From Deer Season
C. E. Poverman

They were still arguing. It started three days ago when she'd come into his place, stamping the snow off her cowboy boots outside the door, and found Kurt cleaning his rifle. She froze at the sight of the thirty-thirty, declared she hated guns, had no idea he owned one, doubted she could have been seeing a man who kept a gun.

He laughed. She wasn't joking. He said, "Well, then, it's been a good test for your preconceptions about people, because you've been seeing me for six months and it's been whatever it's been between us and the rifle's been in the closet the whole time."

She said he'd kept it from her and she'd have to reconsider everything, everything in light of this.

And he said, "In light of what, my having the rifle itself, or keeping it from you, which I didn't do, or what?"

"All of it," she said, "just everything." And of course he'd kept it from her--he hadn't talked about it, had he?

He laughed again and said, "No, I haven't kept anything from you, it just wasn't deer season." She left without another word and he finished cleaning his rifle....

Ontario Review #44