October Snow

by Jenna Brooks

  “Nah. It gets too boring too fast. I was just in a weird mood today.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Jody’s?”

  “Sounds good. Hey, let’s walk. It’s gorgeous out.”

  “That’s going to take fifteen minutes. I’m famished.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be good for us.” She tugged playfully on Jo’s hair. “Keep you looking young.”

  She waved her off. “Yeah, whatever.”

  Outside, Jo picked up a forsythia stem that had fallen to the pavement, holding it up to the sunlight, enjoying the translucency of its petals. “You get a call from Sammy?”

  “Yup. Pretty cool.”

  “Think they’ll finally get back together this time?”

  “They may as well.”

  They walked in silence for a minute.

  “I like growing older,” Jo mused.

  Max laughed. “Now there’s a shift in topic.”

  “I like all the things I’ll never have to do again.”

  “Uh huh. Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Date. Look for a partner. Worry about turning forty. Or fifty. Or a career. Sex.”

  Max hooted, turning to look at her. “You know that people who aren’t that well acquainted with you think you’re gay.”

  “Yeah, and they think I’m gay for you.”

  She grinned. “Aren’t you?”

  “Told you, Sammy’s my dream girl.”

  Max snorted. “Always the comeback.” She watched a seagull fly in a lazy circle, landing on a lamppost. “Not so many hard decisions to make.”

  Jo looked over at her, shaking her head. “No, it’s more like there’s no reason to have to make any decisions. I already did that, you know? And now, at this point, I live out the results.”

  Max hated it when she talked like that. “You sound like it’s all over.”

  “Well, the foundation is set.” She smiled a greeting at a young woman, whom she recognized as a tenant at their apartment house. “Now, I’m on a course.”

  Max thought that there were many times, especially lately, when Jo seemed to be trying to say something, but just couldn’t find her way through her own philosophical wanderings to the truth. She thought again of the beach house. “Get any packing done?”

  “Some. I’m not sure what to take.” They were almost to the diner. “Get whatever you want, okay?”

  “Actually, Bim, this one’s on me. I’m getting a freeloader complex these days.”

  “Great. Then I’m about to order a big, fat breakfast.”

  There was an open booth just to the right of the entry, and they slid into it as a waitress tossed down the wraps of silverware. “Be right back, ladies,” she said cheerfully. “Coffees?”

  “Thanks.” Max watched her bustle away. “It’s the weirdest thing, not having to run around getting ready for work.”

  “I love it.” The fifties-style metal table was designed with a laminate top, placed over a collage of ads for local businesses. Jo was reading it, like she had done a hundred times before. “So what are you gonna do next?”

  Max shrugged. “I’ll think about it later.”

  “Good.” She smiled. “Lots of time to do that.”

  “Although,” Max went on, “I was looking into financial aid last night.”

  “College? Really?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. Hey, I know some stuff.”

  The coffee arrived, with the waitress again promising to be right back. Max rolled her eyes and said, “I’m not going back to a job like this, that’s for sure.”

  “What would you go into?”

  “I’d finish my Theology degree, and my minor in Philosophy.”

  Jo sipped her coffee, surprised by a sudden feeling of longing. “Highbrow stuff, Bim.”

  “Yeah. But I was pulling a three-point-eight back in the day.”

  “What would you do after? Teach?”

  She shook her head. “Law school.” She glanced at Jo, gauging her reaction, but unable to discern one.

  The waitress reappeared, and they gave her their orders. Max watched her retreating back, thinking she walked as if her feet hurt. “What about you?” she asked.

  “No plans. None at all.”

  “Well, yet, you mean.”

  “Yeah. Yet.”

  “Taking some of that lovely time we have, huh?”

  Jo paused, considering it. “I do want to wing it for a while. Why law school?”

  “I’m not sure I can explain it well.” She laughed bitterly. “No, that’s a lie. I just don’t want to be too open about it.” She looked apologetically at Jo.

  “Hey, you have the right.”

