The Center of Winter

by Marya Hornbacher

  “Okay,” I said, holding still and looking around wildly. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Why is he here?”

  “Who, Frank?”

  “Yes, Frank!” Esau said urgently, hopping from foot to foot. “What does he want?”

  “I thought you liked Frank!”

  “I do, but that is not the point at all!” He pounded his thighs twice for emphasis and hopped up onto the counter. He craned his neck around the corner, looking into the living room, then backed up against the wall as if he were in a police chase.

  “I am only saying,” he hissed, “I am only saying that this is out of order! He is out there playing cards with Kate and Davey!”

  “He is?” I asked.

  “Yes! Do we need to adjust the routine, is what I am asking.” He pointed and flexed his feet over and over, put his arms above his head, and waved his hands in the air. “What I am asking,” he said loudly, frustrated, “is do you have a crush on Frank, and if so, is he coming for breakfast very often?”

  I dropped the can of Folgers and chased it across the kitchen. “Don’t panic!” he said, hopping down and helping me clean up the grounds. “I’ll make it myself. You have to go be the host. Also, the eggs are hard-boiled. You should probably start some new ones.”

  I grabbed him and kissed both his cheeks. “You are so, so wonderful,” I said. He stared at me blankly. “Never mind,” I said.

  “Your dress is backward,” he said. I looked down. “It’s not that obvious, though,” he said, so I took a deep breath and went into the living room.

  Frank looked up from his hand of cards. He stood up and said, grinning, “Claire.”

  “Frank. Good morning.” I fidgeted with the label of my dress.

  “Mom,” Kate said importantly. “It’s afternoon.”

  “Right.” I laughed.

  “Sleep well?” Frank said, smiling.

  “Don’t even start,” I said. “You hungry?”

  “No, I ate, thanks. I was just—” He gestured. “I was just sitting down to play some cards.”

  I nodded. “I see.”

  As if to prove his point, he sat, picked up his hand, and started moving cards around. Esau came in with one cup of coffee, gave it to Frank, bowed regally, turned on his heel, and went back to get another cup.

  I sat down on the couch next to Davey. “Where’s my mom?” he asked, not sounding too worried. Sarah was asleep in my room.

  “She’s running some errands,” I said.

  “Where to?”

  “Here and there. Had to get some shopping done,” I said, wanting to kill her. “She’ll be back soon enough.”

  That seemed to satisfy him. I drank my coffee and looked out the window at the rain. This, I thought, was very strange. I set my coffee cup down and went to cut oranges for breakfast.

  Frank appeared at the doorway. I glanced up from the cutting board. “Hi there,” I said.

  “Hi there.”

  “Long time no see.”

  He laughed and leaned against the counter. “Donna didn’t come back last night?”

  “She did. She left again.”

  “She ain’t at home.”

  I arranged the orange sections on a plate. “Is that so?”

  “Dale came by the bar this morning.”

  I nodded. “Who’s minding the bar?”

  “Jackson’s kid Pete fills in for me when he can. Gives me a little time off. I just stopped in this morning, see things were in order. Dale was there. That man is in a world of hurt.”

  I ran my hands under the water and dried them on my dress. I kept my face still. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, it worries me.”

  I carried the oranges and a few plates out to the dining room. I came back in, crossed my arms, and leaned against the stove. He had ironed his shirt. A T-shirt, he had ironed a blue T-shirt. Maybe his jeans too. He smelled like Old Spice. His dark skin gleamed from a shower. Just having him in the house made me short of breath. The six or so feet between us were an intrusion, and I wished they’d go away, and I wished I’d stop noticing space every time he was around. It seemed I’d suddenly taken an excessive interest in the distance between here and him.

  “He’s on a bender and he’s talking,” Frank said, scowling down at his shirt and brushing at it as if there were crumbs. I wondered wildly if he had much chest hair, belly hair, and I turned bright red. I swore at myself and asked whatever powers that be to clean my head out with soap. But it was so strange to see him standing there where Arnold had stood, his broad back against the wall where Arnold had leaned, much like this, talking to me while I cooked. The phone on the wall to his right, the coffee cup on the end of the counter. The thick hands shoved into his pockets. All this, and a different man’s face.

