October Snow

by Jenna Brooks

  “Yeah. And I opened my door and I went right over to him, Dad. I told him to just go ahead, Mom and me will go live with Dad, and he told me to go away, but he used really bad words to me and Mom.” His eyes became distant, tearing up as he remembered. “And then Mom, after Jack left, she said I needed to come live with you.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I told her no, because no one would take care of her then, and she acted like she wasn’t crying, but she was.”

  As the tears began to stream down his face, he shook his head hard, biting his lip–his mother’s habit, when she was trying not to cry. He wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt. “You came and got me the next day.” He was breathing too fast, and Dave got up to sit beside him, rubbing his back. “You didn’t see her in the window upstairs as we drove away. She was crying, Dad. Really hard.”

  Instinctively, Dave wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his curly hair and then resting his chin on top of his head. Imagining Samantha crying at the window was more than he could stand. “Is that the worst thing you remember?” He had to know.

  Tyler nodded, sniffling. “I’ve been so worried about Mom.”

  “Me too.” He held him for a while. “She’s safe now, Ty.” His phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out, then smiled as he showed it to Tyler. “See?”

  It was a text from Sam.

  Love my men

  See you in a few days

  Call when you get home

  Attached to the message was a picture: the three of them, standing at the lake, Dave holding Tyler and laughing. Sam was looking up at him; Tyler was smiling, touching her cheek.

  Dave tried to speak over the lump in his throat, but couldn’t, and they stared quietly at the picture.

  Finally, Tyler broke the silence. “That looks like exactly what I asked God for, Dad.”

  “Yeah,” Dave managed. “Me too.”

  chapter 15

  “ANDLEMAN! HEY, JOHN!”

  He was in his room at his desk, frowning at the text that had just come in from Matt.

  No haven’t been able to reach mom all week

  When last time u heard from her

  John’s roommate opened the door, leaning in. “Hey, we’re all heading out to the bar. You coming?”

  “Yeah, I’ll meet you there.” He snapped his phone shut, then opened it again. “Chris?”

  “What?”

  He changed his mind. “Nah. Nothing. Wait,” he changed it again. “Actually, I’m gonna pass for tonight.”

  “Okay. We’ll be at Nick’s if you decide to show up.”

  “Yup.”

  He got up to shut the bedroom door again as Chris slammed out of the house they shared, then replied to Matt:

  We left her those messages last monday she never responded

  After he sent it, he typed another:

  I’m going to swing by her apt ttyl

  He didn’t want to point it out, but it had been Matt–with Shelly and their dad helping him to “express his feelings,” which John thought was wholly inappropriate–who had left a couple of messages with their mother, containing accusations and suggestions on ways in which she could turn herself around. Some of them, John thought, were pretty damned insulting, even cruel. She had never, in all the years since he had left home, gone for more than a day or two without at least trying to reach him; and now, John was getting worried.

  He showered quickly, and was just getting his shoes on when his phone rang. He rolled his eyes at the caller ID.

  “Yeah, Shelly.”

  “Hi, honey. How was work?”

  “Fine. The usual. I don’t have much time–what’s up?” For some reason, he didn’t want to tell her where he was going.

  “Yes, I know.” She sounded petulant, and John felt some annoyance: she was in the habit of calling him almost every day now, and he was getting claustrophobic. “Matthew told me you’re going to your mother’s apartment.”

  “He did, huh?” He wondered why he felt a pang of guilt, instead of his usual contempt for his little brother. It certainly wasn’t Matt’s place to go running to their father and Shelly, yet John felt oddly protective of his brother at that moment.

  “Do you really think that’s helpful, John? For you or for your mother?”

  “Well, it seems that you don’t, Shelly.”

  “You see, John,” she paused, and John was quite sure it was for effect, “oh, never mind. You’re an adult. You can make up your own mind.”

  “Good…”

  “But your mother…”

  John sighed loudly.

  “John, please–consider whether or not she wants you to be chasing her around. You had to grow up with her, with almost no one else around. She controls you way too much.”

  It hit his ears wrong. What she was saying wasn’t true.

  “You know how manipulative she is. You shouldn’t be rewarding her for that.”

  “Shelly…”

  “If she’s never held accountable, what incentive does she have to grow? And to change?”

  “You done?” he snapped.

  She fell silent for a moment. “I didn’t deserve that, John.” Her voice quivered. “Hold on. I think it best that your father talk to you. I’ll get him.”

  He heard her calling for Keith, and he closed his phone. “You do that.”

  He leaned on his hands in front of his dresser, looking away from his reflection in the mirror. After a moment, he grabbed his keys and bolted from the room.

  Fifteen minutes later, John was knocking on his mother’s door.

  The door across the hall opened, and an elderly woman poked her head out. “She’s gone, son,” the woman said, pleasantly enough. Then, “Don’t I know you?” She wagged her finger toward him. “You’re Johnny! Josie’s son! I’ve seen your picture a hundred times.”

  “Yeah. Hi. What do you mean, she’s gone?” His voice sounded thin in his ears.

