Snowbound

by Kim Golden

  When I enter the kitchen, Mia looks defeated. "There's no electricity."

  "Yeah, I told you that last night. I guess you forgot."

  "I thought they might have the power on again." She tries the faucet. "No water either…so either the pipes have frozen or the well needs electricity to pump it….great."

  "There's spare water in the pantry," I tell her. "Your grandmother told me we needed to be prepared for the winter."

  "What else did my grandmother tell you about winters in Vermont?"

  "She said to make sure I closed off any rooms I wasn't using and blocked the doors with towels to keep out the drafts…"

  "Sounds like Grandma Ruth."

  "We could boil the coffee in the fireplace," I suggest. I go through the cabinets, until I find an old-fashioned cast iron pot. "We could set this on a rack in the fire place and boil some water. Then we could pour it over the coffee and make café press…like they do in France."

  She nods, so we prep enough coffee to put in a thermos and enough for us. I go in the living room and stoke the fire, until the flames are high again. When she comes in the living room with the pot, we set it in the fire. It doesn't take long for the water to warm up enough to make café presse for the road crew and us. If Evan is awake, he can fend for himself. I don't want him to ruin the moment. Knowing he's across the yard is bad enough.

  It's not long before there's a knock at the front door. When I open it, I am greeted by Owen Cudahy, Billy Jaworski, and two teenage boys who introduce themselves as Jessup and Cobb; all of them crusted with snow and laughing heartily. "We're freezing our balls off and we're hoping you've got something to warm us up," Owen announces.

  "Come on in." I step aside to let the two men pass. "We just made some coffee."

  We serve them coffee and hear about how they found Evan's car in a ditch not far from the apple orchard on Route 20. "How the hell did he manage to drive here with no winter tires? That's what I want to know." Billy slaps his thigh and laughs. "What kind of idiot comes to Vermont in December with no chains and no snow tires?"

  "One from the big city." Owen punctuates big city with crooked fingers. Then he glances at Mia and adds, "No offense, Mia."

  "None taken," she says and smiles.

  "You know we don't think of you the same way. You're from here, as far as we're concerned."

  "I know…"

  "But your friend…sorry, he's an idiot."

  "I know that too," she grins.

  Billy drains his mug. "Thanks for the coffee, Mia. I'll bring the idiot's car around as soon as we finish plowing over to West Windsor."

  When they leave, the house is silent again. I watch Mia as she clears up the detritus of coffee for a road crew. Mia keeps her distance. Maybe her confession has made her shy? I want to gather her in my arms and tell her it's okay. Her version of her relationship with Evan is preferable to the awful version he painted. But, even if his version were closer to the truth, maybe it wouldn't matter, because that isn't the version of Mia that I met. I let her do what she needs to do.

  As soon as she realizes there is nothing left to keep her busy, I ask her, "What do you want to do now?"

  "I don't know…"

  "You don't have to be shy with me," I tell her. "You told me your story…I could tell you mine. If you want to hear it."

  She nods and we go back upstairs to her bedroom. She takes off her robe and climbs into bed. I follow her lead. The fire is still strong enough to keep us warm, but we pull the thick quilt and thermal blankets over us, just in case.

  I tell her about what took me to Afghanistan and how I needed to forget, but ended up being left with memories I could never forget. "There's only so many times you can shoot pictures of a market destroyed by a suicide bomber…or follow troops on patrol and get caught in the middle of gunfire, before you can't get it out of your head. It's there all the time…."

  Then I tell her about Amanda, the woman who left me, who told me I was too screwed up to be with her. And how the last time I saw Thandie in London she was pregnant with her third child and I told her I still loved her. "I don't know if I was still actually in love with her, maybe it was the idea of her living a life that we could have had if I'd been brave enough."

  I'm not perfect. I won't even try to pretend I am. I've screwed up countless times, just like everyone else. But lying here in bed with Mia, just holding one another and listening to the fire, I wish I could be perfect for her. Who knows? Maybe I am.

