by Brent, Cora
“What are you doing to Florence?” Evan wanted to know.
“Uncle Syler is going to tell Florence he loves her,” Gretel said. She giggled. I wondered if I was the butt of a joke in the mind of my five-year-old niece. If so, that was fine.
“You should take your hat off,” Chloe observed, having entered the room to offer her two cents. She pushed her glasses up her nose and placed her hands on her hips. “It will seem more sincere.”
“Yeah.” Even bobbed his head. “More sincere.”
I removed my baseball cap. Florence yawned, proving she couldn’t care less about all of this effort on her behalf.
“She’s waiting.” Gretel was becoming impatient.
This had to rank among the top five silliest things I’d ever done. I was doing it anyway.
“Florence.” I reached out a hand to touch her gnarly paw.
The cat bared her teeth and hissed at me.
Drew emerged from the kitchen with stacks of homemade cookies in each hand. He chuckled in the background.
I decided to go all in and just get this over with. “Florence, I love you more than words can express.”
“She’s sort of deaf,” Chloe informed me. “You need to say it louder.”
“I love you,” I told the hissing cat.
Gretel bounced on her knees. “Louder!”
The front door opened.
“I LOVE YOU!”
And Katrina walked inside.
Her cheeks were red from the cold and her windswept hair spilled over her thick scarf. She looked excellent, as usual. Then again, I couldn’t remember a time when Katrina Feldman didn’t look good to me.
Her eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of the sight of me on my hands and knees and proclaiming my devotion to an ugly animal while the kids encircled me with laughter.
“What’s going on here?” Katrina wanted to know, peeling off her layers of winter wear. Underneath her jacket she wore a festive red sweater that was cut all the way to her neck but molded her curves so successfully I had trouble tearing my eyes away.
Gretel bounded over to her beloved Aunt Katty and hugged her legs. “Uncle Syler is playing with Florence.”
Katrina smiled down at the child and adjusted a red and green ribbon that was valiantly trying to hold Gretel’s ponytail in place. “Let’s fix this.”
“Uncle Syler did my hair today,” Gretel said. “I told him the ponytail keeps falling out but he tried.”
“I tried,” I agreed, climbing to my feet.
Katrina’s smile vanished when she glanced my way. Her attitude toward me had grown even chillier since the other night, following a tense, sexually charged conversation in the company of a broken garbage disposal. I worried I’d crossed a line, acting like I was going to drop my pants in the kitchen. I was just messing around with her. I wouldn’t have done that, not really.
At least not until she asked me to.
There was no excuse for my behavior but she’d startled me. Maybe I should have been expecting her to appear in the kitchen wearing some satin lingerie sex invitation that jerked my dick awake but I hadn’t. She was slightly tipsy, flustered when I teased her, and I couldn’t help myself. I behaved badly.
For too long this had been my standard Katrina-based operating procedure:
Deploy sarcasm.
Try to anger her.
Succeed in angering her.
Deflect with sexual innuendo.
Pretend none of the above had ever occurred.
I could use a new strategy.
“Where’s Gem?” I asked.
Katrina finished repairing Gretel’s wayward ponytail. “She’s down at the warehouse boxing up the last of the jelly orders for local deliveries. She’s got her part time helper there now so she asked me to come home and start baking up a gingerbread storm for the event.”
The day after tomorrow was Gloria’s Cookie Capers, a thirty year old tradition started by my grandmother. I still got a pang every time I thought about how Gloria McKnight would spend days beforehand decorating and busily baking one cookie batch after another. Long tables would be set up here in the living room to be piled with plate after plate of cookies from the attendees. Representatives from the local animal rescue organization and the food bank would always be invited to collect monetary donations. There would be music and laughter and eating. Then everyone would get to pile their plates high with a variety of cookies and anyone who wished to participate in Christmas caroling would meet up at the town square. Gloria’s Cookie Capers was every bit as corny and old-fashioned and magnificently small town as anything could get. Gloria would be so proud to know that her granddaughter was keeping up the tradition.
She might not be as proud of one of her grandsons.
“You didn’t have to come rushing back here,” I told her. “I mixed up a couple of batches of gingerbread already.”
Katrina was doubtful. “You know how to make gingerbread?”
“Well, I never finished my degree in baking but luckily I’m just smart enough to figure out how to follow written instructions.”
She remained stone-faced, evidently in no mood for my witty comebacks.
Then she redirected her attention to the children and her face lit up once more. “Who wants to help me decorate the gingerbread people?”
“ME!”
“Me!”
“Meeee!”
“Me.”
Katrina herded all the kids into the kitchen. Apparently even Drew was dying to help bake cookies. The last one to leave the room was Chloe.
She was looking at me with vague disapproval. “Uncle Syler, did you know that your shirt is buttoned wrong?”
I hadn’t known that. But when I glanced down I saw that she was right. My favorite freshly washed red and black checked flannel had been fastened too hastily this morning. Gemma had already left for the warehouse and the twins were demanding scrambled eggs for breakfast so I was in a hurry.
“I’ll fix it,” I promised her and she nodded with satisfaction that her uncle wasn’t quite a lost cause.