  “I know.” She sighed, playing with the sugar caddy. “It’s for my mother, actually. Plus,” she grinned, “I want to remain poor for my entire life, so I thought I’d go into Family Court.”

  “Ah, yes.” Jo gave her a knowing look. “Taking the edge off with a joke.”

  Her smile faded. “I suppose.”

  “Your mom wanted you to be a lawyer?”

  “Hell, no. Court was Demonville to Christian fundamentalists. Good Christian people don’t sue.”

  “I know the verses. So why for your mother, then?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Yeah, you did. Right before the believers-don’t-sue comment.”

  “I got into it with her once about that. Told her that the Bible also says to be at peace with all people, wherever it’s up to you.” She smirked, putting her cup on the edge of the table for a refill. “You’da thought I had renounced or something.”

  Jo decided not to ask about her mother again. “Why?”

  “Well, my dad didn’t speak to me for two days. Looked at me like I was possessed or something.” She grew distant then. “You know, one of the creepiest, most maddening feelings is when someone’s praying for you to be rescued from Satan’s grip, when you aren’t in it.”

  “Your dad? I thought the argument was with your mom.”

  She was confused for a second. “Well, he always got involved.”

  Jo hated the pain on her friend’s face, still apparent all these years later. After a few quiet moments, she asked, “Did they ever come around to your point of view? At all?”

  “Nah. They just let it slide then.” Her sigh was shallow, as though her chest hurt. “I never argued with her again. Never told her much of anything I was thinking, until the day they kicked me out.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Oh, man–that was something. You sure you want to hear it?”

  “If you want to tell it.”

  The waitress came with their meals and the coffeepot. “Anything else I can get you ladies?”

  “All set, thanks.” Jo was peering over her shoulder, at a table just behind her. “Hey, that’s Maggie.”

  Max half-rose from her seat, turning to look. “Mags! Hey, how’s it going?”

  The slight, sixty-year-old woman was a server at The Berry Crate, and one of the few of whom Barb was afraid: Maggie, having been there for thirteen years–well before Barb arrived–treated her very much like a less-favored daughter, and Barb deferred to her like she might a mother.

  Maggie turned around to look, and after a moment, broke into a smile. “Well, hello, you two. I had a hard time recognizing you in your civvies.” She excused herself from the elderly man she was with, and came over to give them each a lingering hug. “Oh, I miss you girls. What have you been up to?” She slid in beside Max, draping her arm over the back of the booth behind her.

  “Resting up,” Max said. “It was a long few years there.”

  “Where are you going to be working?”

  “We aren’t. Not yet, anyway.”

  “We’re taking a vacation,” Jo added.

  “Excellent. You both deserve it. And what did I hear about Samantha? She quit today?” Before either could answer, Maggie went on. “Have you heard about that husband of hers?”


  Confused, Max said, “You mean that they…”

  “He was in the restaurant just this morning. Attacked Barbara.”

  “Attacked her?”

  “Oh, come on, Maggie. Said who?”

  “I was there, Maxine. I opened the store today. It happened just before I clocked out.”

  “What happened?”

  Maggie gave them the long narrative of the episode, including her fear that Jack might have been armed, and could have therefore created a hostage situation–which she was far too old to endure–and ending with, “…and there I was, sitting in my car, watching the police shove him into the back seat.” She was nibbling on a piece of toast she had taken from Jo’s plate. Maggie was famous at the restaurant for swiping food. “He was absolutely furious, struggling with the police, screaming and kicking at the back seat windows, just completely out of control.”

  That part, Jo believed. “So he’s in jail right now.”

  “Oh, yes, I would imagine so. And I saw him head-butt one of the officers, so he’s going to have to answer for that, too. And this being Sunday, well, I don’t see how he’ll be getting out in the next day or two, that’s for sure.” Maggie’s date was vying for her attention, pointing to his wristwatch. “Oh, goodness, how I can talk!” She held up her index finger to her date. “I have to get back to Richard,” she said, winking at him. “Nice looking, for a man his age.”