  I felt ashamed to have him in the house and yet I could not have asked him to leave.

  “Shut the whole bar up this morning,” he said. “Had to ask him to leave. He didn’t like that one bit.”

  “Talking. About Donna?”

  He nodded. “Knows something’s going on.”

  “How’s he know that?”

  Frank shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter. I’m just saying.”

  “What?”

  He winced and shoved his hands into his pockets. Clearly he didn’t like this conversation. “Maybe she needs to come stay over here, don’t you think? Figure things out before she tries going home again. He’s not right, Claire. Not right.”

  I drank my coffee and refilled both our cups. “He’s not threatening her,” I said, and willed it so.

  “Hell, you know he’s just talking. Still.” He looked intensely miserable. “You gotta know I don’t like getting into people’s business,” he said.

  “No, I know it.” I looked out the back screen door. “Looks like it’s starting to let up.”

  “Little bit,” he said. He cleared his throat and I looked at him. “So I was going to say,” he said, crossing one ankle over the other. “I was going to see if you might like to go on over to the supper club tonight. Have a bite, maybe dance.” He stared at the floor, stunned.

  I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

  “I was gonna ask you last night, but, you know, you ran off so quick I didn’t get a chance. I understand it’s not polite, short notice—”

  “Yes.”

  He looked up, surprised.

  “I’d love to,” I said.

  The front door opened and I heard Donna go into the bedroom. She walked into the kitchen carrying a sleepy Sarah. “Well, hello there,” she said to Frank.

  “Afternoon.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a chair. “I suppose you’ve disowned me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She laughed. “Thank God.”

  “Honey, I think you should maybe stay here for a while.”

  She looked up at me like I was nuts. “Not that I wouldn’t like to, Claire, but—”

  “No buts.”

  She glanced at Frank. “Take it he knows.” I nodded. “All right,” she said. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Looks like your husband’s got himself into a bit of a fit.”

  “What else is new?”

  “Yeah, well, this time he’s after you.”

  She set her coffee cup on the counter, crossed her legs, and looked at me.

  “He came to the bar this morning, already drunk,” Frank said. “Got himself kicked out, and that takes some doing.”

  “Was he on about me?” Donna said.

  Frank scowled at the back door.

  “Frank? He was on about me, wasn’t he? What in the hell did he say?”

  “Donna, I can’t say I’m inclined to repeat it, except to say I think it’s better if you don’t go home right now. Let him drink himself out and sleep it off.”

  “Does he know?”

  Neither Frank nor I spoke.

  Donna sighed and flung
an arm out aimlessly, as if she were sweeping everything off a table. “Well, shit. So he knows. Who gives a rat’s ass. Had to happen sometime. Least now he’s got a reason to leave.”

  “Donna,” Frank said, raising his voice, “wake up. Man doesn’t want to leave. He wants to kill you.”

  He cleared his throat and poured himself another cup of coffee.

  Donna studied the floor. “He said that?”

  “Yes he did. And a lot of other things too.” Frank was quiet now, looking out the back door to where I kept my seedlings.

  Donna looked at me. “Well, where in the hell are you gonna put me?”

  I shrugged. “We’ve got plenty of space. Let’s just tell the kids and leave it at that for now.”

  Frank pushed off the counter and turned. “How’s about seven?” he said to me.

  “All right,” I said.

  He tapped his hat and went to say good-bye to the kids.

  “What’s at seven?” Donna asked me.

  “We’re going to dinner.”

  “What?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t ask.”

  I sat at my dressing table in my underwear and a slip, putting on my makeup. Donna and all three kids had crowded onto the bed with a plate of cookies, to watch me. The baby lay on the floor, happily examining her toes.

  “You’re getting crumbs!” Davey shrieked at Kate, brushing them off onto the carpet.