The kitchen sounded like a hub of happy activity. Katrina’s voice carried over the kids’ excited questions and comments. She was giving patient instructions on how to roll out the dough and cut the shapes.
I moved Princess Snowball out of the armchair by the fireplace and took a seat. Elsewhere in the room, Florence remained unimpressed by my earlier show of affection. The cat watched me with distinct disgust for a moment, then turned her head to stare into the fireplace.
Since my arrival I’d really learned to appreciate how tough it was to keep four kids fed, safe and entertained. It was giving me a sense of profound respect for my sister.
Russell had finally called yesterday to talk to the kids. I didn’t listen in to what was said but both Chloe and Evan were crying after their turns, although Chloe tried to hide her face in a book and sniffle to herself. She cheered up when I asked her to help me build a snowman in the front yard. He was still there. Seven feet tall and wearing a red cap and silk scarf donated by Aunt Katty.
I was painfully aware there was only so much I could do to keep the kids’ minds off the absence of their father. I still wouldn’t mind taking a road trip to Syracuse to choke the shit out of the guy. It wouldn’t help anyone. But it gave me something cheerful to think about.
The door to the kitchen flung open and my tribe of nieces and nephews bounded back into the room.
“How long?” Chloe shouted back to the kitchen.
“Twenty minutes,” Katrina answered from somewhere unseen.
“Snowball fight,” Evan crowed, running for the front door.
“We’ve got to wait for the cookies to cool before decorating them,” Drew explained to me as he zipped up his thick winter jacket. “So we’re going out in the yard for a quick snowball fight.”
“Hold on,” I said to the twins, who were both about to go running out into the snow wearing only sweaters and socks. “Boots. Jackets.
Gloves. The whole nine yards.”
The two older kids were capable of dressing themselves but I helped Gretel and Evan get bundled up while they wriggled with impatience.
Gretel shoved Beansy in my face and asked if the doll could come outside too.
“Sure,” I said. I looked at Drew. “Can you handle the crew on your own?”
He was insulted I’d asked the question. “Yeah, Mom lets me watch them outside all the time.”
“All right. Stay in the yard though.”
The twins followed their big brother out into the snow.
Chloe jammed a big pom hat over her ears. “You didn’t fix your shirt.”
“You’re right.”
“You don’t want to look sloppy, Uncle Syler.”
“I sure don’t. Go play. I promise I’ll commit to some self improvement by the time you return.”
She smiled. “Okay, good.”
Then she skipped out into the cold with her sister and brothers. I shut the door and moved to the large bay window to keep an eye on them. The sky was clear, although the snow on the ground wouldn’t be melting anytime soon.
Remembering my promise to Chloe, I checked out the hack job I’d done in dressing myself. The hem of my white t-shirt peeked out underneath the flannel, the buttons misaligned all the way up. Chloe was right. I was a slob. A fact that was confirmed when I unbuttoned my flannel and discovered my white t-shirt sported a giant coffee stain that I didn’t recall acquiring. Probably the universe getting revenge after I made fun of Katrina’s wine spill. I shrugged out of the flannel and yanked the t-shirt over my head.
“Again?” Katrina’s incredulous voice signaled her withdrawal from the kitchen.
I spun around.
She stood eight feet away, shaking her head with disgust. “You’re taking your clothes off again? I left the freshly laundered shirt that I’d borrowed on your bed this morning so I know you’re not out of clothes, Syler. If I didn’t know better I’d say you suffered from some kind of an exhibitionist complex.”
Her words were flung out with a bite to them but she couldn’t quite thwart the betrayal of her eyes. They admired my chest, my arms, and for a split second swept lower before she cleared her throat and got control of them.
My instinct was to bite back. And to keep biting until she was all rattled and flushed.
I choked that instinct and simply replaced my shirt, taking care to button it correctly this time. I even rolled up the sleeves and tucked it in.
Katrina watched the process and raised an eyebrow, probably wondering what I was up to. I never let a mocking comment go by when there was an opportunity to retort with a better one.
“How’s the gingerbread turning out?” I asked.
She joined me at the window, only so she could watch the kids. “Good. You did a decent job on the dough so I rolled it out and cut it into shapes. The first batch is done but needs to cool before it can be decorated.”
“Or the icing will melt.”
She glanced at me with some surprise.
“See?” I said. “I know stuff.”
We stood so close. If I moved three inches to my left our arms would touch.
“Like how to fix garbage disposals,” she agreed. “By the way, that was my fault.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
Katrina threw me a look but then she broke into a small smile. There was a blob of cookie dough in her hair. She was startled when I reached out.
“Relax,” I said, seizing the offending dough. “Just trying to help you out.”
She saw what I had in my hand and made a face, smoothing her hands over her hair. “I don’t think I’ve looked in a mirror since yesterday. I guess I’m kind of a mess.”
“Never,” I said, then decided to be honest. “You’re beautiful. You always have been.”
A shriek came from the front yard. All three of Drew’s younger siblings were pelting him with snowballs. He accepted the attack heroically.