  “Nice hair, too.”

  Max nudged her. “Got all his teeth, Mags?”

  “Yup, all the original equipment is there, girls.” They laughed as she got up, planting a kiss on Max’s head, then hugging Jo again. “You’ll be in touch, right?”

  They nodded. “You take care, honey. See you soon.” Jo handed her the rest of the piece of toast. “Don’t forget this.”

  “Thanks, dear.” Maggie put it between her teeth, patted her on the head, and returned to her table.

  Max was staring at Jo, wide-eyed. “Sammy quit…?”

  “Guess she’s coming with? I don’t know.”

  “And Jack got himself de-tained.”

  “Yup. Jack’s in jail. Wow.”

  Max smiled broadly. “Poor guy.”

  “Yeah.” She was staring, distracted, out the picture window behind Max.

  “You’re thinking…”

  “I’m going to give the downtown precinct a call. See if Joey Derosa’s there.”

  “Who’s Joey Derosa?”

  “A cop I worked with a lot, back when…I knew him a few years ago.” She took a few more bites of her omelet and downed the last of her coffee. “I’ll be outside.”

  Max was a little relieved that they hadn’t gone any farther into the story about her mother. She had already revealed more than she had ever thought she would. She paid the bill, and then found Jo on one of the benches at the small park across the street.

  “…thanks, Joey…I will, no doubt…Take care.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She flipped the phone shut, smiling faintly for a moment. “I asked him to keep me posted on anything he finds out about Jack’s movements over the next few weeks. He said he’d have someone on him here and there, whenever he has the manpower.” She slid the phone into her pocket. “Won’t be too often, but he’ll do what he can.”

  Max sat beside her. “You got some strings, Jo.” She watched her rubbing the top of her thighs again.

  “Well, he’s an old friend.” She stood up. “I’m going to go clean the apartment. Maybe bake something. The boys are coming over at six.”

  “Yeah. What’s that about?”

  Jo smiled, anticipating seeing her children in spite of her misgivings. “I guess they want to see their mom.”

  chapter 9

  AT 6:10, Jo was a little annoyed. Just as she decided to call, there was a knock at the door.

  She was always surprised when she saw them. They were so grown. Matt was two years younger than John, but an inch taller, with the easy elegance of Jo’s dad. He had also inherited his grandfather’s dark hair, brown eyes, and perfect smile.

  John was stockier, more muscular, and had Jo’s pale green eyes and light hair, but the shape of his face was every bit Jo’s mother’s. They each had many of their grandparents’ mannerisms, as well. It was sweetly compelling to Jo, because they had never had the chance to meet.

  It was both wonderful and painful to be with them sometimes, they were so much like their grandparents. She missed her mother and father, every day at some point, and she mourned the fact that they had never known their grandchildren. Keith had started moving them everywhere when she was still pregnant with John, and she had never gone home again.

  Jo’s father had died when John was five, and Matt, three; her mother followed him two years later. Jo wasn’t there for their funerals. Her sister, Carolyn, was left to deal alone with the passing of both of their parents, and she had never forgiven Jo for not being there. What Carolyn didn’t know was that Keith broke a chair over Jo’s back when she asked to go to her father’s deathbed; and when their mother died, Keith had cracked her rib, given her a concussion, and then disappeared with the car for almost a week.

  “Hi, Mom.” Matt gave her a peck on the cheek, and she hugged him quick. She reached for John, who–as had been the case for years–went completely stiff as she held him for a moment.

  “Hey,” he said. “Good to see you.” His voice was flat, but Jo had learned to overlook it.

  “Come sit down. I’ve got a lasagna coming out of the oven in a few minutes. You hungry?”

  The boys glanced at each other, then Matt stared at his feet as John said, “We only have a few minutes, Mom.”

  She felt her stomach grip with disappointment. “Oh. I thought…I made dinner.” She despised the plaintive tone of her own voice, how weak it sounded to her. Like an old woman, alone, calling out into a dark place.

