Winter Town

by Stephen Emond

  “I’m the only one who knows how to play!” Evan complained, and Lucy waved the instructions at him. Duh! Evan went first.

  “This game is kind of morbid,” Mom said. She was looking at one of her event cards, which read, THE KEYS ARE STILL IN IT—MOVE UP TO TEN SPACES INSTEAD OF MOVEMENT ROLL. The picture onthe card showed a zombie’s severed hand holding the keys in the ignition of a jeep.

  “You and Charlie used to love your Night of the Living Zombies,” Gram said.

  “Night of the Living Dead,” Mom corrected.

  “This is nothing. You don’t want to know the kinds of games they make these days,” Gram said.

  “Really? And how do you know?” Mom asked. Lucy and Evan glanced at each other and giggled.

  “I’m on the Internet. I stay informed. They let old people on the Internet, you know.”

  Lucy rolled the dice and moved her army man. Evan thought back to Sunday nights when he and Lucy were still kids. Every Sunday, Evan’s extended family came over, his aunts and uncles, his cousins. One of Evan’s cousins (the unfortunately nicknamed Chumbawumba) and Lucy would team up and chase him around the house. After dinner everyone would play a board game or a card game. It was always festive and cheerful, and Lucy was like a part of the family. Evan had grown out of game nights, which happened rarely now, but with Lucy there, he felt like they were nine years old. He moved to sit on the floor by Lucy.

  After a few rounds, the masses of zombies were building. It wasn’t so hard to take down a zombie or two, but if you found yourself in a herd, the game got pretty difficult. Gram found herself in such a pickle. She used her last bullet and her last heart.

  “I don’t need this kind of stress at my age,” Gram teased.

  “Wait, where did that come from? Are you cheating?” Evan asked, pointing at a heart Gram pulled from under the tile nearest her.

  “I certainly did not cheat!” Gram said. “It’s not cheating unless I steal it. Hiding it is my own business,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Evan and his dad are both sticklers for rules,” Mom said, moving her army man around the board.

  “Oh, don’t I know it,” Gram agreed.

  “Dad used to play games with us, so Lucy knows about his rules,” Evan said. Lucy gave a weak smile. “He used to keep the rules right by him, ready to contest anyone. He must have them all memorized by now.” Evan noticed Lucy withdrawing from the conversation and did his best to keep her included. “Lucy’s up,” Evan said, handing her the dice. “She’s gonna take down her twenty-five zombies right here—you watch.”

  At this point, the game was beginning to take over the floor around them. It was a warm scene—family, games, Christmas in the air. His best friend. Of course she’d want to come over—what was she going to do at home? Now she had people and comfort and zombies. This was like old times.

  Lucy looked pale but threw the dice. Was she feeling okay? Or was he just used to the makeup? Evan wondered. She found herself in a swarm of zombies. She survived the first two but was on her last leg after the third.

  “This is painful,” Evan said, taking on the role of announcer. He looked at Lucy, whose total concentration was seemingly on the game. “Not looking good, folks. Not looking good.”

  “Come on,” Lucy said, rolling again. Lucy moved out of the zombie pile and into a clearing.

  “Yes! She lives!” Evan clapped his hands and gave her a celebratory nudge. Lucy offered no reaction, looking blankly at the game board. It couldn’t be because of Zombies. Zombies was rad. “Remember when we used to make our own board games?” Evan asked Lucy.

  “I remember,” Mom said. “I used to take you both down to the craft store so you could buy those giant boards and paints, and God knows what else you found in that store.”

  “They were terrible,” Evan said, laughing. “What games did we make? I’m trying to remember.”

  “Life Sucks, parenthesis, and Then You Die, parenthesis, trademark,” Lucy mumbled. Evan was spending the holidays with twins, an old friend and her dark sister. New Lucy™ made Evan anxious because she was distant. Evan couldn’t relate; he couldn’t read her. He didn’t know her, and that worried him.

  “That’s not real, is it? I remember the Batman game we did,” Evan said, focusing on the positive.

  “Attempted Suicide, Home Version,” Lucy said, in her own world. “Roll three sixes and win.”

