Scenes of Winter (Season 1)

By Chris McAuliffe

In the aftermath of a sexual assault, a woman fights to regain control of her life, a man denies anything more than a misunderstanding, and a man’s son struggles with his responsibility to be more than a bystander in a male-dominated world.

Scenes of Winter grew out of my reaction as an older, cis-gender, heterosexual, white upper-middle class male to the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee's 2018 hearings on the Supreme Court nomination of Brett Kavanaugh. This story focuses on how the issues raised—sexual violence, toxic masculinity, and gender roles—intersect in our day-to-day lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris McAuliffe
• Release date: Apr 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463044117

Chris McAuliffe

I'm a long-time resident of Windsor, CT living with Cheryl, who I've known since first grade and been in love with since senior year in high school. We've raised three children: Aaron, Kay and Rose. Raised three children? That's a vast understatement. Together, these four people have given me experiences and insights which have continually redefined how I see myself and the world I live in.Job-wise, I'm a retired mechanical engineer who designed and developed a specific type of machine used in an aircraft system which few are aware of, but all air travelers depend on. At its best, the job was creative and rewarding and payed the bills. At its worst, it’s something I'm grateful to never have to do again. And now I get to write every day!So call me Chris. I use he/him pronouns. I'm a cis-gender heterosexual white upper-middle-class male who respects the power of labels, the freedom of no one to be limited by them, and my own evolving ignorance.

Book preview

Scenes of Winter

Season 1: Episodes 1 through 7

Copyright 2020 Chris McAuliffe

Published by Chris McAuliffe at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Notes on Scenes of Winter

Episode 1: Where's Julie?

Episode 2: Rough House

Episode 3: Me But Not Me

Episode 4: Elementary School

Episode 5: Tools of the Trade

Episode 6: Repercussions

Episode 7: Party to a Disaster

About the author

Other books by the author

Connect with the author

Acknowledgements

Learning the craft of writing has been a never-ending quest, and I would have long ago been lost without the companionship and education provided by the Northern Connecticut Writers Workshop and the Windsor Writers Critique Group. Thank you to all.

Special thanks for wading through the first drafts to Sarah Gilligan, Annalisa Deal, Shannon Kalahan, Kay McAuliffe and Anne McAuliffe. There's a lot of tangles to be untangled before the second draft can begin to make sense.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to download and read any of these episodes. Encouragement is the food that nourishes writers. Every tick of an additional download was a spicy bean patty for my writing soul.

And a very special thanks to the Vegan Book Club for choosing Season 1 of Scenes of Winter as one of their 2020 (pre-pandemic) selections. As a writer, my dream is to be read. For a group of people to read my story and then get together to discuss it goes beyond imaginable.

Cover art, as always, provided by Tom McAuliffe (Contact at @mcletters or mcletters.co)

Notes on Scenes of Winter

Scenes of Winter is a story that grew out of my reaction to the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee's 2018 hearings on the Supreme Court nomination of Brett Kavanaugh. This story is not about the hearings specifically, but focuses on how the issues raised--sexual violence, toxic masculinity, and gender roles--intersect in our day-to-day lives.

The first seven episodes of season one compiled here were first posted online about every month during 2019. Each episode is essentially a standalone chapter which fits within the overall arc of the main story.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Episode 1: Where's Julie?

Julie crouched behind Eric’s prized Tesla, struggling to secure her left foot into her snowshoe.

A foot of snow in November is a gift from nature. Her boyfriend scrambled on top of the three-foot-tall roadside snowbank and peered into the woods. Remember, only got an hour of daylight.

Just hold on. She twisted the knurled black knob to tighten her binding, but it slipped in her mittens' grip. This past Sunday—their one-year-dating anniversary—Eric gushed when he presented her with a pair of black and red Garneaus: "These are high-end running snowshoes—same as mine. We’ll get outside and, you know, get some exercise together." She gave him a sideways look for that.

Gun-metal clouds threatened from above, and snowflakes drifted onto her eyelashes. She flicked them away. Hey! Are you sure about the weather?

Twenty percent chance of snow. Eric jumped off the snowbank, landing in the foot-deep snow.

Julie found his tone patronizing. She stood to make eye contact. The danger is that—

The danger is what? It’s well known that weather services over-report. He took off down the trail, each thumping stride kicking up a clump of snow in his wake. His voice came back muffled, Come on. You’ll love this.

Whatever. She knelt on one knee, slipped off her mittens and laid them down in an inch of snow. She was surprised that anyone bothered to plow a dead-end road that lay five miles from nowhere. It would probably all melt in a week; there were still leaves—the brilliant reds, yellows and oranges of peak foliage—hiding on the trees. And who needed to cram in a trail run on the way home from work? Initially, she’d been attracted by Eric’s adventures, but lately he’d turned more critical. The evening of their anniversary, in bed, he had pressed how work was going, but his questions threatened to expose her shame.

Do I need this?

They were both second-year engineers at Spurion Futures, but she’d seen more of the world than he gave her credit for. She had taken two years away from engineering school to train and work as an EMT. She’d enjoyed the challenge but engineering’s potential for advancement drew her back. Eric, two years younger, was outspoken and forward, unlike her and the others in the Structural Analysis group. There was already talk that he was up for a promotion. Good for him.

Her hood, hanging loose, fluttered in a cold gust. She flipped it on and secured her snowshoes. She pulled on her mittens, stood and, taking care, climbed the snowbank; the metal cleats on the snowshoes’ underside did grip well. Standing on top, she spotted Eric’s tracks, oversized footprints that ran twenty yards downhill before disappearing into tree branches bowed with wet snow.

