wasn’t looking for a fight or trying to cause harm; he just wanted his grandfather to know who he was.

By eleven fifteen, the morning snow had stopped over the Aspen pedestrian mall, leaving two inches of fresh white powder on the brick shopfronts and wooden benches.

Inside the village bookstore, the air smelled of dry cedar shavings, coffee beans, and printed paper.