  “Well, excuse me,” she said, indignant.

  “Don’t forget earrings,” Donna said. “Scoot over,” she said to Esau. “You’re hogging.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Pass the cookies, please.”

  “Are you and Frank getting married?” Davey asked.

  “They can’t,” Kate said. “She’s already married.”

  “No she’s not,” Esau said. “She isn’t, she isn’t.”

  “Yes she is, stupid. She’s married to Dad.”

  “Dad’s dead. Dead Dad.”

  I looked up in the mirror and caught him thumping his thigh.

  “I know that,” Kate said.

  “So she’s a widow.” Thump thump. “Black-widow spiders eat their mates.” Thump. “Widows mostly mourn.” Thump thump.

  “Oh, that’s really nice,” Donna said. “That’s enough about it from both of you.”

  “Apologies are offered,” Esau said, his face furrowed. He stuffed a cookie in his mouth. I was worried about him. He hadn’t let any of the three little ones out of his sight all day. He kept counting them. One two three, I’d heard him whisper, one two three, all present and accounted for.

  “Esau, how are you?” I asked his image in the mirror. He glanced up, his cheeks bulging. “Are you all right if I’m gone for a few hours? Or not? You have to tell me the truth. Or I’ll”—I didn’t know what I’d do—“take your books for a week.”

  His eyes widened and he shook his head. “I’m okay. Really, super okay. Very much okay.” He stuffed another cookie in his mouth. “Precisely how long will you be gone?”

  “Three hours,” I said. It seemed like a safe bet.

  He looked at his watch, which I mightily regretted having gotten him, and said, “Ten P.M. That is your curfew. We’ll still be up, so we’ll know.”

  “All right, then. I won’t be late.”

  Kate nibbled. I watched her in the mirror while I put on my blush. She looked confused.

  “So are you not married?” she finally asked, worried.

  I glanced at Donna. “I’ll always be married to your dad, in a way.”

  “But you could get married again.”

  “I suppose I could.”

  “So are you and Frank getting married?”

  I sighed. “No. Frank and I are having dinner. That’s all.”

  “Dad,” said the baby, sounding cheerful. We all looked at her. “Dad!” she said again, looking around, pleased with the attention.

  Esau scrambled upright and grabbed her. She dangled, giggling. “Dadadadada!”

  “She called me Dad! Did you hear her?” Esau crowed, and danced her around the room.

  “Oh, Christ,” Donna said. “That’s rich.”

  “It’s her first word!” Esau shrieked. “I’m calling Oma!” And he dashed out.

  “For a wedding anyway she has to have a veil,” Davey said disdainfully, pulling a pillowcase off a pillow and putting it on his head.

  Donna flopped backward. “Claire, this is a loony bin.”

  “Yes it is,” I said.

  The doorbell rang and they all scrambled off the bed, Kate yelling, “Get dressed! Get dressed!” and slamming the door behind herself.

  Okay, I thought, looking around. Okay. Okay. Here we go. Dress. I stood up and slid it out of its Norby’s bag. We’d fussed around in my closet for an hour and finally settled on a blue not-really-silk number that, Donna said, gave my ass a little oomph. Out in the living room, I heard Donna offer Frank a drink, and had an unexpected jolt of panic as I heard him say, “Well, just a little splash, thanks.”

  I sat down with a thud on the vanity stool. I stared into the mirror. The vanity was the only piece of furniture I’d taken with me from my mother’s house. It was old. Maybe valuable, who knew? It was mine, a piece of my memory, it was the way I’d always thought of her, sitting there fussing with her face, her hair, her treasures in a cloisonné box. I sat there, running my hands over the mahogany.

  She and I stared at each other in the mirror.

  What am I doing, I thought. It’s too soon. There’ll be talk.

  They’ll see us. We’ll walk in; Frank will hold the door and take my wrap. They’ll all look up.

  And then?

  I took off my wedding ring and opened the left-hand drawer. I put it in the cloisonné box with the other treasures. I reached for a bottle of perfume and decided against it. That was too much.

