The Season of Silver Linings

by Christine Nolfi

  Jada hurried to Mr. Uchida. He was already at the front door, peering out, trying to see anything through the blinding snow. The wind shifted, and the curling cyclones of white parted for the slice of a second. Jada gasped. In the parking lot, beneath the fast-falling snow, a truck swerved wildly. It barely missed one of the snowbanks edging the newly plowed asphalt. Then the driver hit the horn again.

  “Mr. Uchida—I need your coat.” She pushed him toward the front desk. “Hurry! There isn’t time to run back to the kitchen for mine.”

  He lobbed the heavy parka at her. Jada was still zipping up the front as she carefully negotiated the snow-packed steps. Trudging at a fast clip, she plowed through the icy drifts, blinking rapidly as the sky pelted her with snowflakes. She recognized the make and model: Philip’s truck.

  Bodi was behind the wheel.

  The tires squealed as she hit the gas and carved a donut on the frozen parking lot. Catching sight of Jada, she let up on the horn. The Ford pickup skidded to a halt.

  Bodi flung open the driver-side door and jumped out. “I thought you were my friend, Jada!”

  She wasn’t dressed for the weather. Jeans, sweatshirt—at least she’d had the sense to wear boots. She seemed impervious to the cold blasting against her petite body. Wild fury lit her brilliantly blue eyes.

  Jada began to approach, felt the snow crunch beneath her shoes. She stopped abruptly when Bodi scrambled farther away. “Bodi, come inside.”

  “Go screw yourself. I know what’s going on between you and my husband.” The furious girl spun on her heel. She appraised the plowed section of the parking lot. “Philip was here, wasn’t he?”

  Frustrated, Jada swatted at the snowflakes clinging to her face. She was tired of Bodi’s weird accusations. Since giving birth to Fancy, the mercurial girl had become moodier, nearly paranoid.

  “Bodi, there’s nothing going on,” Jada assured her.

  “Maybe not on your end. But just wait. Someday, you’ll feel differently about Philip.”

  “Stop this. You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Oh yeah? Wake up, Jada.” Bodi’s lips curled with disdain. “Anytime you need something, Philip always volunteers. Lance Treadwell was supposed to plow the Wayfair this morning, not my husband. They swapped jobs. I’m sure Philip was dying to come out to see you.”

  There was no telling if the accusation held merit. Jada had no idea how Mr. Curcio assigned jobs. “Come inside,” she begged the shivering girl. “I’ll make hot chocolate. You love hot chocolate.”

  “I’m nineteen, Jada. Don’t talk to me like I’m a kid.”

  “Bodi, your lips are turning blue. Come inside. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “Did you make him breakfast? Ask him to stop back for lunch?”

  The comment bounced off Jada as a question seized her mind. Her fearful gaze shot to the truck.

  “Bodi, where’s the baby?” The passenger seat was empty. No car seat, no infant buckled inside. Anger cut through her terror. “My God, did you leave her alone at the apartment? Where is she?”

  Mention of the infant Bodi refused to love sent her attention to the fierce swells of white rippling away from the parking lot and toward the lake. She gripped her skull. “What am I doing here?” she screamed.

  “It’s okay. Please, let’s go inside—”

  “I’m sick of being trapped in a dirty apartment. All the kid does is bawl nonstop and make me clean up her messes. Why doesn’t she clean up her own messes? Look at me.” The wind whipped around her as she shoved up her sweatshirt to reveal the loose roll of flesh on her belly. “I want my body back. I don’t want to look like an old lady. I’m only nineteen.” Her eyes blazed. “Look what she’s done to me.”

  What happened next seemed out of a nightmare.

  Bodi sprinted past the truck. Large snowdrifts covered the steep hill leading to the lake, but she plowed through them with astonishing speed. The ribbons of her blonde hair fanned out behind her as she raced downward. She was making the trek quickly, moving in and out of sight as sheets of white fell from the sky.

  Indecision gripped Jada. She flung her attention back to the inn. It would take only a moment to run back inside and call the police. Someone needed to get to the apartment, where a two-month-old had been left alone.

