Read Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) for Free Online

“Don’t worry; I know very well that you’re straight.”
    “Well, thank you!” Sam laughed. “I should think so!”
    “Next silly question?” Lydia said, smiling at his reaction.
    “Hmm,” Sam said. She could picture him pacing. “Favorite season?”
    “Fall," she answered. “Wasn't that obvious, the way I stared at the trees that whole weekend like a big dork?”
    He laughed. “Yeah, a little.”
    “And yours?”
    “Spring.”
    “Really?” she said, intrigued. “Why?”
    “Because everything becomes beautiful again. Grass gets green again, trees come back, flowers bloom… everything feels new, filled with life and potential. Rebirth.”
    “Wow. Okay. I like that perspective,” she said.
    “Now you ask me a dopey question,” he coaxed.
    Lydia chuckled. “Um… what’s your favorite sport?”
    “Baseball,” Sam answered without hesitation.
    “Are you a fan, or a fanatic?” Lydia asked.
    “Just a fan. I like sports, I follow them, but I don’t get insane over them.”
    “Okay. Who’s your baseball team?”
    “Cubs, baby. I love to suffer.”
    She laughed. “I don’t have a favorite sport, so you don’t have to bother asking. I’m not a big sports gal.”
    “But if I wanted to take you to a baseball game, or something like that,” Sam asked, “would you go and be okay with it? Or would you go but sit there simmering, secretly hating it?”
    “I’d go,” she said. “And I’d be fine. I like sitting outside. And a live ball game is really different from a game on TV. I wouldn’t hate it at all.”
    “Cool. Thatta girl.”
    “What else…” Lydia tried to think of something to ask. “You backpacked all across Europe. Which was your favorite country?”
    “Good question. Hmm… tough choice,” Sam said. She could hear him tapping his fingers against something, maybe a tabletop or a window. She imagined him staring out the window while they talked. “I’d have to go with Italy. My God, what an amazing place. I’d really like to go back someday. Do like a three week tour, see as much of it as I could.”
    “How long were you there?”
    “About ten days, give or take?” He paused for a second, as though reflecting on the trip, which she knew had been over a decade ago. “I was in Rome for a few days, then Venice. Meant to go to Florence, but didn’t make it. I spent most of my days in museums. Spent my nights eating and drinking myself into oblivion in tiny, out of the way places. Definitely had my favorite food of the trip there, that’s for sure.” He let out something like a sigh. “The art, the architecture, all beyond incredible, as you can imagine. So I really immersed myself in that. The museums were magnificent. And something about the coolness, the stillness, the quiet… being surrounded by such greatness, and not understanding the language at all when people chattered around me… it was beautiful isolation, and what I needed at that point. I mean, I didn’t really go to Europe to socialize… it wasn’t a good time for me.”
    He stopped talking again, and she could only guess how hard it must be for him to reflect. He cleared his throat and said, “You have to understand… that whole trip, I was deeply grieving. I was not good company. I varied daily between overwhelming despair, rage, and being numb. The whole two plus years of watching Chelsea slowly get sicker, watching her die, had taken everything out of me…
    “I had to get away. The impulse to go hit me right after the funeral. I set up the whole trip in two days, and left for Europe less than two weeks after she died. So, needless to say, I was something of a walking zombie. I didn’t really talk to people. I kept to myself and was in a haze for those three months. Which is why I’d like to go back someday and experience those places—Italy in particular—as a living, functional human being. Someone cognizant, with a decent personality, and a positive outlook. Not a zombie.”
    Lydia bit