Scents of Iron and Pine

The doorbell rang, a tinny version of his college fight song drowning out their ragged breathing as their eyes locked.

She tilted her head slightly, trying not to wince.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly; she was the only one who would have noticed his jaw spasmodically clenching.

With permission tensely granted, the balance of power shifted. He reluctantly offered his hand to her, but she looked away and pushed herself to her feet on her own, willing away the blackness dancing in front of her eyes.

Years of practice propelled her forward in a straight line, and despite the dizziness that threatened to buckle her knees, she took a moment to pray their daughter was listening to headphones.

Her smile automatic, she wiped trails of mascara from beneath her eyes and opened the door. A lush wreath wafted pine into the foyer.

“Lottie, how are you?” she breathed musically into the space over her elderly neighbors head, the sky grey and heavy on the horizon.

Probing eyes searched her face.

“I brought over my cookies,” Lottie began, paper thin lips faltering as they tried to smile.

“Thank you so much, Lottie. Garrett always looks forward to your Madelaines.”

Knotted hands passed a festive tin over the threshold, warmly pressing against her hand. “Dear? You look tired; I hope everything’s all right.”

She forced her eyes to lie, “Just the holiday schedule running us ragged, I’m afraid.”

Self-consciously, she smoothed her hair, fingers brushing a sticky patch at the back and folding themselves into a loose fist to hide the tell-tale stain from Lottie’s rheumy, worried eyes.

In the next room, Garrett methodically dabbed at a red smear on the wall, marking his wife’s height.

Four eyes pleaded with each other in front of a holiday wreath as snow began to fall.

the prompt:

Use the holidays to inspire a piece beginning with "The doorbell rang" and ending with "snow began to fall."