  Later, we wake up entangled in one another's limbs. I try the bedside lamp, but the electricity is still not working. We light the storm lanterns and close off the two guest rooms. Outside, the clouds have dissipated, but the sky is still a flat watery blue streaked with white. Mia wrinkles her nose at it. "I think it's going to snow again."

  I don't know enough about snow. When I lived in the UK, it only snowed a few times and, even then, it wasn't enough to cut us off from "civilization". My other experiences with snow have been in war time—Kabul blanketed in snow, buildings pockmarked from bullet holes, patches of gray snow stained with red and the realization that someone died in the spot. Sometimes the body was still there, steaming from the heat of the ammunition. Sometimes there wasn't enough left to identify. In Africa, I've seen the snow from a distance on the mountaintops. I never climbed Kilimanjaro, though everyone assumes I must have. Apparently all white Africans claim they have, so now I am expected to do the same. I am thirty-five. In a few months, I will slide into being thirty-six and I don't want to be alone anymore.

  "What happens when Christmas is over?" I ask her. She tenses in my arms.

  "I don't know. I guess we have to figure that out."

  "Are you going back to Philadelphia?"

  "Eventually I will have to." She frowns as she says these words. Maybe she doesn't want to go. Maybe she wants to stay.

  "Why? You have the house here. You said yourself you could work anywhere, now that you don't have that contract anymore."

  "I need to earn a living…"

  "You could do it here."

  "Sooner or later you're going to leave too."

  "So, this is just a diversion?"

  "What are you getting at, Jake?"

  "I guess I just need reassurance that I am not just a nice way to will away your time here in Vermont."

  "Is this about what Evan said again?"

  "No, it's more about reality. I like you. Hell, I more than like you. And I need to know if you would stay here if I stayed here too."

  "I can't just give you an answer like that," she says. "We don't even know each other."

  "Sure we do. I've told you more about me than most people know. And I'll bet you've told me more than you even tell your girlfriends."

  "I thought you said you wanted to take it slow."

  "Maybe I did…but we don't have time to waste on playing hard to get."

  "Jake…don't."

  "Don't what?"

  "You can't change the rules."

  "Why not? You have."

  "I can't make promises to you, when I am still trying to figure out what I want."

  So, we lie there, the space between us growing as we inch away from one another. I can't force her to feel anything. But, damn, for a little while, I thought we both wanted exactly the same thing. I thought we both wanted to be with someone who wouldn't dick us around and who'd be there. But she's right—she still has issues to resolve. And I can't convince her to ignore them.

  Especially since one of those issues is on the other side of the yard.

  9 Baby, It's Cold Outside: Mia

  Rule #5 Under no circumstances will we sleep under the same roof. Well, we will if there is an emergency, but that's it.

  By nightfall, the electricity and heat are on again, but the temperature between me and Jake is still bitterly cold. I don't know what he wants from me. No, I do know what he wants from me. He needs a sign that I am serious about giving us a chance and I can't give him that, not yet. I like him, I
don't know him well enough to be sure I could stay here in Vermont with him. Besides, isn't it a little too soon for him to expect me to be able to give an answer? I still need to finalize the paperwork for the house, to make it officially mine. I need to find more clients before February, otherwise my savings account is going to dwindle to nothing. I came up here to figure out my life, not fall into someone's arms.

  I wish Jane were here. I even wish my mom were here, though I can only imagine what sort of advice she would give me. I pick up my iPhone, which is plugged into my laptop and charging. The reception is still low from the storm. I haven't been able to make any calls, but every now and then the phone beeps to let me know that at least a few messages are coming in. While Jake was downstairs with Owen checking the furnace, I found my grandfather's old portable radio at the back of a catch-all kitchen cabinet. I put in fresh batteries to test it. It still worked, so now I am listening to the weather report for southeastern and central Vermont. The station is set to WEQX out of Manchester, which surprises me. My grandfather liked gospel music and the blues. He hated it when I changed the radio station, so I could hear what I liked. He even bought me my own portable radio once, so I wouldn't touch the station dial on his. Maybe Grandma Ruth changed it after he died. Maybe one of the nurses who took care of her in her last days did it.

