Snowflakes on the Sea. Linda Miller Lael

walked into the adjoining bedroom. As she rummaged through her drawers for clean clothes, she regretted not asking Pat to stop by the Penthouse for more of her things.

      Once dressed in a pair of jeans and a soft yellow sweater, Mallory went to the bedroom window and pushed back the brightly colored cotton curtains to look outside. The snow was still falling, already filling the tracks left by Nathan’s car.

      Mallory returned to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair and apply a touch of makeup. Unless she was on camera, she needed nothing more than a dab of lip gloss. Her eyelashes were thick and dark, requiring no mascara, and, normally, because of her fondness for the outdoors, her cheeks had plenty of color. Now, staring at herself in the old mirror over the bathroom sink, Mallory saw the pallor that had so alarmed her friends and co-workers of late. Because she hadn’t brought blusher from the penthouse, she improvised by pinching her cheeks hard.

      In the living room, the lights on Nathan’s Christmas tree were still blazing, and with a sigh, Mallory flipped the switch. The glorious tree was dark again, and the tinsel dangling from its branches whispered in a draft.

      Mallory closed the door leading into the living room as she went out. The January Christmas was a private thing, and she did not want to share it with anyone other than Nathan—not even Pat.

      In the kitchen, she sliced off a piece of turkey and gave it to an appreciative Cinnamon, but she had no appetite herself. She cleaned up the mess Nathan had left behind and put the half-charred bird into the refrigerator.