one hundred twenty-five. [Winter games.]
At first it boggles her mind, how much her son loves this season, because for her every winter is like dying a little but in slow motion. Stephen is playing outside, running around in the yard. He is busy flopping down in the wet slushy snow to make lopsided snow-angels and trying to build fortresses and castles that reach to the sky. Ruth feels rather guilty about being inside, but she’s keeping a close watch on him through the window just in case. He’ll be frozen and shivering when he comes in, but she’ll have love and warmth [and cocoa] waiting.