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You write things off with logic over time. Secret wishes of your heart, tricks played on an already besieged psyche, all of these can explain a so-called religious experience. What it doesn't take away is how you may have reacted to it before logic could dampen the moment. The important thing is that you do something good with it.

I returned home the instant it was safe to, with layers of gratitude upon Julia for offering her home after my mad quest. More and more, I was the only one who still saw even a hint of madness in what I did. I was crushed between Faye's parents in a hug when I finally stepped through my front door; they were waiting to assure me they didn't think I had abandoned their daughter. My own parents, still snowbound in the south of the state, called once phones were restored and promised to be with me the instant they could. Their voices betrayed a little worry for what I did, but nothing more than the worry I heard when they called to congratulate me for finishing the Iditarod. "You had to," my mother said, her voice mixing sadness and joy like everyone else's.

Years passed, and every picture of Faye stayed on my wall, but they were joined later by pictures of Julia. We shared first that meeting, a little less mundane than the one Faye and I had. I think that my life became less mundane with Faye, and then Julia's followed the same path with me. We adopted -- a process just as knuckle-whitening as my race to save her niece -- and raised a beautiful young girl from California. She was more than enough reward for the trouble. I raced still, but never placed first for the big one. Stanimir led me by an hour the last year I ever went, and I left with the second place trophy.

The next year, another rookie left him in the dust -- well, snow. Coming in fifth, ten minutes before him, was some crazy Olympic track runner who'd decided to pick up the sport in her off-seasons. Her mother had been more of an endurance enthusiast than her, opting for cross-country running, through-hiking the Appalachian Trail; this girl just wanted to see if she could pull something like that off. She said she just felt the urge in her heart.

Gabriella visited all the time. It was the Christmas she had gotten engaged I remember best. Our daughter, Vikki, had just turned five, and when the car pulled into the driveway, she was the first one to greet her cousin. With her energy, greet translated into tackle. With her athlete's balance, Gabby was able to keep her feet on the slippery packed snow in the driveway and pick the girl up to talk to her, and talk they did. Our niece lived up to her nickname, but Vikki was light-years beyond that.

"And Mommy and Daddy and me made snow angels!" she exclaimed as they came within earshot. Gabby cast a warning glance at her fiancé, an English teacher who was visibly restraining himself from correcting the tot's grammar. The girl waved a finger, which I just realized to much dismay was not covered by mitten or glove, to the banking. "See? Me, Daddy and Mommy."

"Oh, you and Mommy made two?"

Inside, her focus on cooking the meal instead of me this year, Julia didn't hear. I furrowed my brow and looked at the banking. Indeed there were five snow angels: mine, Julia's, Vikki's... and two others, one adult and one child. My eyes moved to Gabby's. Her free hand moved up to her chest, and we both shrugged and shook our heads.

Logic. Vikki and Julia could have been out later and made the other two. That was easy to write off. But in truth, however my mind could answer the puzzle, my heart found its own without any trouble. Gabby let Vikki down as she helped her fiancé up to the door, and I looked at our daughter. I lifted her up in my arms for a moment, squeezing her tight and then ushered her in. Gabby kissed her fiancé on the cheek and let him inside as well, pausing to glance at me.

“I’m glad we have some angels with us tonight.”

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