  I spend most of my time contacting friends and clients in Philadelphia and assuring them that I am alive and well. Even Priya and Jenny, who've been distant over the last few months other than when they want to vent about their respective partners or need a babysitter, have left messages asking if I am okay. When I return Priya's call she breathes out a "Oh thank God! I was so worried about you!" in such a rushed timbre that it takes me by surprise.

  "You knew I was here in Vermont," I say as I settle onto the couch with my cell phone tucked between my shoulder and my chin. "I know how to deal with storms here."

  "I was still worried," she retorts. In the background, four-year-old Asha demands to speak to me. Priya tries to shush her, then finally gives in so Asha can babble at me in nonsensical kid-talk, before growing bored and wandering off. Then Priya takes over. "How did I end up with such a nightmare daughter?"

  "She's sweet," I say. "She just likes a little attention every now and then."

  "Are you really okay?" Priya asks in a quiet voice. "We all know, Mia…you don't have to hide from us."

  "I'm fine," I assure her. "I came up here to think things through and I realize I don't want Evan…maybe I never really wanted him; just the idea of him."

  "I just want you to find someone who adores you," Priya sighs. "And I want you to have a little girl who can be best friends with my little girl."

  "It'll happen one day."

  "Rumor has it, you've already met someone."

  "It's not like that," I tell her as I think about Jake's hot and cold signals. I don't really know what he wants from me. I don't think he knows either. "I like him. I don't know if he wants anything as serious as…"

  "You don't have to rush back here, you know…you could take the time you need there to really decide what you want."

  "I have to find a job—"

  "I could help you get some good contacts for freelance work."

  "I appreciate that…"

  "Mia, stop. You spent how many years with an asshole? Now, you've found a really great guy—at least that's what Jane says—and you want to toss him aside, because you aren't sure?"

  "That's about the size of it ," I say, stupidly.

  She must think I am a complete moron. I feel like a moron for even thinking it. But I'm not like Priya—I don't have wealthy parents who'll refill my coffers when I don't have anything left. And it's just me…I don't want to be one of those women who puts her life on hold for a man. Not anymore. I did that for Evan and I ended up with nothing. From where I sit, Priya has a charmed life. To paraphrase Natasha Beddingfield, she is married to a man who knows how to love her without being told. I don't think I have ever had that. Every relationship I have ever had has felt transient, at best. So, when my friends gush about their partners and how they are perfectly suited, I can only smile and pretend I know what they mean. Evan never really knew me. But he didn't want to. He already had this vision of me as a bad girl who would do whatever he wanted, and I stupidly filled that role for him.

  "Don't you want more, Mia?" Priya asks. "I'm sure you do…I still remember your love mantra from college. 'I want to meet a man who will love me for who I am and who will accept my quirks and love me for them…' Do you remember that?"

  "It just hasn't panned out that way."

  "Give it a chance and it might," she says. "Stop worrying; I will put in a few calls. You just…lay low for a while, and let this guy—"

  "His name is Jake."

  "I know. I just like pretending I don't. Get to know him, and see how it feels. Trust your instincts, and send Evan home to his drippy wife."

  "Ugh…does she know he's here?"

  "Hard to say." Priya laughs softly. "She tells me he's in Boston on business and makes it sound like Boston is snowed under, but all you have to do is watch the Weather Channel to know that Boston was barely touched by the storm."

  "She knows then. She just doesn't want to lose face."

  "Honey, send him home. You don't want his kind of trouble anymore."

  I promise Priya that I will follow her advice and then something crashes on her end. Priya groans and then rings off, saying she'll check in on me tomorrow, her daughter has knocked over an antique vase.

