October Snow

by Jenna Brooks

  Dave looked up from the wine list he was studying. “Yup?”

  “I like the ring you got Mom.”

  His parents smiled at each other. Sam ran her hand through Tyler’s thick hair, and the boy took her hand to study the ring. “It matches the necklace we got her.”

  “That’s right,” Dave said. Their waitress appeared at their table, and Dave ordered champagne, and then a cola for Tyler. He noticed Sam staring at him as the waitress moved away. “I’m sorry, babe–did you want a different champagne?”

  “No, it’s not that…It’s just…It’s so expensive.”

  He took her hand. “It’s a big night.”

  “Mom,” Tyler sighed impatiently, “let Dad treat you good.”

  Her eyes were on Dave’s as she said, “You mean, let Dad treat me well.”

  “Huh?” Realizing his mistake, he nodded quickly. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. He likes doing stuff for you. You should let him treat you well.”

  She smiled softly at his earnestness, so much like his father. “You’re right, sweetie.” She looked back at Dave. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Tyler’s stomach was starting to hurt, as he wondered if making mistakes would ruin things for his parents. He noticed how straight his dad sat in his chair, and quickly sat up as high as he could.

  After a few minutes of small talk, mostly about the Red Sox and their destiny to win the Series, the waitress was back with the champagne. “You don’t need to present it,” Dave said. “I’ll take care of it.” He looked at Sam. “Want to order? I think we have a tired boy here.”

  “Good idea.”

  When the waitress was gone, Dave tended deftly to the champagne, filling Sam’s flute to the top. She winked at him as they raised their glasses, hoping that a few sips of champagne wouldn’t hurt the baby.

  “To you,” Dave said softly.

  “To us,” Sam answered.

  As he watched them, Tyler was becoming more distressed. “Dad?”

  “Yeah, son?”

  “I don’t know if…” He sighed heavily. “Do I lift my glass, too?” His voice was rising, tensing with emotion.

  Dave and Sam glanced at each other, then at Tyler, concerned.

  “Hey, Ty-guy, what’s up? You okay?” Dave put his hand on the back of the boy’s neck.

  He swallowed hard, nodding, terrified that he would cry and embarrass them; but the harder he tried, and the more his parents spoke to him, so softly and lovingly, the harder it became to control the emotions that were pushing their way out of him.

  After a few moments, the little boy couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears began to flow, with a desperate quiet that broke his parents’ hearts.

  “Oh no…Ty,” Sam murmured as she crouched beside him; Dave came to the other side of the boy’s chair, dabbing at his face with a napkin as he sat with his head down, his shoulders trembling.

  “Baby…” Sam gathered him into her arms, and he sobbed silently against her shoulder.

  Dave waved away the manager, hovering a few feet away with a questioning look on his face. “What’s going on, Ty?”

  He shook his head.

  “C’mon, son, tell us. It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad.” He turned to look at his father with eyes so mournful, Dave thought he might cry himself. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It is. Just tell us why you’re crying.”

  He curled up tight against Sam then, and she looked helplessly over his head at Dave.

  Dave rubbed his back brusquely, giving her a confident nod. “Mom’s going to go visit her friends for a while, Ty, and then she’s coming home. With us.”

  Tyler buried himself deeper in her arms, closing his eyes, chewing on his fist–the toddler habit he had returned to after his mother had moved out.

  “For good,” Sam murmured in his ear.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to make you leave again.”

  Her eyes grew wide as the full realization struck her: Tyler was walking some kind of an emotional tightrope to try to keep them together–and that meant that Dave needed to know about the baby, and he needed to know as soon as possible.

  “Tyler,” she took his chin, tilting his face up to hers, “look at me.” He tried to avoid her eyes, “No, look at me.” He met her gaze then, with eyes so lost and sad that she felt a flash of hatred for Jack and her mother.

