\u201cMom? Dad?\u201d My voice cracked, swallowed instantly by the shadows.<\/p>\n
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There was no smell of cinnamon or pine. No hum of the furnace. Just the white plume of my own breath ghosting in front of my face.<\/p>\n
I walked deeper into the house, my boots crunching on the frost that had begun to form on the carpet near the drafty window. The living room was a mausoleum. No tree. No stockings. Just the furniture, draped in shadows, looking like crouching beasts.<\/p>\n
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And then, the note.<\/p>\n
It sat on the granite kitchen counter, a stark white square against the dark stone. A single sheet of lined paper, torn hastily from a legal pad. I picked it up, my leather gloves creaking.<\/p>\n
We went on a cruise. You take care of Grandpa.<\/p>\n
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