The Ice Cradle

by Mary Ann Winkowski

  Trapped in his own personal circle of Dante’s hell, he may not have wanted to leave. But when she finally died, he had no way to leave. Or maybe he harbored just the tiniest fear that there would be an afterlife, and his furious wife would be waiting for him! They might both be there! Then what would he do?

  I couldn’t say any of this, of course. Nor did I have the heart to probe the matter any further. I would have taken his arm if I could have, but you can’t take a ghost by the arm. Slowly and quietly, we walked toward the lights of the town.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HENRY WAS WIRED. His evening had involved Coca-Cola, apparently unlimited access to M&Ms, and a trampoline—how had I managed to miss that in the backyard?—and within minutes of picking him up, I knew that it would be at least two hours before his buzz wore off. To complicate matters further, Vivi was waiting for us on the front steps of the Grand View. She flew excitedly toward us the minute we came into view.

  “Where did you go?” she asked Henry accusingly.

  “My friends’,” he answered, a little smugly.

  “Who?” she demanded.

  “Kara and Louisa,” he replied. “They’re sisters.”

  The woebegone look that appeared on Vivi’s face made me feel like giving my son a good clip. He was being mean on purpose, and enjoying it.

  In moments like this, my father would fix us with a stony stare and intone, slowly, “I ought to give you a good …” Once in a while, he’d draw his hand back as though this time, he really was going to give somebody a good … But the threat was usually enough to stop misbehavior in its tracks.

  On the rare occasion that it wasn’t, Dad would add, “Go ahead. Keep it up.” The unspoken end of this sentence was and you’re going to be really, really sorry. Not even Jay, the boldest of the three of us, ever dared to cross this line.

  “Yes, well, the playdate’s over now,” I said curtly. “And how are you today, Vivi?”

  “They have a trampoline,” Henry added.

  I turned and gave him a flinty look. “Knock it off.”

  “What?” His expression said, I’m not doing anything! What’s your problem?

  “You know what,” I answered.

  He made a face. I decided to let it go. My mind was racing ahead to what the next two hours were going to be like. I had hoped to get him to bed as soon as possible so I could call Aitana with my news, but that wasn’t going to happen, not with Henry this jazzed up. I had to wear him out a little. Abruptly, I made a decision.

  “You guys want to take a midnight walk on the beach?” I asked. It wasn’t anywhere near midnight, but I knew that the word would add excitement to the idea.

  “Yeah!” Henry shouted.

  “Yeah!” Vivi echoed.

  “Okay,” I said. “Can I trust you to wait right here on the steps while I run upstairs and change? I’ll be back in one minute.”

  “Okay,” Henry said.

  “Right here? I mean it.”

  “Yeessss,” he said. “But hurry up.”

  “I just want to get jackets.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “Well you might be in a few minutes. And I want to put my jeans on.”

  “Would you go?” he said freshly. One more flip answer and I would have to crack down.

  I dashed inside. Lauren was nowhere in sight, and as I passed the window in the upstairs hall, I caught a glimpse of her and Mark out back by the barn, illuminated by the glow of the back porch light. I closed the door of our room behind me, pulled off my boots, and peeled off my sweater and dress. I grabbed my jeans from the back of the chair, slid them on, stepped into my running shoes—Running! Ha!—and pulled a heavy turtleneck out of my suitcase. I could hear the kids on the front porch, whooping and shrieking about something, so I sat on the edge of the bed for a second, sifting through the binding materials that had arrived earlier.

  The rich, heavy paper ranged in color and texture from the tone and feel of a supermarket bag to the creamy, polished vellum of formal stationery. I was eager to open the various packets and pore over the fliers for boxes and mats, and I suddenly regretted having offered to take the kids for a walk. The room was warm and the bed intoxicatingly inviting. I lay back against the pile of pillows and closed my eyes, dreading the prospect of going back outside. But it was too late now.

  I know I didn’t fall asleep. I couldn’t have had my eyes closed for more than fifteen or twenty seconds.

  But suddenly, I sat up. Something was wrong.

  I couldn’t hear the kids.

  My heart thumping wildly, I raced down the hall and down the stairs. I purposely called up images of Vivi and Henry sitting right there on the steps, whispering confidentially, or waiting patiently in the Adirondack chairs in the side yard. But I already knew I wouldn’t see them, and the minute I stepped outside onto the porch, my intuition was confirmed.

  “Henry!” I shouted, trying not to panic. “Henry!”

  He was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Vivi.

  My first thought was that Mark or Lauren had come around the side of the house, and the kids had followed them out back. I sprinted across the front lawn, peering toward the barn. But in the shadow of the side trees, which all but blocked the pale light offered by the moon and the stars, I couldn’t see anything or anybody.

  I’d had moments like this before, of course. Every parent has. Your child is right there beside you, and then, in the blink of an eye, he’s gone. Panic rises like a tsunami, and horrible images fly through your mind. He’s in the back of a stranger’s van, having been spirited away while you were chatting with another mother at the playground. He’s lying somewhere, unconscious and bleeding profusely, perhaps in the street, as a car speeds away, or under the branch of a tree he was climbing. And then, after a hallucinatory moment or two, you find him: playing in the little clubhouse under the climbing structure, or absorbed in a drama involving stick swords, oblivious to the sound of your voice.

