Chapter 7

Short and fluffy. My muse is being difficult.

The first snowflake signaled the start of the season for the inmates - they didn't have any way to know when it began officially.

It was always a joy to Red to wake up on that first snow day. To look out the window and see something new- something different, always made her smile. The view was so changed by a layer of white. It made everything sparkle and turned it into almost another world out there.

It was no wonder that she always had a spring in her step this time of year.

Nicky had asked her about it, once, but she'd found it wasn't something she was able to put into words. It was too nebulous a concept.

"I guess," she'd said, "my body knows it's Christmas before my mind catches up."

Because, to her, all of winter felt special. Not just the holiday. And even prison couldn't take that away from her.

The guards allowed short walks outside, as usual, but Red took them up on it more often lately. There was something invigorating about walking in the cold, and she had always thought so.

Once, she'd dragged Nicky out with her. It was something to do, she'd said, besides getting in trouble.

"Aww! But I'm so good at it."

"And that's the problem," Red had retorted, not unkindly, but there was never doubt of her sincerity.

Since that year, together they'd come up with traditions. Wintertime traditions special to them, and to the Litch. Overtime, Nicky had begun to share her mother's enthusiasm.

Their most important ritual was the first snow day. Every day, as they woke up, Nicky would rush to the window to check. Every night, they both had to really work at getting to sleep. They kept each other up with miscellaneous questions or random comments. Not that either of them minded, really.

There was an air of excitement enveloping them that the guards could not quell - and that was rare.

And then, finally, it happened.

As Nicky came around, she glanced out the window out of habit, finding it frosted over. She carefully wiped at the film, and what followed took her breath away.

The normally barren grass of the track, and the blacktop, were made uniform by a layer of ivory. What few trees there were behind the gates were bare, but for the icicles hanging from their branches. Everything held a kind of indescribable glow. In a word, it was magical.

"Hey, Ma!" she called, glancing back.

"I know," came the reply, soft and distracted. Red walked up to join her daughter, almost delicate in her steps. She was enchanted, as she always was.

The truth was, it reminded her of home. But that, she would never tell another.

Because, in her own estimation, it made her seem weak. And she could not have that by any means.

They would, later on, take their first walk in the snow together. Nicky would try to catch snowflakes on her tongue, and Red would let her, for no reason other than that it was just what they did.

Red, come lunchtime, would -somehow without discovery- be making some of the hidden hot chocolate packets in the back room. They made the prison smell like the holidays and she was always inventive in her ways to get them to inmates.

This time of year always brought out the mother in her - an instinct to make sure all her daughters were warm, safe, and looked after. It was something she always cherished, because she rarely had time to indulge it. But, she did now.

And that was a better gift than anything she could ask for.

That feeling of protectiveness always stuck with Red. It annoyed her daughters outwardly, but she knew that they enjoyed her attentions. It was harmless, of course - unless they had pulled something.

And her girls knew better than to ruin winter for her like that. Because if they did, she couldn't forgive it for a long time. It would prove that they knew her well enough to understand what cut her deeply. Or, conversely, that they didn't know her at all.

Red was about ready to drop; she'd been working in the kitchen overtime today. She had a kind of energy in her that had to be worked out. She felt alive.

A letter had come to the bunk in her absence, and now was resting on her mattress. Despite herself, Red grinned before picking it up. She never got mail.

And she wasn't now - it was for Nicky. Someone had mistakenly put it on her bed. But perhaps that was for the best. It was from Marka.

Maybe it was the heightened instincts, or just her love for Nicky, but Red knew that she couldn't let this go to her daughter before she looked at it. Some guard already had - what was one more set of eyes? She sat on the edge of the bunk, carefully divesting the letter of its envelope and beginning to read.

Nicole -

There must be a mistake. I was told you removed me from your visitation list?

I cannot believe you would do this, Nicole. This is a new low, even for you. I am your mother for God Sake!

If you are going to act like a child about this, I will treat you as one. Don't expect any help from me when you get out, if you refuse to speak to me now.

It's foolish, and frankly Nicole I thought you were smarter than to turn me away like you are.

I am one of few people who still cares for you even after all the mistakes you've made in your life. Most mothers would be long gone by now.

Think about that for the next four years in there.

She hadn't even bothered to sign it.

Red didn't think a letter like this was even worth her emotion. Calmly, she stood and moved to the garbage bin, methodically tearing it into pieces and tossing them out.

I am not most mothers, she thought, ripping the envelope as well and returning to her seat.

She felt weary. Marka was draining both herself and her daughter with her selfishness. It was wrong of her to say she loved Nicky when all her actions proved to the contrary.

When it came to this woman, Red's thoughts always shared a sentiment: Marka never deserved her child. They often repeated themselves, and now every rude thing she'd ever wanted to say to her came rushing into her head.

Already physically exhausted, and knowing her thoughts were only going to jumble further, Red lay back and allowed herself to fall into a dreamless sleep.