Until Spring

The forecast said ten inches of snow, maybe as much as a foot. The forecast said to expect severe freezing temperatures and not to venture outside unless it was absolutely necessary. The forecast said to prepare, to lay in supplies for several days. The forecast said it would be the worst winter storm in a decade.

A decade. It had been a decade since he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. The first few years hadn't been too bad. Forgetfulness, occasional confusion, some frustrated outbursts. Gradually he turned mean. Cruel. Assaultive. She often had to hide the bruises from the home health care visitor. She had to stop taking him to the park for picnics because he kept trying to urinate in the garbage cans.

Eventually he became so confused he couldn't remember who she was. She had to dress him in adult diapers. At night she locked him in his room so he wouldn't attack her in her sleep or wander off. Twice nearby neighbors had found him wandering in their back yards wearing nothing but an old straw gardening hat and an adult diaper.

That evening she stood at the window and watched the snow fall. So soft, so gentle, so relentless. She heard a sound and turned to see him naked in the kitchen, urine dribbling down his leg onto the linoleum. She waited until he was finished. She took his straw hat from the peg and handed it to him. She opened the back door. "Picnic?" she said. "Picnic?"

In the morning she would call the police to report him missing. There would be no footprints. They might not find him until Spring.