  “Oh, Lucy,” Mom said in a sour tone. “That’s not funny.”Evan had almost forgotten Mom and Gram were sitting there. They’d been officially introduced to New LucyTM.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy muttered, and stood up. “Excuse me.”

  She walked briskly to the bathroom. There was a moment of silence, and Evan struggled to lower his eyebrows. “She has a dark sense of humor,” Evan offered. It was all he could think of. What do you say when your best friend breaks down in front of your mom and grandmother? He sulked against the couch and sighed.

  “Oh, I hope she’s all right,” Gram said, rolling the dice and taking her turn. “I’ve always liked her.”

  During the next fifteen minutes, they shared small talk and waited for Lucy to get back. No one inquired aloud what she was up to, but Evan feared they were all wondering. He officially broke up Zombies, as it had clearly been replaced by the return of the game Is Lucy Okay?

  “Maybe we should make some lunch,” he said. No sense in sitting there dwelling. At least in the kitchen they would be busy and could maybe focus on something else. “Counting the most zombies bagged, Mom, I think you won.”

  “If you’re ever in a crisis of the undead, you call me,” Mom said with a wink.

  Evan was sitting at his desk, lost in his paper, when Lucy appeared in the doorway and knocked on the wall. Evan glanced at the clock on his computer. Another thirty minutes had passed since the game had ended. He was surprised he’d been able to pick up on his report so easily. But with Lucy in his sight, history floated away.

  Lucy sat back down on the bed. “Your family thinks I’m crazy.”

  “Nah.” Evan lifted his head, shrugging her comment off with a wave of his hand. “It’d take a lot worse than that.”

  “Probably. Sorry.” Lucy looked at the rug by the bed. “Anyway, I apologized to your mom and Gram.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was kind of funny,” Evan said, turning his head back to his book. “Want a sandwich? I brought one up. I didn’t think you’d swing by the kitchen.” Evan held up a small plate with a tuna-fish sandwich on it.

  “I ate with your mom and grandma downstairs,” Lucy said softly.

  “Oh.” Evan took a bite of the sandwich. That explained the missing thirty minutes. “My mom thinks you’re, like, upset or depressed or something.”

  “Oh. Yeah, well. Who isn’t?” Craftily dodging any discussion again. “Do you need to work? I can read some more.”

  “Eventually. Hey, check this out.” Evan opened his art drawer and pulled out his sketchbook with the quick drawings he had done of himself and Lucy the night before. This would cheer her up. Lucy walked over and touched the paper, running her finger along it. There was cartoon Evan, his round face in a battle roar, his stubby cartoon arms in the air, a sword made of snow in his hand. Cartoon Lucy was also combat-ready, poised for action.

  Lucy’s eyes gleamed, her mouth hung open in overly dramatic awe.

  “So we’re really gonna?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah, if you still want to.”

  “Dude. Yes. Can we start, like, now?” Those eye crinkles, and the way her cheeks suddenly pronounced themselves—her smile was contagious. Evan would draw right through vacation if it kept her smiling.

  “Yeah, I guess. I mean, what better time, right?”

  “Yes!” Lucy exclaimed. She sat down on Evan’s bed pretzel-style, and Evan rolled his chair over and clapped his hands. This was a good reason to share his art. If everyone in the world reacted like Lucy, he’d have a great career going. Lucy and Evan sat, neither sure how to prog
ress. Outside Evan’s window was nothing but white, with a slightly brighter white torrent of close-by snow visible.

  “All right! So. How do we start?” Evan asked.

  “Let me think,” Lucy said. She looked like a caricature of The Thinker, her brow quizzical, her fist holding her chin.

  “We have characters,” Evan said. “Me and you. We have a genre. That’s fantasy. Right?” Evan put his feet on the bed. With his pen, he tapped the sketchbook he held in his lap.

  “A quest,” she said. “We need an angle, a hook. What’s the main thrust?”

  “I have no idea,” Evan said. Evan looked up, like he expected a thought bubble to float above his head with the answers inside. The invisible thought bubble burst. This was how creative writing always went for him. He had thought maybe having Lucy to bounce ideas off of would help, but it hadn’t. He was a failure. “I told you I suck at this.”

