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Through Fraser’s field of vision passed two enormous moonlit buttocks.
“Hello, son! Don’t mind me, I’m just retrieving my hat.”
“Dad!” Fraser’s jaw dropped, as did his binoculars. “What are you… why are you…?”
“Oh, we don’t wear clothes in the afterlife, Benton.” Bob trudged through the powder-blue snow peering this way and that, naked as the day he was born.
It took a few moments before Fraser could speak. “If you don’t wear clothes in the afterlife, then why are you here looking for your hat?”
“I lost it when Caroline and I walked into the light. We took the scenic route, you see. It must have come off right about… here!” Bob bent over and picked up his hat, which, though it appeared out of nowhere, seemed to have been there all along.
Fraser took a deep breath and glanced up the pine-dotted slope beside them. Ray was stoking their fire, oblivious to Fraser’s probable mental breakdown.
“Dad, you’re… you’re embarrassing me.”
“How so, son? The Yank can’t see me.”
“I mean you’re embarrassing me by… embarrassing me.”
Bob just beamed at him. “Son. Would you like a hug?”
Fraser’s eyes widened. “I beg your…?”
“I’ve come to appreciate a good hug lately. Thought you might appreciate one, too.”
And just like that, Fraser found himself wrapped in his father’s arms. He stood frozen to the spot. The last time his father had hugged him, he’d been very young, indeed. Something in him now felt very young, too. Perhaps it was the soaring embarrassment. Moving slowly, as though he were in control of his feelings, Fraser politely hugged his naked father back.
“There you go.” Bob stepped away, looking pleased. “Good. Right.” He cleared his throat and put on his hat. “Well, I have to get a move on. Good seeing you.” With a strange smile, he began to walk away.
“Wait!” Fraser stepped forward helplessly. “I thought you were—but if—that is, if this is, then, well—since—”
“I love you, too, son,” Bob called over his bare shoulder, and vanished.
—
“Fraser!” Ray called yet again as he stumbled down the slope and caught up with Dief, who sat whining at Fraser’s feet. Fraser stood still as an inukshuk. “Frase! Fraser? Buddy? You ok?” Ray grasped him by the shoulders and shook him a little. “Fraser! Hey!”
Fraser’s eyes cleared, but he averted them immediately. He glanced all around at the blue snow and the black pines and the golden fire burning just up the hill.
“You know, Ray,” he said in a wavering voice, “I never could tell my father I loved him.” And then he started giggling. Laughing. Fraser doubled over and labored for breath.
“Uh oh,” Ray muttered, “Frase, you ain’t hypo—”
“Oh, good Lord,” Fraser gasped, standing up. “No, Ray, I’m alright.”
Were those tears in Fraser’s eyes? Ray went still. Dief whimpered. Fraser wiped his cheeks with the backs of his mittens, and through the tightly-screwed muscles of his face broke a glimmering smile, liquid as moonlight, warm as flame.