  During all the years that would follow, Jada picked at the memory of her hesitation like a wound she wished to make fester and burn. Were those wasted seconds all that stood between a depressed young mother and a frigid lake waiting to engulf her?

  Jada raced down the hill.

  Unlike Bodi, who was equipped with heavy boots, Jada wore only tennis shoes. The thin soles refused to grip the icy ground. She fell repeatedly. Grappling to follow the path Bodi had carved in the snowdrifts was difficult, and she lost her balance again. Slipping and sliding her way to the lake, Jada cried out for Bodi to stop.

  Ice crusted on Jada’s lashes as she crawled onto the beach. The wind was stronger here, a howling menace whipping across the open ground, shearing the snow from the sand and tumbling it toward the dark wall of the forest. Jada winced as the taste of iron coated her tongue. A droplet of blood splatted on the icy ground between her fists. She found a cut throbbing on her lips that she quickly dismissed. Scrambling to her feet, she batted against the curtain of white obliterating her sight.

  The lake was a sea of glass. In the dim morning light, mounds of snow carved a wavy pattern across the sheet of ice, hiding the tumbling waters beneath. Earlier in the week, some of the boys in town had turned the section of the lake near the beach into a skating rink. Jada spotted the hash marks from their skates etched into the glassy surface. Linnie had driven the boys off with a speech about how the ice might not hold, then she’d planted a sign warning everyone to keep off the ice. The water below was barely above freezing, cold enough for hypothermia to bring death in minutes.

  When Jada finally caught sight of Bodi, she screamed with a fury that scraped her throat raw. Cold, animal panic gripped her.

  Bodi was out on the lake, walking smoothly, purposefully, with her arms flung out for balance.

  “No, no! Bodi—come back!”

  The hoarse plea went unheeded. Jada’s teeth chattered as she toed the ice. Go out after her? If she allowed Bodi to walk much farther, the ice would give way. She’d plunge to her death.

  A litany of prayer accompanied Jada as she took the first step.

  Mother Mary, protect me.

  The rubber sole of her right shoe began to slip, and she made the terrifying decision to pull it off. She flung off her other shoe, glad when her thick socks gripped the ice.

  Heavenly Father, please don’t let me die.

  Cold pierced her feet with pain so deep it felt like fire.

  Four steps, then five. She clenched her teeth. She pushed away the awareness that she was much taller than the girl bobbing in and out of view. And heavier, by at least twenty pounds. Tight to her breast, Jada held the hope she would reach Bodi in time.

  When the ice gave way, the shock of freezing water was a surgeon’s knife. Precise, deep, a torturous assault.

  Water poured down Jada’s throat. Gagging, she clawed at the chunks of ice colliding with her shoulders and scraping against her face. She was like a child plunged down a well, with no way to safety. Flailing wildly, she grabbed vainly for purchase as the ice broke off in large chunks. She went under a second time, her energy fading in the bone-chilling water, her knees scraping the lake bed below. Pain scattered across her skin. She came up again with a sharp, guttural roar bellowing from her throat as the current pushed her closer to shore, pushed her through a seam in the ice to shallow water, allowing her to plant her feet.

  With the last of her strength, she struggled to heave herself upright. When she did, Jada sloshed back to the safety of the beach.

  Only to hear the crisp, killing sound of ice cracking out on the lake.

  Chapter 25

  Following the dim glow of her phone, Jada tiptoed
around the side of the house. Crickets chirped in the velvety blackness draping the yard.

  She settled on the deck’s top step, inhaled sharply. The air smelled sweetly of mown grass. Clouds floated across the waxing moon, gently drifting boats skimming the universe. A whole fleet drifted by before she sent the text.

  The light blinked on. The sliding glass door swished open.

  Philip joined her on the top step. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” he said, the pleasure thick in his voice.

  She plucked at the bathrobe pulled loosely across his chest. “Turning in soon?” He usually stayed up late on Saturday night.

  “Yeah. Planning to wake the munchkin early, get her to help me tear through the house. Millicent and Rosemary are coming over. I don’t want to leave the impression I’m raising their granddaughter in chaos central.”

  “Philip, they know you’re a single father juggling a lot. Run the vacuum through the living room, and leave it at that.”

