Excerpt: Dena's Journey

5:30 a.m.
The sunrise is gray and purple, and it bleeds out onto the snow in the backyard. The neighbor kids made a snowman yesterday, and now he’s crippled and bent, and the morning sun casts shadows beneath his ancient button eyes. He’s staring at me, and not in a pleasant way. Now and again the wind ruffles his twig arms, and he points at me. He stares and points. He knows my secret, the one that’s so private I haven’t told anyone, including myself. But the secret is dark and unpardonable, and now that the snowman knows, I’m sure any day he’ll talk. He’ll rupture the secret, and I’ll recognize it, but I won’t be able to stop the hemorrhaging. The neighbors will know. They’ll tell my co-workers. They’ll tell the town. The town will tell God.

At least Gena won’t know, unless God tells her, too.

I think I don’t like snowmen very much.