  Somehow that settled everything, and I went out into the living room just in time to catch Frank knocking back a double. His eyes caught on me and tripped. He coughed.

  “Hi, Frank,” I said.

  “Hello there.”

  “You’re looking sharp.” He did, in a seersucker summer suit, a little too short in the wrists.

  “Don’t look half bad yourself.” Immediately he regretted his choice of words, and I could see him trying to figure out how to rearrange them or replace them with new ones, his face twisting up as if he were eating a lemon sour.

  Donna looked from one of us to the other. She sat comfortably on the couch, under a heap of children. “Well, go already,” she said, waving us toward the door. “Git.”

  “Yeah, git!” Kate said, braiding Donna’s hair.

  “All right, then,” Frank said, setting his glass down. “If you’re ready.”

  I bent down to kiss the kids. Esau stared straight ahead, Kate scowled. Davey, bless his heart, took my hand and kissed it. “Night,” he said.

  Frank held the car door open for me and bent down to fold in the edge of my dress before he closed it. We rode in silence down to the county road, and then he said, “Really, you do. Look lovely. I mean. Sure is a pretty-color dress.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to look at him. “That’s a good-looking tie.”

  He looked down at it as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Thanks,” he said. Then he laughed. “I have to tell you, I had a hell of a time tying it.”

  “That so?”

  “Ain’t worn a tie in a while, that’s for sure. Not much occasion.”

  “Well, it looks just fine.”

  “Good.” He sounded relieved.

  I giggled. “Well, now that we’ve got that sorted out.”

  He laughed. “Jesus. Act like a couple of teenagers.”

  “I know it.”

  “Out on a first date.”

  “Silly.”

  He cleared his throat and I looked out the window. In the late-summer dusk, the fields were a rich, fresh green from the rain and the barns looked like stains on the darkening sky.

  “Prett
y night,” I said. He was two feet away. I could hear him breathe. In the closed car, I could smell him, his own clean scent mixed with aftershave and soap.

  “Sure is,” he said. The air between us hummed. I thought of the instant when Arnold had held out his hand to me, asking me that night in New York to dance: the few seconds that I looked at his thick hand and then took it, tentatively, and followed him onto the floor.

  We passed the sign for Staples and the Elks Club came into sight on a hill at the edge of town. The parking lot was packed and you could already hear the music and a dull roar of voices from inside. Frank pulled into a spot and let the car run.

  I stared straight ahead.

  “Claire,” he said.

  For one frantic second, I thought he would kiss me. How so many kisses in my life had begun with that one word, my name. I turned my head slightly toward him and studied the dashboard, weirdly remembering the night I lost my virginity, and the dashboard light, and the boy saying my name, once, and then not knowing how to ask.

  It was easier then. Everything’s easier when you don’t know.

  “Claire,” he said again, and leaned forward to set the odometer. His voice, it suddenly occurred to me, was beautiful, and I wanted to turn to him and tell him about the night I lost my virginity, my God, twenty years ago! and how suddenly I was realizing one day Kate would know, it would happen to Kate, and probably Esau too, and how could I explain to them? How could I tell them anything? Protect them from anything? And I sat there, twisting my hands in my lap, finding to my dismay that my ring finger was bony, shrunken, while the others were a regular size, and I turned to Frank, wanting to tell him everything, wanting just to fill the crowded air with words.

  He put his hands on the steering wheel as if he were practicing driving.

  “Arnold and I were friends,” he said. He shut his eyes briefly, as if bracing himself. I sat there. “And I have to tell you, I feel a little funny. I just—” He gestured. “You know. Don’t want to be disrespectful.”

  “Frank,” I said. I opened and shut the glove compartment. I wanted to say, He’s dead. I wanted to say, I left long ago, and I am sorry and unspeakably sad, but I am alive. I am alive, and you are alive, and I am lonely and you are too, and I am not ready for this but there are two feet between us and we are only going to dance. And if we only dance one night, this will be all right.