Safe, Warm, and Together by Bob Johnson

The old house timbers creaked and moaned as the winter wind began its introductory onslaught of a wicked snow storm that was supposed to hit the region. Fred pulled the old thread bare quilt over his shoulders and looked at the hot red coils in the wall heater.

“You sure as hell had better crank it up. What you’re throwing out isn’t cutting the mustard.” He spoke with distain to the unit sitting four feet away from his rocking chair.

Fred Phillips looked across the room toward an identical rocker.

“Belle, best be putting on a heavy sweater tonight, it’s going to be a cold one.” He suggested.

“You know, for the life of me I can’t figure out why we quit wintering down in Arizona. What’s it been, eight, ten years? Anyway, cozy up.” The old man continued.

Just then he heard the familiar slap of bells announcing that someone had come through the back door.

“It’s just me. I’m back to clean up the supper dishes. I’ll be out there in a minute.”  came the familiar voice of his daughter.

She, her husband and four kids lived next door. A nice convenience for everyone, Fred had always thought.

“I left some cinnamon rolls and put some cut up fruit in the frig for tomorrow morning.” She spoke loudly from the kitchen.

The woman soon came out to the living room. She still had the heavy parka hood covering her head, and fur lined boot on her feet.

“It is so cold out there. The radio said its going to be around zero tonight. I see you’re up close to the heater.” She said with a laugh.

She grabbed a nearby comforter and tucked it around him as he sat.

“Yessiree, I was just telling your mother here that we should have kept on going south during this miserable winter weather we always seem to get. We’ll be okay, don’t worry about us.” Fred answered.

Just then his daughter walked over and stroked her father’s thinning white hair.

“Oh Dad, Mom passed away almost ten years ago, don’t you remember?” she said sadly.

The old man stared blankly at rocking chair sitting across the room.

“Well, of course I do, honey.” He said in affirmation and patted her hand.

There was a moment of silence between the two, then his daughter grabbed the television remote, pushed a few buttons on it then handed it to her father.

“It’s on the Western Theatre station. John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. I know you like them. Now make sure you keep warm and I’ll be back tomorrow late in the morning.” She said as she kissed his forehead and headed for the back door.

Fred watched the movie, cussing every time a commercial started. Finally, at the end, he hit the off button, shut off the lamp next to him, and pushed the chair into a reclining position.

“You know, Belle, I’m concerned about our daughter. There is something not right in her noggin. I had to play along with her notions that you were gone.” The old man, blankets  pulled up under his chin, said softly.

“We’ll talk about it the morning when this brain isn’t so tired. Sweet dreams, old gal.” Fred said and drifted off to sleep.