The light warmed him immediately. It was like entering a different room. Below him, cocooned in sleeping bags, his family slept peacefully around the fire pit, a ring of question marks, their legs tucked up from the cold. There was something remarkable about seeing them in a circle. The shade in which they lay moved imperceptibly as Warren watched, shrinking like a tide and illuminating their faces one at a time, as if they were emerging from the deep. He felt sluggish and happy. Last night, he and Camille had made love after the kids were asleep, slow as insects, their long johns shackling their ankles. He’d woken this morning with an afterglow of well-being. His family would be all right, so long as they stuck together and confided their failures. He felt this wholeheartedly but was afraid to move in case the feeling dissolved. Later that afternoon, driving home, Warren gripped the wheel with two hands to keep the wind from yanking it sideways. Tumbleweeds bounced in front of the car.