  “We just wanted to bring you this, and say hello.” They handed her an envelope with a flowery Mother’s Day card inside. They had scribbled their names at the bottom.

  She stared down at it, not understanding. Or not wanting to, and her smile trembled as she looked up at them. “It’s lovely. But Mother’s Day is next Sunday, guys.” She tried to laugh, but a thought was forcing its way in, and she was fighting to keep it at bay.

  “Yeah,” John said.

  Matt reached down to pet Daisy as she came galloping out to the sound of their voices. John crouched down, hugging her, rubbing her neck. “Hey, girl. Lookin’ good.” He stood back up and said, “Dad and Shelly are getting married next Saturday, Mom.”

  She nodded, surprised. “Oh. Okay. But that’s Saturday…”

  “In Orlando,” Matt added. “Where her family is. They’re flying us down. We’re on our way to the airport right now.”

  “I see.” She set the card on the dining table. “You’re leaving tonight?”

  “Yeah. We’re all spending the week there, ‘til next Sunday night, what with rehearsal dinners and family reunions and all…” Matt’s voice trailed off, and John shifted back and forth, looking annoyed.

  “Rehearsal dinners?” she asked. She made herself look at them then.

  John stared back, unflinching. “They asked us to be in the wedding.”

  She felt as if someone had punched her.

  John extended his hand to her, then drew it back quickly. “Look, Mom, we don’t need to hear it, okay? We know how you feel about these things. Remarriage being wrong, and unbiblical, and all that stuff. But this is going to be Dad’s family…”

  “And our stepfamily,” Matt added. “We think we should be there for them.”

  She nodded, looking out the window, suddenly wanting them to go. And wanting them to stay, to not leave her there like that–but at the same time, she knew there would be no comfort in having them there.

  In a vivid flash of an old memory, she recalled something she had said to Keith many years earlier, trying to get him to realize something which–she understood afterwards–h
e already knew: how badly she and the boys needed him to stop hurting them. To be a husband, and a father. To stop killing their little family. “Don’t you get it, Keith? It’s like we’re dying of thirst, and the well is poisoned.”

  As she turned back to her sons, she realized that their expressions now were exactly as Keith’s was on that day. And she felt herself go numb inside.

  “I baked you cookies. Oatmeal chocolate. Let me pack them up.” She went to the kitchen, hurriedly emptying the cookie jar into a plastic bag. “Eat them on the plane if you get hungry.” She gave them each a quick kiss–on the bridge of the nose, their tradition of so many years–and hugged them hard.

  She was unnerved by her own smile, because it was genuine. “Go now. You have to get on that plane. And be safe.”

  Unexpectedly, it was John who suddenly looked unsure. “Mom…”

  Their eyes met. Don’t forget me, she thought, hoping he would hear her someplace–maybe in his heart, if there was a part of it somewhere that wasn’t hardened toward her. “You take care of yourselves.” She touched his cheek, then Matt’s.

  John was still watching her. “I’ll call when we get there, okay?”

  “You bet.” She picked up her card, pressing it to her heart. “Thanks for this. I’ll keep it by my bed.”

  “We’ll go out to dinner right after we get back, okay?” Matt was anxious, not knowing how to handle her attitude: his father and Shelly had spent many hours over many weeks preparing them for the inevitability of her ugliness.

  “That’ll be nice. Now go before you’re late.” She smiled again. “Love you.”

  “Love you, Mom,” Matt said, looking at her sadly, reaching for the door.

  John touched her shoulder tentatively, and her smile faded as she put her hand over his.

  “I love you more,” he said. It was the old game they had played, back when the boys were little - they’d pretend to argue over who loved her more. Then, he bent to kiss her cheek. He hadn’t done so in years, and Jo couldn’t ignore the fact that she felt absolutely nothing–except that her numbness felt nice. It was peaceful. At least, it was quiet.

  “Guys?”

  They turned on their way out the door.

  “Stay together.”