  No. I did this to him. The thought went through her like a lightning strike. She wanted to kick herself that it had taken her thirty-eight years to finally grow up–and that she had, again, regressed into her childhood habit of keeping secrets and hoping everything would just work out. It was the way she had conducted her entire life, and she was disgusted with herself that she would risk her son–and his father–yet again, by running from the truth.

  Looking into Tyler’s eyes now, she thought that had she been able to translate what she saw there, they would have said save me.

  “You didn’t make me leave, baby. You could never do that. And your dad’s telling you the truth. And so am I. I’m going to go see Josie and Maxine for just a little while, because I promised them I would. You and Dad are going to come spend time there, too.”

  “When?” he whispered.

  She looked past him to Dave. “Every weekend.”

  Dave nodded. “That’s right.”

  He pulled back and looked at his father. “Honest?”

  “Yes. Honest.”

  “And then you’ll come home, Mom?”

  “After I spend some time with my friends, yes.”

  “Forever? Home forever?”

  In the pause before she answered, Dave could tell that something was troubling her. “Forever. I’ll never be away from you again.”

  Dave thought it was an odd way for her to phrase the answer. “Know what? I have a big surprise for you at home, Ty. Maybe I should tell you about it now?”

  He nodded, wiping his eyes on the corner of the tablecloth, then looking sheepishly at his mother. “Guess I shouldn’t do that, huh?”

  She laughed, handing him a napkin. “You’re fine, sweetie.”

  “What’s the surprise, Dad?”

  The boy was intrigued, distracted now from his fears. Dave was relieved to see him moving past the uncertainty of a few moments before, but worried about the things Tyler may not have shared with them. The years without his mother had come at a cost, even beyond what Dave had suspected. Thoughts about Jack–hurting his son, costing him his mother–struck a glancing blow at him, and he struggled to shake it off. He breathed deeply before he spoke again. “You’ve got some brand-new fishing equipment waiting for you at home. You’ll need it when we go see Mom at the lake.”

  Tyler’s exaggerated look of surprise brought laughter from the elderly couple at the table next to them. “Wow! Wow, thanks, Dad!”

  Sam moved to her seat as Dave stood up, taking his glass from the table and holding it toward Tyler. “Raise it up there, Ty-guy.”

  Tyler grinned at his mother as she picked up her champagne. “What’s he doing?” he giggled.

  “Shhh. Quiet while the Toastmaster speaks,” she said, looking at Dave, amused.

  “To the three of us,” he said, and Tyler beamed as they all touched glasses.

  Dave sat then, putting his hand over his son’s. “And to Tyler.”

  The boy looked back and forth at his parents, wide-eyed. “Me?”

  “You’ve been my strength while we were on the wrong path for a few years here, and I’m grateful.” His voice was thick as he finished. “We wouldn’t have made it without you. I love you, son.”

  “To Tyler.” Sam thought about how Dave always knew exactly what they needed; and tonight, their son needed to believe that he had been the solution–not that he was a problem. She leaned over to kiss Tyler on the forehead, grateful for the pride in his eyes as he blushed. Dave had put him back together again, and she wondered how many times he’d had to do that whil
e she was off chasing the fairy tale, the horror story that was Jack. The thought of him made her shudder.

  Dave caught her distress and took her hand.

  “Just really glad to be where I am,” she explained.

  “Which leads us to that good news.” He turned to Tyler. “Your mom and I are finally getting it right.”

  Sam wished she had told him about the baby already, before the evening had happened.

  Tyler bounced lightly in his seat, his heart pounding. The sadness of a few minutes before was completely forgotten. “What are you getting right?”

  Dave kissed Sam’s hand and said, “We did everything in the wrong order, but we want to teach you better. And we want our family together, always. So, we’re getting married.”

  “Yes!” He hopped from his chair, plopping himself onto his mother’s lap, wrapping his arms around her neck and squeezing her hard. “So, does that mean…is Jack…so I don’t have to see him anymore?”