  “Nope. Come morning, Fancy and I are in the marines. Polishing every buckle, making the place gleam. Her grandmothers deserve nothing less.”

  “I’ll come over and help.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “But you get bathroom duty. I haven’t been around lately to help Fancy with ‘bathtub time.’ I’m guessing the tub is covered in grime.”

  “I’m not enlisting you. Come over, but only to hang out. It’ll be fun watching the munchkin wow Rosemary and Millicent with a fashion show. My nutty kid started organizing costumes before she climbed into bed.” Dropping the subject, he drew a protective arm around her. “How did it go?”

  The affection he offered melted the tension pinging through her. Jada relaxed against him. She rested her hand on his thigh, glad for his quiet strength. He wouldn’t push for details she didn’t have the stomach to share.

  “It was hard, and kind of surprising. Rosemary kept herself together, even when I got to the awful parts. Millicent . . . not so much. She was sobbing when I finished.”

  “Funny how you never really know what goes on in a friend’s marriage,” Philip said. “I had Millicent pegged as the strong one.”

  “She is, in some respects. With Rosemary’s physical needs, obviously. The personal stuff? Rosemary is an awfully strong woman.”

  “I guess she’s had to be.”

  They drew silent. Philip’s hand wove gently across her back. The caresses gave Jada the courage she needed.

  At last, she looked at him. “I’m not ready to go into the details with you,” she admitted, “although I will at some point. I should’ve told you everything a long time ago. But there is something I need to tell you now.” Her lips were suddenly dry. A new wave of tension shuttled through her.

  He palmed the curls from her cheek. “Sure,” he murmured. “I’m listening.”

  “The day Bodi died, when she came to the inn? She was livid. Really furious.” Shame and self-loathing made Jada shut her eyes tightly. “She was furious at me. Laying on the horn in the parking lot. When I came out, she really tore into me.”

  The revelation shuddered distress through Philip’s chest. “She did?” He met her eyes with a look of concern. “I’ve always assumed she went up to the inn looking for me. Pissed off about something I did, looking for an argument.” He drew in an unsteady breath. “I don’t know why she confronted you, Jada. It never should’ve happened.”

  “I’ve been haunted by what she said—especially lately. Philip, she thought you were attracted to me, which didn’t make any sense at the time. But the way she raged at me . . . I don’t know. It’s almost like she knew. Like she had a premonition.”

  “A premonition of what?”

  “That someday I’d betray her memory by falling in love with you. Totally, completely, head over heels. I’ve been in love with you for months, nearly from the beginning, when Linnie asked me to start coming over to help you out.” Jada gave a watery laugh, which struck her as horribly inappropriate. Her heart felt cleaved in two at the wrongs she’d inflicted on his wife. “Bodi was my friend. I couldn’t save her on the lake, and I’m a strong swimmer—I should’ve been able to get to her in time. Now I’ve betrayed her again. I’m in love with her husband. I can’t rid myself of the guilt. Don’t tell me none of this makes sense. What my head knows doesn’t match up with what my heart feels.”

  “Hold on. You’re in love with me?” Disbelief colored Philip’s voice. He lifted his palms to his face, scrubbed hard. When he came up for air, her stomach clenched. He looked angry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Philip, I cared about Bodi,” she shot back. She couldn’t believe he’d asked. “She looked up to me like a big sister. She was my friend. It doesn’t matter if the two of you only got together because of Fancy.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “Before Millicent came to Sweet Lake and I screwed everything up. Why didn’t you tell me how you feel?”

  “I wanted to, Philip. I couldn’t.” In turmoil, she studied the night sky.

  The crickets broke off their singing. The silence they left behind was full and rich. A cloud slipped over the moon, sleek as a schooner, and drifted into a velvety sea.

  Philip took her chin, gently steered her eyes to his. “Jada.” He said her name firmly. A remarkable achievement since his expression was fluid. “The way we feel about each doesn’t betray my late wife or her memory.”

  “But Philip—”

  “No. You need to let this go. Bodi killed herself. She had a lot of problems. She’d gone off her meds. We didn’t even know she needed medication. You aren’t to blame.”

