October Snow

by Jenna Brooks

  “Jo, wait.”

  “Stay there with Sammy. Get out of sight.”

  “Jo…”

  “Max, just do it, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  As she approached the house, she made sure that she observed it from behind the trees and the flowering shrubs that lined the street. About a hundred feet away, she could see Jack clearly, half-crouching at the side of the house, hidden from view at the front of the building by the overgrown forsythias there.

  She moved closer, then pulled her phone out, snapping several shots of him.

  Her breathing was shallow, her heart pumping very fast, and she waited for a few moments before she yelled, “Hey, Jackie!”

  He stood bolt upright, looking back and forth, then in the direction of her voice. She waved gaily as he recognized her.

  “How’s it going?” She raised her phone again, snapping another picture.

  Jack took off around the back of the house, then appeared on the far side of the building, running full-tilt for his car. A small pickup truck blared, almost mowing him down as he crossed the street.

  “Okay, babe,” Jo called after him. “See you later.” Everything seemed to have that electric outline again, the over-defined aura that surrounded everything around her. It was something like a high.

  She waited until he was gone before she walked back to where Max and Sam were waiting.

  “All set,” she said, locking the pictures she had taken. “What a moron. Let’s go home.”

  Sam was looking anxiously down the street as Max stared at Jo, irritated.

  Jo arched her eyebrows. “What?”

  “What was up with that?”

  “Just documenting a violation.”

  “With some yahoo who’s dangerous enough to violate.”

  Jo gave her an odd look, not understanding her hostility. “Well, yeah–they’re usually the type of yahoos who do that, you know.”

  Max kicked impatiently at a bottle top, and started walking to the house.

  “And…?” Jo demanded, coming alongside her.

  She sped up, staring straight ahead.

  “Say it, Max.”

  “It was dangerous. Actually, it was reckless. Especially approaching him by yourself.”

  “I didn’t want Sammy there.”

  “I get that. But she…”

  “I’m not five years old, Jo,” Sam broke in. “I could have hidden really well, all by myself.”

  They walked silently for a few minutes. As they reached the house, Jo said, “Look, it makes no sense for two of us to confront him. What if he had a weapon?”

  “Exactly,” Max was exasperated, on the verge of yelling. “What if he had a gun? You could have called 911 from back there, and let the cops deal with him. He was obviously waiting, he wasn’t going anywhere.”

  “He would have run the minute he saw them, and where’s the proof then? And if he’s armed, and he takes us out, who’s the witness? The soon-to-be-ex who hates him?”

  Sam shook her head and sat on the porch railing; Jo had to look away from Max’s level stare. Something about Max’s expression, a mixture of concern, outrage, and compassion, made her feel exposed–like some part of her, the part that she refused to allow, was being laid bare.

  “Oh please, Jo. You did not think it through that far. You’re reaching so bad. You know that.”

  “You’re really starting to piss me off, Maxine.”

  “Well that’s interesting.”

  “Leave me alone.” Jo sat on the steps, turning her back to the two of them.

  Max sighed heavily as she sat beside her. “Honestly, Jo, I don’t know sometimes if you have a hero complex or a death wish.”

  She thought Jo almost cringed. She was staring at her feet, nervously rubbing her palms on her thighs. Max thought she was rubbing them hard enough to set them on fire.

  She reached over, covering Jo’s hand with her own. Jo looked up slowly, directly into her eyes.

  Max wondered if perhaps, she had said one thing too much. She felt an urgency to somehow take it back, like she had talked her way beyond an invisible, irretrievable point of sorrow.

  “We should call the cops,” she offered instead.

  “No, I was thinking we can use this as leverage.”

  It took Max a moment to understand what she was saying. “You mean threaten him to back off?”

  She nodded.

  “Yeah. That’ll work.”

  Jo was absentmindedly rooting around in her purse. “Sammy, give me your cigarettes. You can’t use them now anyway.” She turned to Max as Sam handed her the pack. “If he leaves us alone, we won’t tell. This time. Next time, he’d better bring a toothbrush.”