  She's right. Of course she is. I have been trying to get rid of Evan since he arrived. I know, now, that I don't want a man who can only give me part of him. I don't know if Jake is Mr. Right, but I ought to give him a chance. Even if I know my mother will go ballistic once she finds out. But I'm not living my life for her. I am living it for me.

  I bundle into my warmest clothing and go outside to inspect the damage from the storm that the Weather Channel is calling Vermont's storm of the century. Jake has already shoveled the porch and cleared the driveway and footpaths with the snow blower. The trees are all encased in a thick sheath of glistening ice. Dunes of powdery snow still press against the walls and shroud the edges of the steps. The sky is still limitless and white, still heavy with the promise of more snow.

  I walk down the path to the road. All along the road, neighbors try to dig out their cars or clear paths to their driveways. The neighborhood kids have already taken advantage of the abundance of snow and bestowed every yard with snowmen. I shiver and smile. Two little boys run toward me and ask if they can sled on the hill behind the house. I nod and remind them to be careful. I know I should ask their parents if it's okay, but I want them to have as much fun on that hill as I did when I was a kid. It's not a steep hill. It's just right for kids, a slope that is gentle without any obstacles to cause injury. It was the only hill my granddad let me sled on, until I was twelve. My mother said it was because he didn't want the neighbors complaining about his little black grandchild. Maybe it was that. Grandpa Hart was black, but light-skinned enough that most people mistook him for being one of the Portuguese or Spanish craftsmen who emigrated to Vermont. He'd always smile and tell people he was proud to be a Negro.

  I never think about racism in Hunters Grove, but maybe it bubbles beneath the surface. No one was ever cruel to me here. People always treated me like I belonged. Was the same true for my mother or does she revise it based on her experiences in Philadelphia and Baltimore?

  The children's shouts of glee bring me back to reality. I turn and begin walking back to the house. The sun is low in the sky, barely visible behind the layer of clouds. Then I head for the guest house and knock on the door. When Evan answers, he switches from a sullen, pouty look, to one of entitled expectation. "I knew you'd come around," he says. "Haven't seen your farm boy today."

  "Oh shut up, Evan. I'm telling you now—I want you to go home to your wife. You're not welcome here. You never were."

 
"We haven't talked yet."

  "We don't need to. You made a choice on Thanksgiving when you decided to stay with your wife. I made a choice on my way here that I didn't want you, even if you changed your mind."

  "So it's like that?"

  I nod. "I don't want to be anyone's second best anymore. I don't even think I was ever really in love with you. And I doubt, sincerely, you were ever in love with me."

  "You never wanted love." Evan cages me in. He tries to kiss me, but I push him away. I manage to sidestep him before he can corner me again. "If you wanted me to love you, then you should have been different."

  His words hit me hard. I should have been different? I widen the distance between us. "If I was so wrong then why did you keep coming back to me?"

  "Do you really want me to answer that question, Mia?"

  In a way, I do. Some part of me needs to hear that he only ever saw me as a good lay. I need to know that he was the one who was wrong, who was incapable of seeing me as lovable. But I also know that I let him think that way of me. I pretended I wasn't interested in love, because I didn't want to scare him off. I fell too deeply. I fell too fast.

  "I don't want anything from you," I finally say. "I just want you to leave."

  "How am I supposed to do that? My car isn't here."

  "It's at the garage in town. You could walk there."

  "I'm not walking there in this weather."

  "Well, I am not driving you—neither is Jake—so you'd better think of something fast."

  "So, you speak for him now?"

  "I do when it comes to you."

  "You think you're going to be happy with him?"

  "I think I can be happier with him than I was with you."

  I ignore the doubtful expression on Evan's face. I don't care what he thinks. I go over to the coffee table where his detritus has collected; dirty mugs and scrunched-up napkins. I collect them and toss them in the empty waste basket. Then it occurs to me. There is a surefire way to get rid of him since, despite everything, he seems reluctant to head back to Philadelphia. I pause at the door. "How are you going to explain to your wife you're being incommunicado for three days?"