The late morning sun was hot and strong and the temperature had kicked up into the lower 40s. Snow had begun to melt into watery pools. Cars along his grandparents’ street were cleared or half-cleared, some carrying snow on the roofs like hats. Where there was only a white monolith the night before, Andy could make out the green of the grass and the gray of the sidewalk.
“It’s too melty,” Jake protested. “Now we can’t make a snowman.”
“It will snow again,” Andy reminded him.
In a three-car caravan, the family made its way over to a diner, an old standby from Andy’s mother and Uncle Marty’s childhood. The building had been remodeled and changed names and ownership several times, but a diner it remained. Somehow, Andy’s grandparents had fallen behind and so the rest of the family waited outside for them to catch up.