  “Problem is, we have to act on it, though, or we waive protection.”

  Jo blew out the smoke with a whoosh, laughing bitterly. “By the time that raging ass sees a lawyer and finds out, we should be out of here.”

  “True.”

  “We’re just buying time?” Sam asked, worried.

  “That’s all we can do, babe. Think of an Order of Protection as more of a chess piece than anything else.”

  “She’s right, Sammy.” Max took a cigarette for herself. “What we need now is to get you squared away, and then get out of here.”

  Sam slid off the porch rail, coming to sit between them. “I’m going to call Dave.”

  Jo pulled her phone out. “I’m going to call Liz.”

  “Liz?”

  “Why my mom?”

  “Need someone to get the message to Jack. We can’t call him.”

  Max gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, he will be running to her, won’t he?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sam moaned. “I just remembered I left all my work stuff at her house. Uniform, tag, shoes–all of it.”

  “We’ll go pick it up. I want to gauge her reaction anyway.”

  “See where she stands,” Max added.

  “Last I heard, she told me to go to hell.”

  Jo patted her on the leg. “I know, Sammy. But she can do damage if she sides with him, and I need to get a beat on her. See how safe she is.”

  Sam nodded. “I’m gonna go call Dave, and then get some dinner.” She stood up, stretching her arms over her head. “Is this day over yet?”

  “I know. Long one.” Max got up, holding her hand out to Jo. Pulling her to her feet, she met her eyes directly, and said, “I’m coming with you.”

  She took in the expression on Max’s face, and seemed to rethink something. Then she nodded. “Okay. We’ll get burgers on the way back. You want anything, Sammy?”

  She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Fast food? Doesn’t appeal right now, but thanks. I’ll find something here.”

  “We’ll call on our way back. Keep the door locked.”

  The traffic was unusually light for a Saturday evening, and they pulled up to Liz’s house twenty minutes later.

  “Uh, that’s–wow. What happened?” They exited the truck slowly, staring wide-eyed at Liz’s house.

  “Oh my…oh my gosh,” Jo blustered.

  Liz came out as they were halfway up the walk. She was holding a full tumbler of what appeared to be scotch. “Nice, huh?” she called out gaily.

  “Hey, the ‘slut’s’ trashed,” Max whispered, squinting at the slur painted on the front door.

  Jo nudged her. “Be good, Max. Don’t make me leave you in the truck.”

  “Someone did it last night,” Liz continued, comically unsteady. “Nice, huh?”

  “Any idea who?”

  “Yeah,” Max said softly. “I want to say thank…”

  Jo nudged her again, harder this time.

  “No, and the police department isn’t gunna to be, you know, looking, either.” She swallowed hard, looking like she had been crying, but her eyes were dry. “Can I get you girls a drink, something to drink?”

  “No, Liz, thanks.”

  “I’ll take one of whatever you’ve got there, Liz.”
r />   “You are not driving, Maxine,” she wagged her finger, “is that right?”

  “Only if Jo makes me drop her off on the corner of Ella and Central.”

  Jo burst into laughter at the reference to what the locals called “Hooker Central.”

  Liz was oblivious. “Be right back, girls,” she chirped.

  “Yeah, Liz, just put it in a to-go cup.” She grinned mischievously at Jo.

  “Max, the woman’s house was just used as a graffiti board. Be nice, will you?”

  Max shrugged. “Can’t help it.”

  Liz reappeared a few minutes later, walking gingerly with a very large, white styrofoam cup. It was overfilled with whiskey, some of which spilled onto the walkway before she could hand it to Max.

  “Thanks, Liz.” She raised the cup to Jo, and went to sit on the front steps. She downed about a quarter of her drink and then, looking at Jo cross-eyed, made a face and pretended to stick her finger down her throat.

  Jo stood on the walkway, trying to ignore her while talking with Liz, who–with her back to Max–didn’t see her pour the rest of the whiskey into the hydrangea by the front door.

