Snow.

It falls around me as I walk along a sidewalk covered with scattered leaves.

What is waiting for me downtown?

“I know what you did.” That’s all the message said.

In some ways, I wish I could just run away and hide. But, I know…I know that running away won’t solve this problem.

It will only chase me until I run out of energy and then…then, while I’m weak it’ll attack me with full force.

Facing things head-on will be hard if it is what I think it is. But, I’ve been hiding long enough. It is time to deal with this.

“Patrick. Good to see you!”

“Good to see you too,” I say as I examine the ruddy-faced little Irishman standing before me on the sidewalk. He is the perfect picture of a leprechaun.

“Are you all ready for election day?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say with a chuckle.

“Well, you’ve got my vote.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what I like about you, Patrick?”

I brush away the snow blowing into my face. “What’s that?”

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“You don’t have an axe to grind like the others do.”

“Well David, you know what the problem with dwelling on the past is?”

“What’s that?”

“There’s no future in it.”

David lets out a hearty chuckle. “Isn’t that the truth? Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted you to know I’m behind you 100%.”

“I sure appreciate that.”

“Good luck!” On that note, David scampers off on his mission.

I cross a small concrete bridge. The business center of this small town is just ahead of me. That includes the bakery.

What is waiting for me there?

Memories fill me with anxiety as the cold wind starts to pick up speed. Flakes swirl around my head as I open a weathered wooden door and step inside.

The scent of freshly baked bread fills my nostrils. It reminds me of the kitchen of my childhood. Ah yes, that old kitchen where my mother would spend her days working for her family.

“Patrick.”

I turn my attention toward an elderly woman sitting at a table in the corner.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the woman says.

“Really.” I pause as I study her. She is plump with a head of curly gray hair. She looks like the image of a sweet grandmother.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I say as I scratch my head.

“Not yet,” the woman says. “Why don’t you take a seat? I have a little something to show you.”

I glance around the small restaurant full of empty tables and chairs. We are alone. I sigh and then take a seat.

“I must say, you look just like your picture.”

I force a chuckle. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

The woman smiles. “Oh, it’s all for the good.” She rummages through her purse for a moment and then pulls something out. “Speaking of pictures, what do you think of this one?”

With that, she pushes a picture across the table toward me.

I look down at it and feel my head start to spin.

“I’m not usually the sort of person that has an ax to grind.”

“Oh?” That is all I can say. I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach.

The grandmother is staring at me. “But, this is something I can’t let go.”

“Really.”

“I’m sure you’d rather not have this come up just before the election but sometimes things just need to be dealt with.” The grandmother taps her index finger on the picture for emphasis.

“So, Patrick, what do you have to say for yourself?”

I swallow, searching for an answer.