  “We’re, like, ten seconds in. Be patient,” Lucy said. She suggested they think up a theme, then a motif, before settling on anything at all. Anything that could be classified as an idea was good. She looked out the window. “Snow.” She looked back at Evan. “I think of winter when I’m here. I think of snow when I think of you. So we should make it a winter story. And I like your idea of the snow-weapons thing.”

  Evan looked at Lucy, nodded, and then wrote Winter Story and underlined it. Now there was progress. Snow. Why couldn’t he have thought of that?

  “In a snowy land,” Lucy continued, “everything is white and clean and untouched. And your character’s, like, the snow master anyway. So maybe he gets his power from the land.”

  “But it’s an epic,” Evan reminded Lucy. “There’s going to be lots of travel, so he’ll be leaving home, right? So what does he do when he leaves? His power would be useless.” He was still punctuating his points with his pen. He was contributing now, but ruining the story, too. This was frustrating.

  “Well.” Lucy thought about it. She smiled. “That’s what my character is for.”

  “Maybe Evan’s family sends him on a quest. And along the way he meets Lucy.”

  “No,” Lucy said flatly. “Evan and Lucy have always been friends. Lucy just decides to go along with him.”

  “Okay,” Evan said. It was only fair that she’d decide the role of her own character.

  “I’m the best friend. And I sneak away and follow you. You go off on a quest to find a dragon, and I follow you and we find the dragon, but he’s friendly and the dragon needs our help in defeating this colony of bad dragons, so it’s, like, good dragon versus bad dragons, and we’re in the middle of it, or maybe I join the bad dragons and we have to fight in the skies.” Lucy looked at his sketchbook. “Are you writing this down?”

  “Yeah, that’s basically what I was thinking anyway,” Evan said, and started scribbling notes. He decided if he wasn’t fit to be a writer, he could always be a court stenographer.

  At five thirty, Evan, Lucy, Mom, and Gram watched the news in the living room. The room was warm and cozy from the fire Evan and his mom had started. The snow had just begun to let up after accumulating ten inches. The door opened, letting in a chill, and Dad stepped in. His hat was dusted with snow from the short walk from his car. He took off his coat and hat, surveying the living room scene.

  “No dinner?” he said.

  “Oh, honey, I didn’t know when you were going to get home with all the snow out there,” Mom said, getting up to welcome him. “I tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I was in traffic, trying not to drive off the road.” He threw his keys onto the hutch. “I’m not going to talk on the phone while police are everywhere out there.” Dad realized everyone was looking at him, uncomfortable. “Hi, Lucy, how are you?” he said. “Didn’t realize we had company.”

  “Hi, Mr. Owens,” Lucy mumbled.

  Dad and Mom walked to the dining room area, closer to the kitchen. Evan glanced at Lucy, with her wide-eyed child-in-trouble look. He shrugged his shoulders as an apology.

  “Barb? How’s she going to get home?” Dad asked quietly, but not quietly enough that everyone in the living room couldn’t hear. “I imagine I’ll be going back out? I already put the car in the garage.”

  “You cook, I’ll drive. I can do it.”

  Dad walked into the bathroom and shut the door. This was about as bad a reaction as Evan had feared. The entire situation was not the optimal New Lucy™ Meet-and-Greet. Evan thought of sneaking Lucy out and driving her himself, but that would just get everyone more upset.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said to Mom from across the living room.

  Mom put on her best smile. “No, don’t worry, sweetie. Let me take you home. Just put on your boots before Mister Cranky-Pants comes back out. He’s always like this right after work.”

  “Okay.” Lucy grabbed her coat and sat back down with her boots in hand.

  “I’ll be back in a bit, hon,” Mom said to Evan, who was still on the couch, leaning on the armrest and feeling embarrassed. This was like the end of a preschool playdate.

  “Drive safe, Barb,” Gram said, and patted Evan’s knee. They shared an understanding look.

  A few minutes later, Dad walked back into the living room. He eyed Evan silently for a moment. Evan knew this look. He hadn’t done anything wrong, though. His dad had been at work; he didn’t know a thing that had happened that day. Evan felt the target on his forehead. Dad was going Terminator on him. Suspect: Evan Owens. Seventeen. Neglecting studies to invite troubled girl over. Punish at all costs.

  “Again?” Dad said. “I thought you were going to do your paper today.” He walked back into the kitchen and started slamming cabinets, looking for something to cook. “Did you finish?”

