Special Delivery

The heat register hums its sleepy tune as I stare listlessly at the snowy yard. The peace of the scene is interrupted by the crunch-crunch-crunch of the ill-prepared neighbors as they trudge arduously to their front door, arms full of supplies and children.

The mug in my hands holding my third cup of coffee is cooling quickly now as the windows fail to keep the cold out. I glance at the clock to see it's half past noon, so he should be here any minute. Unless the weather's delayed him. But isn't that in the creed? "Neither snow nor rain..." It's the first one, I think. He should be here.

I hear the squeal of cold brakes and the bound of a truck hitting a speed bump too hard and know it's almost time. I pull a hat over my tangled hair and wrap my scarf around my neck three times. I put on my coat and boots and slide my fingers, nails bitten down to nubs, into gloves.

Time now to brave the blustery, bitter cold. My husband shoveled before work, but it's impossible to tell since the snow has been falling all morning.

I trek down the driveway and open the mailbox to see one letter. It's a card in a red envelope dated a week ago. My name in the recipient field scrawled sweetly in my late grandmother's loopy handwriting, a heart sticker on the back sealing the treasure inside.

The last card she'll ever send me.