  Tonight, though, I wasn’t finding him. But as I ran toward the back of the house, I heard a far-off little shriek. I stopped in my tracks, breathing raggedly.

  I heard it again. It was Henry. And it was coming from the direction of the beach.

  I turned and raced toward the road, a winding boulevard that encircles the island and echoes the shape of the coastline. I couldn’t see Henry, or Vivi, for that matter, but I could hear him now, and the sounds he was making were chilling.

  I raced across the street and scrambled up onto the breakwater. There he was, down in the water, splashing through the shallow waves as fast as his legs would carry him. Vivi was right there with him, chasing him and swooping around, flying right at him in a way that caused him to dart and stumble in the water, covering his face with his hands.

  “Henry!” I screamed. “Stop!”

  “Mama!” he shrieked as Vivi let out a ferocious laugh, a sound that startled even me. It was shrill and sharp and otherworldly, like a ghostly hyena braying before its intended victim. Henry regained his footing and started to run. Vivi flew right behind him. She was chasing him in the direction of the rocks.

  “No!” I screamed. “Stop! Vivi! Henry!”

  I jumped down from the wall and tried to run in the sand. Henry was only a few hundred feet away from me, but he was nearing the black and no doubt slippery rocks, and I felt the way you feel in a dream, when the normal motions of walking or running just don’t move you forward the way they do in life. I made a diagonal dash for the water’s edge, seeking the compacted sand.

  Henry had reached the rocks by now, and I saw him lean over and use a hand to steady his progress. He began to scale the middling rocks that led to the shiny boulders stretching out into the sea.

  “Vivi!” I screamed. “Stop it! Right now!”

  Henry turned at the sound of my voice, and the motion caused him to slip sideways and go thumping down onto one of the rocks. He let out a little cry as Vivi alighted on a nearby boulder. Perhaps shocked into stillnes
s by the sudden awareness that the game had gotten out of control and her playmate—or prey—could really hurt himself, Vivi stood still and silent. But as though a switch had been thrown in a primitive neurological center governing self-preservation, Henry continued to scramble upward and toward the water. She might have stopped, but he was getting away. As far away as possible.

  I knew he wouldn’t listen, couldn’t listen, even to me. So as I neared the rocks, I watched in terror as he scrambled farther and farther out over the crashing black sea. Twice, he slipped, landing, sliding on his bottom before scrambling once again to his feet and heading farther into the darkness. I could barely see him. There were stars in the sky, but clouds had covered the fingernail moon.

  “Henry! Stop!” I said anyway. “Mama’s here! It’s all right.”

  He wheeled around.

  “Get out of here!” I growled at Vivi. “Go! Now!”

  I must have sounded a like a monster myself, because she disappeared immediately.

  “She’s gone,” I screamed, reaching the rocks and scrambling toward my son, using my hands to steady my progress toward the flat and substantial boulders. “Honey! Stop! Do not move! Stay right there!”

  And then I witnessed the second miracle of my life, the first being the birth of the creature who was scrambling into the darkness not fifteen feet from me.

  He stopped. And he turned. And before he could be snatched away by the wind or the sea or the rocks and the slime, I had him in my arms.

  “She was chasing me,” he explained. He was sitting up in bed in his pajamas. I’d calmed him down with a long, hot bath, after which he climbed into my lap as I sat in the rocker by our window, trying to collect myself and figure out what to say. I’d wrapped him in a down comforter and rocked him slowly, and even when tiny beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead and upper lip, and he tossed off the comforter, he still seemed to cling to the comfort.

  “I know,” I said. “Do you have any idea why?”

  He shook his head.

  “None?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, I do. You hurt her feelings and she was mad at you.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You rubbed it in that you were off having a fun playdate. That made her feel sad and lonesome. And maybe a little mad. Because I don’t think she has a lot of friends.”

  “Yeah, because she’s mean.”

  “No,” I corrected, though at that moment, I would have loved to have wrung her scrawny little neck. “Because not very many people can see her.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  The moment had come. We had to have the conversation. I took a deep breath.

  “Okay, sweetie,” I began. “You know how—some people are really good at baseball and some people can play the piano?”

  “Or drums,” he offered.

  “Yeah. Drums, or flute or …” I drew a blank: should I go with a sports metaphor? A music metaphor?

  “Dancing,” he continued.

  “Sure, yeah, dancing! Well, that’s called a talent.”

  “What is?”

  “Being really good at something not everybody can do. It’s almost like a—present just for you.”

  “From who?”

  “From … God.” I gulped.

  “But you still have to practice,” he offered sagely.

  “Yeah.”

  Might as well aim for the bull’s-eye.

  “In our family, we have a very special talent. We can do something almost nobody in the world can do. We can …”

  I panicked. How should I finish the sentence? See ghosts? Talk to earthbound spirits? Help people who have died? Henry looked so puzzled and trusting. I deeply disliked being in the middle of this conversation.