  Sam held him as she whispered in his ear, “Never again, baby.”

  Tyler talked them into stopping for ice cream after dinner, so it was after nine o’clock when they arrived home. “Hit the shower, Ty, it’s late.”

  “Can I see my new fishing pole first?”

  “After. Hurry up.”

  “Mom?” He turned to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  She handed her wrap to Dave. “Yes?”

  “Will we really come see you next weekend?”

  “You sure will.”

  “And there’s really a lake right there where they live?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “A big one?”

  “With lots of fish.”

  “And seagulls? They tell you where the fish are.”

  “You’re so smart. You know, Aunt Josie told me she can throw a potato chip from her bedroom window, and a gull will catch it before it hits the ground.”

  “Wow!”

  “Shower,” Dave said sternly.

  “Shower,” Sam agreed.

  “I’ll hurry.” He turned to run up the stairs, then stopped at the landing. Breaking into sudden, joyous laughter, he ran back and threw himself into Dave’s arms, leaning out to pull his mother in.

  Dave enfolded them in a quick hug, then set Tyler on his feet. “Love you too. Now get clean.”

  Sam waited at the bottom of the steps, listening for the shower, then turned to face Dave.

  “We need to talk.”

  Max wrapped her bath towel around her head turban-style as she wandered into the kitchen. Jo was studying the portrait of the boy at the beach, reaching out to straighten it.

  “Looks good, Bim. You getting a shower too, or are we having a bedtime snack?”

  “Snack,” Jo said, tapping the bottom edge of the frame. “There. That’s straight now.”

  Max was setting bowls and spoons on the counter. “Coconut almond?”

  “We ate it all.”

  “Uh oh. We’re down to chocolate, then.”

  Jo frowned as she sat at the table. “Bowls tonight?”

  “I’m making it into a banana split,” she said, her head buried in the refrigerator. She peered over the door. “Have we got any nuts?”

  “Almonds. In the cupboard over the stove.”

  “No peanuts?”

  “Peanut butter. Put a handful of chocolate chips in with some of it, and melt it in the microwave. Makes a great topper.”

  “Mmmm.” She set the carton of ice cream and the chocolate syrup on the breakfast bar. “Come get these.” She put a large spoonful of peanut butter into a glass bowl, licking the spoon as she asked, “Did you call the boys back?”

  “Yeah, just a little while ago.” Jo was slicing bananas at the table, slowly and carefully. “They’re having a great time. Love their new family.”

  Max paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. “They said that?”

  “Yup. You forgot the whipped cream.”

  Max pulled the aerosol can from the door of the refrigerator. “That has to sting, Jo.”

  Head down, she shrugged.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I think so. In a few minutes.”

  “Sure.” She slid into the chair across from her, and they made their desserts with an assembly line efficiency that made her smile. “We’re good at this, Bim.”

  “Too good. It’s almost sad, when you think about it,” Jo said, making an obvious effort to smile.

  “Wanna do the whipped cream?”

  “Yeah.” She flipped the cap from the can with her thumb, squirting a large mound onto the top of both bowls. “This is artistry.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Max, remember what you said, about people praying that you turn from Satan, when you aren’t in that place at all?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Matt said that Shelly was praying for me after dinner tonight, that I turn from my evil and learn to love others–especially my children.”

  Max felt her stomach grip, and her face reddening. There was little that could move her to rage; however, the thought of what Jo was describing was more than she could process calmly, or even rationally.

  Jo continued. “He said that they’ll be okay, that Shelly and her family are there for them, while I decide which way I’m going to go–with God, or not.”

  Max threw her spoon down on the table, disgusted. Jo didn’t move or look at her, didn’t react at all. “I want to say something profound, Jo, I really do. But the only thing I can think of is how badly I want to scratch her eyes out. And her bastard husband, too.” She buried her face in her hands, resting her elbows on the table. “What an unimaginable prick. What is it with these religious people? What do they get out of turning decent, loving people into some kind of spiritual road kill?”