  “No, not yet,” Evan said, looking away from the kitchen. He wished he could be done with that paper. He should just lie about it. No. He wished he’d kept working instead of bringing out that board game. It was his fault.

  Dad walked to the kitchen door.

  “Huh?”

  “Not yet, Dad. Sorry.”

  Dad gave Evan a disappointed look and walked back into the kitchen, making noise. Gram pulled herself off the couch. “I’ll go help with dinner,” Gram said.

  “I’ll do it,” Evan said. He called out toward the kitchen. “You want some help, Dad?” It was an effort toward peace.

  Dad shut each of the cabinets he’d opened and turned on the stove. “Yeah, all right, get in here.”

  Evan turned off the TV and went into the kitchen. Dad patted his back, and Evan helped him fix dinner.

  Dad had calmed down a little as he and Evan made dinner, but he was still hunched over and surly as he sat at the table with Gram and Evan only an hour later. When Mom returned, tensions flared again.

  “So is there anything we should be concerned about?” Dad said. He took a bite of his steak. “Regarding Lucy?”

  Evan wondered why he’d bring that up now while there was a tableful of people. Because there was a tableful of people, obviously. “No, of course not. Why?” Evan asked, jabbing his fork into several green beans.

  “I’m only asking that you leave some time for schoolwork, Evan. You can’t keep to evenings? Or maybe just the phone for a day? You should be done with your homework by now. And what’s going on with the nose piercing and the hair? Seriously?”

  “People get piercings,” Evan said quietly.

  “Well, you aren’t kids anymore, Ev. You can choose your friends.”

  “She is my friend,” Evan said, jabbing his fork again and hitting the plate.

  “All I know is she starts coming over and you stop doing your work. We’re talking your senior year here, and you want to get into an Ivy League school.”

  Evan looked down at his plate. “It’s just a nose ring. Besides, she’s only here until New Year’s. Just like every year.”

  “Is she having some kind of rebellious phase?” Dad said. Evan felt like his answers were being studied and didn’t want to rep
ly at all. Dad had trouble seeing things in any way other than his own. He’d nudge and nudge until Evan came around and saw things his way, too.

  “She is a little troubled, Evan,” Mom said.

  “Let’s not gang up on the boy,” Gram said, placing her fork down.

  “You know as well as anyone she has family issues,” Mom said to Gram. “She can be a handful.”

  “She was raised in a less-than-stable environment,” Dad agreed, and filled his and Mom’s wineglasses. “And then she ended up with her mother, of all people.”

  “I think Doug settled too easily with that one,” Mom said.

  “If it hadn’t been Dawn, it would just have been some other version of Dawn,” Dad said. “It always was.”

  “I really don’t need to hear this,” Evan said. It was as if his parents and Lucy’s parents were all still in middle school.

  “Lucy was always running away,” Dad continued. “And then she’d turn up here. I’m sure she broke into our house once.”

  “Dad, let it go,” Evan said. They had been twelve then, and yet it still came up from time to time.

  “I think she’s cute,” Gram said to Evan, and then turned to his parents. “They’re young, and they’re figuring themselves out. Let them be kids.”

  “That’s the problem, Mom,” Evan’s dad said. “They aren’t kids. I’m not sure you can trust kids to be kids anymore.”

  “This isn’t worth discussing,” Evan said, pushing his half-finished plate away. “Besides, I’m seventeen. I think I can choose who I’m friends with, and when I do my homework and where I’ll go to college.”

  “Were they supervised today?” Dad asked, and Evan felt invisible again.

  “We’re not making out or anything.”

  “Oh, Evan. You must notice the way she looks at you,” Mom said. “She’s definitely sweet on you, honey.”

  “All right, I’m done.” Evan stood up and headed to his room. His parents had abandoned Lucy and her whole family when her parents split up. When was the last time they’d spoken to her dad? How would they even know what she was going through? Evan had a history with Lucy; they shared a childhood. No one ever seemed to get that. Evan and Lucy held hands, they gave knowing looks and had random bursts of giggles, and they spoke their own language, but they had always done those things. This wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken their closeness for something more, and Evan knew it wouldn’t be the last.