  Tears blurred her vision. “That’s not how it feels. How it’s ever felt.”

  “Take comfort in what she left behind. Bodi isn’t gone. She lives on in Fancy.”

  It was a beautiful thought, and Jada clung to it. “She does.”

  Philip brushed the tears from her eyes. “I love you.” He paused long enough for the words to sink in. “I always have.”

  He kissed her then, slow and sweet. His lips carried a thousand ardent messages. They flowed through Jada like a river, washing her clean.

  In the darkness, the crickets began to sing.

  Chapter 26

  A toy was not part of the deal.

  Smoothing the last fold in Linnie’s veil, Jada excused herself. The wedding would begin in fifteen minutes. The entire wedding party was milling around the ballroom, preparing to walk down to the patio. With an outdoor ceremony, hiding the bride wasn’t an option; they would assemble behind the rows of chairs where the guests waited. Then they’d proceed up the aisle to the greenery-festooned arbor Philip had built.

  At the clack of Jada’s heels nearing the table, guilt flashed through Fancy’s eyes. The child whipped the toy behind her back. A gift from Millicent and Rosemary, Jada presumed. They’d spent the entire week lavishing gifts on their new granddaughter.

  Jada patted the wicker basket she’d left on the table. “Fancy, you’re tossing out rose petals, remember? You’ll need both hands. One to hold the basket, and the other to throw the petals. Whatever you’re hiding behind your back, please leave it here. You can play with it after the ceremony.”

  “Why can’t I bring my toy?” Fancy thrust out her lower lip. “I’m a fairy godmother today.”

  “Do you have time to grow a third arm?” Jada channeled the child’s singsong voice. “I don’t think so.” Outside, the first chords from the harpist shivered through the air.

  “I don’t need three arms. I do fine with two.”

  “You’re silly. Granted, you’re awfully pretty in your dress, but that doesn’t make you less of a cuckoo bird.” Jada picked up the basket. “Watch. You’ll need both hands.”

  She demonstrated a gentle throwing motion. Best-case scenario, Fancy would let the petals flutter to the ground. Or she’d hurl big handfuls at the guests. The excitement of being center stage for thirty seconds might go to her head. There really was no telling.

  Finishing the demonstration,
Jada returned the basket to the table. “Okay, now show me how you’ll pull this off if you’re also holding a toy.”

  “You want me to practice?”

  “Not really. I want you to leave all toys in the ballroom. Please, sweetie. The wedding is about to begin.”

  Philip approached, brushed a kiss across Jada’s cheek. “Problems?” He looked dreamy in the black tux as he regarded her and then his daughter.

  Jada sent a frustrated hand toward her head. She stopped, remembering the baby’s breath twined in her curls. The sprays of tiny flowers were pretty. They were also irritating her scalp in the most vicious way. Not that she’d consider uttering a complaint. Linnie Wayfair was in an incredibly serene mood. No last-minute worrying, no fretting—which meant Jada was out serious cash. She’d lost the wager with Cat, Mr. Uchida, and nearly half of the Sirens. They’d all taken the bet, confident Linnie would greet her wedding day in a state of bliss.

  To Philip, Jada said, “Check out whatever your daughter is hiding behind her back.”

  He glanced at Daniel, standing at one of the ballroom windows. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered, bending toward his daughter. “What are you hiding, sugarplum?”

  “My new present. Penelope helped Grandma Rosemary make it for me. Millicent helped too.”

  “They made something for you? Can’t you play with it after the wedding?”

  Fancy shifted on her feet, and the foamy yards of her gown swayed. “I’m a fairy godmother today.” She gave her father a stubborn look. Evidently, she was already deep into her imaginative play. “I’ll make wishes on everyone. I’m good at making wishes, and I know what I’m doing. I’ll make them when I walk up.”

  “When you walk up the aisle?” Jada asked, touched by the child’s intention.

  Fancy nodded. “Wishes are more important than rose petals.”

  To emphasize the point, she drew the wand from behind her back. With big-girl authority, she wagged it before their startled faces. As she did, an unmistakable scent bloomed in the air.