  “There just seems to be something especially evil about using God as a weapon.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I think Johnny was trying to shut him up.” She shrugged, retrieving Max’s spoon. “Not sure if it was to keep me in the dark or to protect me.”

  “Does it matter?”

  Jo considered it for a moment. “Not really. Not anymore.” She stared blankly at her hands. “I do wish it did, though. You can’t feel hope if you have nothing to fight for, you know?” She finally looked up at Max, her eyes empty. Max had never seen that expression, or absence of one, in her eyes before.

  “They’re falling for it.”

  Jo nodded.

  “You seem resigned to it, like it’s a foregone conclusion that…” She let her voice trail off, uncertain how to finish the thought.

  “That I’m going to lose them?”

  Max was silent.

  “I will,” Jo answered for her. “I’ve seen it dozens of times. It’s the way these situations go. These kids, they grow up terrified with the monster in the house, and then they escape and they turn on their mothers.” Her voice and her expression were completely flat.

  She could have been talking about something as mundane as when to do the laundry, Max thought. “Jo…”

  Deep in thought, she didn’t seem to hear her. “I’ve never been able to crack that one. I wonder sometimes if it’s just battle fatigue or something. Maybe they want–need–to pretend that I was to blame. You know…” She was silent for a minute as she contemplated something.

  As she began to gesture with her spoon, Max took in her odd, clinical affect: it was as though she had somehow managed to disassociate herself from her own experiences.

  Jo was speaking rapidly now. “Okay, try this: if the children of abused women can blame their mother somehow, that may make them feel like there’s some kind of logic to why their mother was abused while all they could do was watch. These kids grow up with the craziness of a no cause-and-effect dynamic, and so they create one, once they’re free to do so. And they create a cause that lets them feel less helpless.” She nodded, satisfied with her conclusion. “I think that’s it, Max. That’s why the court does
further damage, too–no effect on the bad guy, you know? The kids need the cause and effect in order to make any sense of it. If it’s logical, it’s predictable.”

  Max decided that if she needed to talk about it, then that’s what they would do. It was preferable to letting her spin out there on her own. “And then it’s controllable, and they can feel better about themselves at the same time. That’s pretty good, Bim. I think you’re right.” She watched her carefully. “And I think battered women do that themselves, to some extent. That’s why they take responsibility for the guy.”

  “Your mom did that?”

  It was the first time she had allowed herself to think of her mother as an abused woman. “All the time.”

  “I could never get there–to blaming myself, I mean. I wasn’t good at living the battered-woman stereotype. Most women aren’t, actually. The reality of it isn’t like the movies depict it.”

  Max coughed, as a snicker–one she hoped wasn’t insensitive–escaped her. “Geez, you have a way of phrasing things. Please to explain?”

  “I didn’t spend a lot of time trying to please him, and I certainly never blamed myself for what an ass he was. And I’d antagonize him when I knew he was in the mood to attack me…”

  “The escalation period?”

  “Yeah. Because he was going to do it, and I wanted it over with so he’d storm out for a day or two, and the kids and I could actually live then. When he was gone, we were happy.” She caught Max looking at her with something like pity. “Hey, I don’t need sympathy, Maxine. I simply didn’t make for a malleable little wifey. I learned early on how to get him to attack.” She seemed to take pride in that, and Max didn’t know whether to feel compassion, admiration, or alarm.

  “What was the worst?” she asked quietly.

  Jo looked surprised, even amused–Max had the impression that she had, truly, detached from her own history for the moment. “You really want to know?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “New Year’s Eve, I think it was ten years ago? Actually, he hadn’t attacked me physically for a lot of years, because he knew I’d clean his clock if he did. And I didn’t push him, not any more than it took to get him to leave. But he’d scream, and he’d threaten, and then tear the house apart before he’d make his melodramatic exit.”