  “We can talk to ghosts,” I finally said, struggling to keep my voice cheerful and casual.

  “Is Vivi a ghost?” he asked.

  “She is. So was Silas.”

  He gave me a disbelieving look. “He was?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  He took a moment to absorb this. I reminded myself not to overwhelm him with information, but just to answer his questions directly and honestly.

  “I never see Silas anymore,” he said.

  “He went away,” I explained.

  “Where did he go?”

  “He crossed over.”

  “To where?” Henry asked. “Heaven?”

  Oh. So he had the general contour of an understanding. Someone lived, died, became a ghost, and went to heaven.

  I paused. “As far as I know.”

  We sat in silence for several moments. “Is there anything you want to ask me?” I finally said.

  “Can Daddy see ghosts?” Henry asked.

  I shook my head.

  “You said our family,” he shot back.

  “On my side,” I explained.

  “Then who?” he demanded. “Pop?”

  “No. Just you, me, and Nona.”

  I could see he didn’t like this, so I added quickly, “Pop has other talents. And so does Daddy.”

  “Like what?”

  “Daddy? Well, what do you think?”

  “He’s a good driver. He’s good at putting up the tent.”

  “And …,” I prodded.

  “And he makes good cocoa. And … he’s a good policeman.”

  “And what about Pop?”

  Henry hesitated, and my heart sank a little. Henry seldom sees my father, and when he does, it’s not for long.

  “He tells funny jokes. He makes good pancakes.”

  “Chocolate chip,” I said.

  “Yeah, and he makes his letters nice. Nice and—square.”

  I smiled. My father has beautiful handwriting, and even nicer printing.

  “So you see,” I said, “everybody’s good at different things. If Pop’s talent was to talk to ghosts like you and me and Nona, you’d never get chocolate chip pancakes.”

  This seemed to settle everything.

  “So now, let me ask you a question,” I said.

  Henry sat up straight. He was kind of getting into this.

  “When you walk down the street,” I said, “do you see lots of ghosts?”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “What does a ghost look like?”

  “Like a regular person, but like Silas and Vivi.”

  “You mean see-through?”

  Yeah, I meant see-through. “That’s right.”

  “Then … lots,” he said.

  I caught my breath.

  “But you don’t talk to them,” I said.

  “Only to the kids. Sometimes.”

  “That’s good. That’s a good idea. Plenty of time for that later.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “Talking to grown-up ghosts.”

  “Okay.”

  “And there’s just one more thing,” I said. “I know it might feel hard, but this has to be kind of a secret. At least for now. The fact that I see ghosts and you do and Nona does.”

  “How come?”

  “Because lots of people are afraid of ghosts. It would make them really scared if they knew how many ghosts were around all the time. It might even make them afraid of you. Or me!”

  “Whaaa?” he said, in a cartoon character voice.

  “I know, crazy, right?” I didn’t remind him that an hour earlier, a ghost had practically driven him into the ocean. “It’s because of everything on TV and in the movies, all that stuff those movie people make up. You and I know the truth.”

  “And Nona.”

  “Right. And Nona.”

  I could see how tired he was getting, and now a fretful look came over his features.

  “Daddy?” he whispered.

  “What about Daddy?”

  “It’s a secret …?”

  I sighed, took him back into my arms, and shook my head.

  “Nothing,” I said, “is ever a secret from Daddy.”

  Vivi never came back that night. She pr
obably didn’t dare.

  I waited for Henry to fall asleep and then searched through my bag for the cocktail napkin on which I had written Aitana’s cell phone number. It was nearly ten thirty. Normally I wouldn’t call someone this late, but people who cater parties and work in restaurants are up half the night. She was probably still at the senator’s house.

  The phone rang six, seven, eight times. I was mentally rehearsing the message I was about to leave when I heard her voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Aitana? It’s me, Anza. Can you talk?”

  “Oh, Anza! Sure! Hold on.” I heard some clanging of pans and a door slamming shut. It was suddenly quiet at her end, and I suspected she had stepped outside. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  “We’re just packing up. Did you have any luck?”

  “I didn’t find the house, but I think I found the street.”

  “You did?” She sounded excited. “Where?”

  “Ballard’s Way. About half a mile from the center of town.”

  “I know where it is. It’s a little short street, right?”

  “Yeah. I was right on their tail until this dog came out of nowhere.”

  “I’ll ask Bert to take me,” Aitana said.

  “Maybe you should just call the police,” I suggested warily.

  “And say what?” she asked. “I told them I couldn’t describe the couple in the car, and now I’m claiming to recognize them? Oh, hold on a sec.”

  I heard a muffled conversation at her end. When she came back on, she said, “Sorry, we’re just finishing up here. Thank you so much.”

  “No problem. Let me know what happens.”

  “We’re seeing you tomorrow, aren’t we?”

  “We are?”

  “Lauren asked us over for supper. I know she’s planning to invite you.”

  “Great,” I said, before hanging up.

  Great, indeed.

  I wanted to sleep, but I wanted to think.

  So Henry had the gift, if you could call it that. Now that I really thought about it, there had been some clues.