A Frosty Tangle

Jack’s eyes opened to sunlight and curtains dancing in the warm summer breeze. He was alone, but the sheets showed a crease where his wife had slumbered beside him. It was the first time in weeks he’d slept through the night and it felt magnificent. By the end of today, the weight of the previous year would be a thing of the past.

The aroma of eggs whirled through the small gap in the bedroom door, the soft hum of Lotte’s sweet voice downstairs in the kitchen. He was so happy to be here. Summer mornings in Maine were Jack’s absolute favorite. He loved sleeping late during the off season. But he suspected Lotte had been up since the crack of dawn; a year-round early riser.

He peeled himself out of bed, ran his fingers through thick dark curls and slipped cotton loungers over boxers, pairing them with a crisp white tee. He felt at peace, contented. His confidence was gradually returning, but a splash of humbleness remained after the events of this past winter.

He staggered down the narrow stairwell, through the living room and into the cozy kitchen, where the warm glow of Lotte’s favorite candle greeted him. Ginger and black tea. Waiting for him on the table were a hot mug of coffee, poached eggs on sourdough and a small bowl of yogurt, topped with granola and fresh blueberries. Lotte greeted him with a smile, as she filled a cooler with food and drinks for a day at the ocean. After inhaling her scent and a soft kiss on the cheek, he settled in his chair. Saturday morning breakfast was one of many loving gestures Lottie bestowed on him. Tomorrow he’d make extra fluffy pancakes for the two of them to enjoy with the berries she collected.

He still couldn’t believe this easy life they’d built together. He assumed the transitory nature of his work would prevent him from marrying. But this was better than he ever imagined. After breakfast, he’d get the beach gear packed and loaded. The warm weather would soon come to an end. They’d leave their summer cottage and head north, then back to work. But today. Today was a day to unwind, to breathe easy. The day he’d finally put the tangle he was in behind him. No more wrestling with the matter, he’d at last have peace.

…

Brimming with beach knickknacks, their car glided down the stone driveway and headed toward town. Instead of continuing north on Main, he took a quick left. “Where are we going?” Lottie quickly questioned, as he knew all too well she would.

“Just need to pop into the post office. We’ll be on our way in a jiffy.” He glanced over with a half-smile, not wanting to look her in the eye. He should explain further but didn’t want to spoil the fun and hadn’t the muscle for this conversation now. After all, none of this was his fault and it would be settled soon enough.

Inside, Jack handed the package over, eager to get it out of his possession. As he turned to leave, the postal clerk stopped him in his tracks. “Oh Mr. Frost, I almost forgot. This arrived for you today.” Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a box being held out to him.

He didn’t want it. Didn’t want any of this. This isn’t what I signed up for.

…

As he cruised up the coast, he couldn’t get his mind off the parcel stowed in the trunk. Luckily, Lotte was too busy examining the map and choosing which lot they’d park in to notice the trunk open or the box he’d snuck in.

He hoped to distract himself with the ritual of choosing the perfect patch of sand and arranging umbrellas and chairs. By the time he sunk into the blanket, breathing in salty air, he had almost pushed away all thoughts of the package. Of the situation that was weighing him down. Of the fact that he really thought this would be over today. He grumbled to himself, clearly over his head. He had to tell Lotte. But not here, not now.

“What was that package in the trunk? I thought you were going to mail it.”

He shrunk. He didn’t even know where to begin. So many lies had piled up. “I did mail it. The one in the trunk is a different package.”

Lotte knew of Jack’s idyllic childhood in small town southeast Alaska. How he attended the local school where his mom taught and spent weekends fishing with his dad. They summered at the family cottage in Maine; the very cottage filled with lovely memories where he and Lotte now enjoyed each summer.

From a very early age, Jack knew he was special. Different, but in a good way. His love for all things winter increased with each passing year. By age five, he’d discovered he was capable of producing a snowflake. It started with one, then a handful and eventually he was responsible for four feet of snow on the ground. He was delighted and in time learned the delicate art of fog, sleet and even icicles. Storms and blizzards came later. He relished snowy day activities – ice fishing, snow shoeing, skiing – and prided himself in the joy he provided folks whose love of winter was as great as his.

He especially savored the creative freedom of spring and fall. Laden with merrymaking, he let his playful side shine. Not all folks loved his whimsy, but no one held a grudge for long. He was careful not to take things too far. A crisp cold spell that preceded vibrant autumn colors, a surprisingly late dusting of frozen dew, a delightful snowfall mingled with colorful new blooms. It was the contrast and the complement of it all that he loved.