Katrina said nothing. She had to have heard me. We were the only people in the room. And I’d spoken out loud. Or at least I thought I did. But she didn’t so much as flinch.
“You want to know something?” I asked her.
She was wary. “I’m not sure.”
“When we were kids I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.” I paused. “I still think that, Katrina.”
“Shit,” she whispered.
Admittedly, that was not the answer I was expecting. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. But in my experience ‘Shit’ was an unusual response to paying a girl a compliment.
Katrina left my side and leaned against the wall beside the fireplace. She was pale and looked like she really needed the wall at her back for support. The moment had become awkward. Usually I got a kick out of awkward moments, but not after I’d just spilled my sappy guts out. At times like this awkwardness was not the best feeling.
I peered out the window, saw the kids were still have a blast pelting their big brother, and then opted to diffuse the tension by moving to the kitchen. Maybe by the time I returned Katrina would have forgotten my confession and she’d no longer look like she’d just been thwacked by a Christmas tree.
A large ball of dough was sitting on a heavily floured cutting board. I grabbed a wooden pin and began rolling it out. I might as well make myself useful while I hid out in here.
The door opened and Katrina thundered inside.
“You absolutely cannot do that,” she announced.
I stopped rolling. “What am I doing, handling the dough wrong?”
“To hell with the dough! You said something nice.”
“Oh.”
“And then you walked away.”
“Yeah.”
Katrina huffed and crossed her arms. “You’re screwing with my head.”
“By saying something nice?”
“Yes!”
“I can say something mean now if that would make you happy.”
“It might. You’re not nice to me.”
“I was nice to you a minute ago. Apparently the experience was not to your liking.”
She shook her head in disgust. “I hate the way we are with each other.”
There was no time for me to figure out what she meant because Gemma came home and the kids came rushing in after her. Katrina and I exchanged a long stare and seconds later the kitchen was full of people wanting to paint icing faces on gingerbread men.
I was just taking up space so I retreated to the living room. I was in the middle of cleaning up a trail of crumbs one of my beloved nieces or nephews had left behind when Gemma joined me.
“Did you get your orders done?” I asked her as she plopped down on the couch and pulled her boots off.
“Yup. It was a productive day. I even called The Units. And Ryland. I think he was more upset than they were. The Units were concerned but really just wanted to return to their Arctic Circle bliss. Ry offered to fly out but I know he’d just be thinking of work the whole time. He sounded relieved when I told him I was being taken care of by you and Katrina.”
I picked up a crushed sticker that was lying on the floor near Florence. She hissed to remind me of my status in her world.
I joined my sister on the couch. There was something I wanted to talk to her about, something that was weighing on my mind more every day.
Gemma turned to me with curious eyes, perhaps sensing that I was struggling with an important topic. We’d always been good at reading each other’s moods.
“I don’t have much of a life in Philly,” I admitted. “I keep a low profile. I work all the time in my hole of an apartment. I know a few guys I shoot the shit with at the corner sports bar on occasion. Every now and then I indulge in some kind of meaningless fling that never goes anywhere because I don’t want it to.”
She was still listening, probably wondering why I was sharing this bleak picture of my life.
“Gem, I can work from anywhere. I can work from he
re.”
She smiled. “You always said you’d never come back to Maple Springs.”
“Yeah, I did. And I thought that was true. But now Maple Springs is the only place I really want to be. It’s where my family is.”
Those words meant everything to her. I could see it in the way she struggled not to allow her eyes to fill with tears. She wiped one away.
“If I was a good big sister I’d tell you not to restructure your life for me, Sy.”
“You’re the best big sister. And you’ve given me the best nieces and nephews. Which is why I want to come home.”
She was openly crying now. “I won’t lie. We would really love that.”
Gemma was still wiping away her tears when an outrage erupted in the kitchen.
“You smeared my gingerbread man! Aunt Katty, help!”
Gemma laughed and rose from the couch. “I should go see what that’s about before things turn violent.”
She returned to the kitchen to rescue mutilated gingerbread men, although from what I could hear Katrina had everything under control. The kids worshipped her. And to Katrina’s credit, she obviously loved them all every bit as much as I did.
A few minutes later, Gretel drifted into the living room, followed by Evan.
“Why aren’t you guys decorating cookies?” I asked them.
“It got boring,” Gretel said. Her brother yawned.
Gretel picked up her Princess Snowball book and carried it over. “Uncle Syler, can you read this to me?”
Sure I could. Actually, I could recite it from memory. And I’d never think of refusing.
“You do the voices really good now,” Gretel said, which was high praise.
Evan joined us on the couch as I opened up the book and launched into the adventures of Princess Snowball. A flash of red caught my eye and I glimpsed Katrina edging into the room. She hovered by the door for a few minutes and seemed content to just observe the way I was snuggled up with the twins. Maybe she just wanted to hear the final fate of Princess Snowball. Or maybe she had something to say but didn’t want to interrupt the story.
Princess Snowball was nearing the end of her adventures and Katrina remained a silent spectator. Since I already had the dialogue memorized I looked up from the page. Our eyes met. There was a lot of unspoken heat packed into that one glance and a peculiar feeling burned in my chest.
