Picking Up the Pieces

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At the incessant wail of an ambulance, David Galway thought of his wife, Nancy who, with six year old Tod and his younger sister, Betsy, left only minutes earlier for Sunday School. Feeling foolish for always worrying about them, he shook his head and bent to pick up the Box Elder News Journal from the front lawn. It was typical of Nancy- letting me sleep in. He smiled as he thought of her funny little note tucked inside the microwave along with his breakfast eggs and bacon. I’ve still got time to read the front page before dressing for church, he told himself. In the cold late October mist, the Wasatch foothills east of Brigham City, Utah had lost their gold and crimson autumnal splendor. Make for good deer hunting, mused David, I bet I have a few boys absent from Woodworking class tomorrow. He had slipped on yesterday’s jeans but was still in his house slippers and undershirt. The frosty air chilled to the bone. Letting out a low whistle, David sprinted for the shelter of the porch roof. The phone rang as he stepped inside. “Hello?”