As he’d reminded her: it was a forty-minute burner up to the Metacomet Ridge, one minute to enjoy the view, and a twenty-minute downhill sprint back to the car to beat the sunset. They’d done this hike once before, on a warm August evening. The view of the Farmington River hundreds of feet below, winding across fields lit by the setting sun, was spectacular. The downhill run back and the satisfaction that came with the final sprint to the car were a bonus. She never considered letting him win but did half expect him to pout about being beaten by a girl. Instead, he’d been impressed. That moment of shared contentment seemed alien to her now.

Julie clapped the pockets of her black Gore-Tex jacket; phone but no keys. Fuck!

She called out, Eric, you’ve got the key fob.

Only the wind in the trees answered with whispered threats. She cupped her mittened hands to her mouth and yelled at the top of her lungs, Hey, you’ve got the fucking fob!

#

Eric stopped thirty yards into the woods to wait for Julie. Snow-laden tree branches arched downward. He slapped the closest one, showering himself with wet snow and revealing a splash of multicolored leaves. No tracks ahead, hushed silence all around. For just a second, his mind cleared.

This is what she needs—to push past whatever’s bothering her.

Eric, you’ve got the key fob, Julie called.

He patted his pockets. Shit! I do have the fob, but who’s going to steal the car way out here? She was so capable—smarter than him and a better athlete—but lately, her heightened paranoia puzzled him; any threat of weather—rain or snow, or even dark clouds—was sufficient excuse to hide at home. She surprised him when she agreed to this spontaneous outing.

Hey! You’ve got the fucking fob!

Eric headed back downhill, using his own footprints to speed his passage.

#

Her boyfriend slipped out of the woods, a moving shadow in his matching light-gray Gore-Tex jacket and pants across an all-white landscape; only his black and red snowshoes stood out. Dressed all in black, Julie felt exposed. He stopped twenty yards away.

Perched atop the snowbank, she motioned to his car. You didn’t lock it.

He pulled off his glove, extracted the key fob from an inner jacket pocket and pointed it at the Tesla. He clicked it with his thumb with exaggerated emphasis, as if to make up for the considerable distance.

It didn’t beep, she said.

He threw his hands up. Seriously? Nothing’s going to happen. He headed back into the woods.

She folded her arms across her chest. Bad things do happen. She pulled out her phone. Discovering she had reception in this remote area, she tapped the weather app: thirty percent chance of snow increasing to fifty percent in the next hour. Her battery, already in the red, gave out and her screen blanked. Shit! Do I need this? But sitting it out in the car invited more questions.

Fine. She clambered down the bank and worked through the snow, parallel to his footsteps. Her footing was secure, but the effort needed to stomp Sasquatch-size holes startled her. By the time she reached the trees where the trail turned upward, her lungs were pumping and her thighs burned.

She stopped with her hands on her hips, fighting to catch her breath. She’d run cross-country in college on scholarship, but two bouts of stress fractures had worn her down. The time away working as an EMT had helped her get over the crushing disappointment of ending her running career. She drew three deep cleansing breaths. Ahead, pairs of small paw prints, pressed an inch deep in the snow and spaced a rabbit-leap apart, ran from her right and disappeared into one of Eric’s footprints.

The rabbit’s using Eric’s tracks, leaping one to the next.

Julie stepped into one of Eric’s footprints and then another. On a few, she landed off-center and stumbled, but quickly, she found her rhythm and picked up the pace. Her breathing quieted as she power-walked her way up the trail. She caught a hint of the good feeling from their August hike.

#

Working uphill, Eric made good time retracing his original steps but ratcheted up his effort when he encountered fresh snow, breaking trail one stomp after another. He regretted being short with Julie but turning back to check on her would send the wrong message: that she wasn’t capable when she certainly was. Even if, as she bemoaned that night last month, she was fifteen pounds over her racing weight. She was slender now; he couldn’t imagine how lean she must have been. Julie rarely opened up, but that night she told him how lost she’d been when she stopped running. Only her time as an EMT, taking on a whole new challenge, had shaken her out of her doldrums. He told her he envied her successes in running and working as an EMT and engineering; all he knew how to do was read bosses and spin out explanations that kept them happy.

He slept soundly that night, believing that a door to new possibilities had opened. The next morning, they laughed on the twenty-minute drive to work, but on the ride home that night, Julie was silent in a way he couldn’t crack.

She’ll catch up to me, like she did last time.

#

Pushing on, Julie hit Eric’s footprints squarely as the trail wound to her right, always climbing. She swept her sleeve back with a mittened hand to uncover her watch: ten minutes had elapsed. She locked into a rhythm, with her arms swinging and her lungs pumping in time. Lulled by the steady whoosh-whoosh of fabric on fabric, she achieved a once-familiar meditative state. Worries slipped away and effort became an easily solved mathematical formula. She flew up the hillside, focused on a single purpose: the awoken desire of the hunter to claim the hunted.

She glanced at her watch again, surprised that another fifteen minutes had passed. Breaking trail slowed him; she’d definitely catch him before he reached the ridge. Raw fears bubbled to the surface; she pushed them down. Instead, with her gaze fixed on the trail, she anticipated the wave of satisfaction that would come when she spotted Eric struggling up the hillside, hoping to escape her and knowing he couldn’t.

She heard rumbles, like far-off freight trains. Treetops swayed, releasing scattered cloudlets of snow that drifted downward. In the distance, muffled by the snowy woods, a gunshot-like crack sounded, scratching the surface of her awareness. A sharper report followed closer by. With heart pounding, she snapped her head up. A large branch plummeted through the canopy, smashing smaller branches and releasing plumes of snow as it crashed earthward. She gauged that its path would miss