  Jo rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to Liz. “Don’t you have any idea who did it? Enemy in the neighborhood, maybe?”

  “Jo, my dear, you know I don’t have…not one enemy any where.” She finished most of the glass. “Heavens, s’most empty again.”

  “Have you eaten anything?” Jo was watching Max study the paint on the front door.

  “I did…Yes, I had some soup.”

  “When?” She took Liz’s arm, walking her to the front door.

  “F’lunch.”

  “Let’s get you a meal.” She took the glass from her. “And coffee.”

  “Jo.” Max was waving her over.

  She left Liz in the foyer. “Go rest for a while. We’ll come in and make you an omelet or something.” She closed the front door quietly behind her, then turned to Max. “Yeah?”

  She pointed to the strange, orangey paint on the front door. “Where have you seen that weird color before?”

  Jo’s eyes widened as she recognized it. “Sammy’s dining room.”

  “That Jack painted.”

  “For two days, did the erstwhile Jack labor to paint that room, Maxine.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Jo whistled softly. “Interesting.”

  “Yeah,” Max sighed. “Wonder what else he has in mind.”

  Two hours later, the sun was setting, and they took their coffee out back to Liz’s patio. Liz smiled sheepishly as she sat at the round, wrought-iron table, her hands trembling slightly as she sipped from a white china cup. “I suppose I had too much scotch,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’m frightened to be here by myself tonight, knowing there’s someone out there targeting my house.” She looked mournfully at them, then jumped when, as if on cue, the kitchen phone started ringing. “Oh dear,” she sighed. “I’ll just let it go to voicemail.”

  “We do need to talk to you, Liz.” Jo took the chair closest to her, so Max could take the chair farther away, across the table. “How are you feeling?”

  She gave a dismissive wave. “I’m fine. Well,” she smiled again, “I’m better, anyway.” She took a delicate sip. “Samantha is staying with you?”

  “She is. She’s okay.”

  Liz raised her eyebrows nonchalantly. “I’m sure. She always makes certain of that.”

  Max was about to speak, but thought better of it and looked toward the house, tapping her foot.

  Jo was losing patience, as well. “Okay, Liz. Here’s the thing: that orange paint on your house…We know where it came from.”

  “Which means we know who did it,” Max was monotone, not really caring how Liz would feel about hearing the news. The biggest part of her hoped she would be upset.

  Liz set her cup down hurriedly, suddenly completely sober, and Jo wondered just how drunk she had truly been. “Okay, tell me.”

  “It was Jack.”

  Her eyes shifted to Max, then back to Jo. “Jack? What? How on earth would you know that?”

  Jo explained the paint matching the color of the dining room in Jack’s house. “It’s an unusual color, Liz. You haven’t seen it?”

  “No. Jack wasn’t much for having people over. Curious, with how much time he spent making the house just-so.”

  Not so curious, Jo thought.

  Liz was looking around nervously, running her hands through her short, silver hair. “Do you think he’ll come back tonight?”

  “I don’t know.” The phone started ringing in the kitchen again.

  “I’m going to answer that, girls. I’ll be right back.”

  They sat silently while Liz was gone. Max, hoping to leave soon, was still tapping her foot; Jo leaned her head in her hands, and then remembered that they needed to retrieve Sam’s work clothes. She mentioned it as Liz came back outside.

  “I’ll go get her stuff,” Max said, grateful for the chance to get away.

  Liz watched her leave for Sam’s room, not asking where she was going. “Strange girl,” she mumbled. She smiled at Jo then. “That was my friend Rhonda on the phone. I’m going over to stay with her tonight. I really don’t want to be here alone.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “And I’m getting an alarm system installed as soon as possible. That first call–that was Jack.” She looked at Jo anxiously. “He wants me to call him back.”

  “Are you going to?”

  She looked doubtful, then nodded and said, “I do want to know what he wants, especially if he’s the one who vandalized my house.”

  “Would you mind giving him a message from Max and me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Tell him that if he stays away from us, I’ll won’t be turning him in for violating the restraining order.”

