“It’s your turn.”
Emma opened her eyes and looked at the makeshift chess pieces on the table. Those shreds of paper with penned Ps for pawns and so on, the same pieces she’d leaned over and pushed around the hand-drawn board since breakfast.
“I’m done,” she said. “Beyond done. I’m going to have dreams about paper chess tonight, you know. And about this snow. It’ll be snowing paper chess pieces in my dreams.”
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Larson opened his eyes.
“Shhhh.” The sound emerged softly from the doctor’s lips.
He came up behind Larson and wrapped his arms slowly around his torso, gently nesting his head on Larson’s left shoulder.
“Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh.” Three seductive puffs, each quieter than the last.
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“It’s an ice pit!” said Ben.
“If it’s just an ice pit, what’s the problem?”
“We’re not twelve anymore! Jesus, Adam, you can be really weird sometimes!”
Adam stroked his chin. His friend Ben was being difficult.
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