There were others like him of course, authors of cold months, assigned to various territories around the world. They shared the same name and were aware of each other’s presence but never bumped into one another. There were no meetings or conferences. Each one permitted to fashion what he felt was right.

When Jack fell asleep at night, he never knew where he’d wake up. But he undoubtedly arrived outdoors and invariably, somewhere cold. Every few days he’d end up back home, after sprinkling wintery magic on his tiny part of the globe. Lotte knew all this and supported him in his extraordinary, if not unconventional line of work. It was all rather seamless.

Until it wasn’t.

On his first work-trip this past season, he woke up inside someone’s home… for the very first time. Specifically curled up on a living room sofa with a Border Collie. Thankfully, he’d never met a furry friend who didn’t adore him, but as he made his way to the front door, dazed and confused, he stumbled and fell. A large sleepy man came barreling down the stairs shaking a fist at him. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he scampered out the door as quickly as possible. Out of breath and unsure where to turn, he made a beeline for a neighbor’s backyard, and after noticing he wasn’t being followed, headed towards town, which is where he normally would make his debut.

Thoroughly shaken, his hood went up and his head down. The town clock showed nearly 12 o’clock. What in the hell just happened? As his hand slid into his coat pocket, he felt a small object. Muddled, he pulled out a tv control and a coin. He had swiped their remote? How? Why?

This bizarre pattern repeated itself through autumn, winter and straight into spring. He woke in an office chair, discovering a personalized name plate in his pocket. Next was a guest bedroom with an alarm clock, then a sunroom and a candle. Each item was always accompanied by a valuable coin or two. The bottle of whiskey he pilfered from a den came in particularly handy one frigid night.

He had been chased, screamed at, threated, decked and shot at. By the end of the season, his accidental spoils filled an entire box. Nothing too valuable, mostly trinkets and what not, but the value of the coins certainly added up. He had been reported dozens of times and several poorly sketched portraits of him had dawned the evening news. He was a wanted man. He hadn’t told Lotte because he didn’t want to worry her.

…

When he finished relaying these unfortunate events to his wife, he waited for her to react.

“You’re Midnight Mitch?” She asked in a burst of laughter. It wasn’t exactly the response he’d expected, and her use of the intruder’s nickname made him flinch.

“The box I shipped today was a batch of the most recent stolen goods. I didn’t know what to do. I sent them to headquarters, along with a note explaining the misunderstandings, hoping they could resolve the issue. But now I have this other box. I’m afraid to open it. I have a feeling it’s more missing items being returned to me.”

Lotte looked him in the eye. “No worries. We got this.”

…

No one ever knocked on his door. Or dragged him away in cuffs. Instead, when he and Lotte retuned from the beach, he found all the missing items boxed up on his front porch, even the parcel he had mailed that very same day.

A letter lay folded gently on top, sealed with a tiny gold star. Inside were just four words, written in a careful hand:

All will be well

Lotte appeared behind him with a nod and a smile.

…

The victims of the unintentional crimes never did learn the whole truth, and maybe that was for the best. But never the less, order was restored in a most magical way.

In the dark of the night, when the world was quiet, something remarkable happened. As Lotte and Jack stepped out to make things right, wherever they returned an item, mended a lock, or set something right, a soft glow appeared. Small wrongs began to right themselves - not just by their hands, but by a quiet, gentle magic that seemed to bloom around them.

The coins they returned began to glow as well - soft, golden, like tiny suns. One by one they floated from their pockets, drifting through the sleeping towns. Wherever they landed, they left behind something better: a warm loaf of bread, a mended fence, a smile in a dream.

By the time they reached the last doorstep, the glow had become a trail of warm golden light behind them.

Jack, no longer a criminal - not even an accidental one - walked home through the glowing streets with his wife, realizing that the greatest magic of all wasn’t the light – it was the love that stayed with him all this time.

When they finally arrived home, a single shimmering star hovered above their door, just like the one that sealed the letter he received earlier that day. Jack reached to touch it - and froze. The glow wasn’t coming from the light. It was coming from Lotte. Her eyes glimmered in ways he’d never noticed before, deep and endless. Why have I never seen this before?

“You’re… not who I thought you were,” he whispered.

She smiled, brushing his hair back gently. “I’m more than you could see before.”

And in that moment, he understood: love was magic, mistakes could be transformed, and the woman beside him - his wife, his guide, his constant - was the kind of wonder he had never dared to imagine. He always thought he was the magical one, but it was clear, she had a secret or two of her own.

That night, they slept side by side, hearts full, under the soft glow of their secret magic, knowing this was just the start of something new, something spectacular.