  Liz opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, then asked, “What happened?”

  Jo explained everything, finishing just as Max appeared with Sam’s things. “But you can’t let him know that we specifically asked you to give him the message–just tell him we told you about it, and that’s what we’ve decided. Like you’re just giving him a friendly warning.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Liz said. Jo thought she had never seen Liz so unsure of herself. “Would you stay until Rhonda gets here?”

  “Sure. And thanks, Liz.”

  Jack’s phone went straight to voicemail. Jo was glad to hear Liz keep her voice steady, even firm.

  She hung up, motionless for a moment in front of the phone. The doorbell rang then, and she gasped, putting her hand to her chest. “I need to get out of here,” she said. She looked through the small pane at the top of the front door, smiling in relief. “It’s Rhonda,” she said.

  After introductions all around, Jo said, “Okay, Liz, we need to take off. You’re all set?”

  “I suppose…” Her voice trailed off, then she added, “Tell Samantha I said hello.”

  “We will.” Jo waited; Max was watching Liz with some interest. It seemed that she wanted to say more.

  “Just tell her…I said hello.” She gave Jo a brief, awkward hug, and then–in a moment that Max thought must have been mere nerves–reached over to her and lightly touched her cheek. “I’ll see you soon, girls.”

  They were almost home.

  Waiting at the intersection before the turnoff to their building, Jo thought that she had never been quite as worn out as she was at that moment. She rolled her shoulders, backward and forward, watching the people on the street. It was unusually crowded, even for a Saturday night–apparently, there was an important event going on at the Opera House. Women in expensive dresses, and men in suits and tuxedos were exiting there, milling about, greeting each other.

  It was an odd mixture: well-dressed couples, strolling in and out of the swankier restaurants; and then the blue-collar types, standing in the doorways of the taverns, smoking their cigarettes and calling out to the
ir friends. A couple of teenage boys hurried past the front of the truck, heads down, talking about something that was obviously very grim. One of them–the older one, in a gray hoodie–swiped at his eyes a couple of times, holding his hands out in front of him as though pleading for something.

  The hardware store still had its Christmas lights strung along the storefront overhang. Jo thought of her childhood Christmases: the colored lights strung between the lampposts over Main Street, and the snow glittering in the early twilight of December, when the days in her mountain town–the tiny village in northern Pennsylvania, which she hadn’t seen in decades–were only a few hours long.

  Her mother used to bake apple turnovers in the winter, every Sunday after church; she would wake her up with a cup of hot cocoa when it was snowing, and Jo would have to walk to school in the snow.

  Max yawned, ending with a loud groan. “We forgot to get dinner, Bim.” She looked over at her. “Hey, you’re tugging on your hair again.”

  Jo, unaware that she was twirling and pulling out strands of her hair, quickly dropped her hand to her lap. She rolled her neck around, stretching her legs as best she could behind the wheel. “That’s right.” She took a sudden left turn. “Burgers. Good enough?”

  “Anything. I’m starving here.”

  “Max?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Let’s get our stuff packed and hit the road.”

  Max grinned at her, then held out her fist.

  Jo rolled her eyes, laughing as she bumped her. “It’s time.”

  chapter 8

  IT SEEMED TO Jo that Sunday morning erupted more than it dawned. It arrived in brilliant, almost blinding sunshine and a rushing, warm breeze that blew the new leaves in circles on their branches.

  Although not uncommon in the Pennsylvania mountains where she grew up, she hadn’t seen many days like that in New Hampshire. There was no languishing overcast waiting to dry up, not a cloud anywhere at all as the day moved beyond the night, with the sunlight cutting through the dawn as if it took the night by force. The clarity, that early in the day, cast an odd light that illuminated shadows normally untouched, giving the world an ethereal, crystalline glow.

  She and Daisy went for a long walk that morning, just after sunrise, when no one else was on the street yet. There was something golden about that morning, and it was a memory that Jo wanted to keep just for herself.