  “Oh, heavens, I meant she and her friend Maxine left for the summer. They needed to get away.” She looked up and down the hallway, then stepped out of her apartment. John could hear a cat wailing someplace behind her. “I heard some psycho was stalking her,” she whispered, scanning the hall again.

  “What? Who?”

  She saw the stricken look on his face, and hurried to reassure him. “No, son, don’t you worry. I never met a stronger woman than your mother. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “You know where they went?”

  “No, I sure don’t. I’m sorry. She never mentioned it to you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, all I know is, she and Maxine took off about two weeks ago. Quit their jobs and all, packed up, said goodbye, and left. Landlord says they paid up rent through the summer, though, so I’m sure they’ll be back. Okay?” She was concerned–he seemed very upset by the news.

  John tried the doorknob once more, looking at the little sign that hung on the outside of her door. Home Sweet Home, it said, in faded red paint on a yellowing plaque. It was the same one she had placed on the front door of every new place that his father had moved them to. He touched it lightly, then turned back to the old woman. “Thanks,” he said.

  “If I see her, I’ll tell her you were here. Okay?”

  “Thanks again.”

  He trudged down the hallway, squinting to make his way to the front door of the building. Half of the lights were always burned out. “I don’t care,” his mother had said. “At least it’s harder to see how shabby the carpeting is.”

  He smiled, remembering how she made him laugh, thinking about how Matt had inherited her weird, irreverent sense of humor.

  She had something of an overdeveloped sixth-sense, as well, which he had inherited from her: she often knew things she had no logical way of knowing. “It’s more a curse than a blessing sometimes,” she had often said. Time had proven her right about that. That was why he was looking for her now, instead of enjoying the day with his friends.

  He realized, with some disb
elief as he thought about it, that it was now the first time in his entire life that he didn’t know exactly where his mother was. He didn’t even have an idea where he should look; and the hell of it, he thought, was that it had been two weeks before he even knew that much.

  For the first time in years, he felt pain, right in the middle of his gut. He missed her. And he was worried.

  The sixth sense that he had gotten from her was on full alert, and he stepped out of the dilapidated old house knowing one thing for sure: it wasn’t so much that she had left, or that he hadn’t looked for her until now; it was his knowledge, deep inside, that something more, much more than a psycho-stalker was chasing his mother.

  Sam was standing at the picture window of her bedroom, watching Jo as she sat on the dock, dangling her feet in the water. Daisy slept beside her.

  “How’re you feeling, Bim?” Max came in with a small tray, laden with cinnamon rolls, sliced oranges, and a carafe of fresh coffee.

  Sam turned. “Good morning. I’m actually feeling some energy today.” She had gone through the few days since arriving at the lake with some pronounced fatigue. “I’m getting settled in.” She turned back to the window, troubled. “What’s wrong with her, Max?”

  “What’s she doing?” she deflected, handing her a cup and joining her at the window.

  “Thanks.” She took a sip, still studying Jo. “And you didn’t answer.”

  “Crap, a month ago you wouldn’t have noticed,” she grinned.

  “Oh, I would have noticed. I simply would have backed down.” She fixed her stare on Max then, waiting.

  “She’s dealing with a few issues.”

  Sam sighed. “Look, if she doesn’t want me to know, that’s okay. Just say so.”

  “The thing is, I don’t know if she wants you to know.” She went to the nightstand where she had set the tray, taking a few slices of orange. “I think maybe she does, but she doesn’t want to stress you out…?”

  “Well, I’ve been such a dipstick for so long, I guess I brought that on myself.”

  “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” She took a roll for herself. “If she’s in trouble, I think I should know.”

  “In trouble?”

  “There’s something going on with her, and I’m thinking it has more to do with decisions made than it does with issues unresolved.”

  Max felt a chill. “I’m not following you.” The truth was, she hadn’t expected such an insight from her.

  “Me neither. Not really. I just get this feeling that these ‘issues’ are resolved. And if that’s the case, then what’s up with that?” She pointed to Jo, then looked back at Max, her eyes wide with worry.

  “I think you may be right.”

  “She’s so calm. So quiet. But in a strange way, like she’s made her peace or something.” She took a small bite, then put the roll back on the plate. “I’m worried.”

  “No place more peaceful than a grave,” Max mumbled.

  “What did you say?”

  “Something she said once, during one of our philosophy bull-sessions. She’d had a fight with one of her boys. I think it was Johnny. He said, ‘Mom, I just want peace,’in answer to something she said…Something about how she didn’t appreciate what Keith was saying about her to the boys, that it was his way of turning them against her.” She sighed, puffing her cheeks out as she exhaled. “Which she was right about in the end, by the way. Anyway, I was leaning toward Johnny’s idea of just being at peace, and she said, ‘You know what? Peace is overrated. The most peaceful place on earth is a grave. And I don’t want to be buried alive.’”

  “Wait–are you thinking she’s suicidal?”

  “No. If for no other reason than she’s too religious.”

  “Really? You sure?”

  “I feel pretty safe in the assumption, but…I’m watching, just in case.” She refilled their cups, saying, “I’m thinking she may be giving up, though.”

  “On…?”

  “Life. But that doesn’t mean she’s angling for death, it just means…”

  “Hopelessness.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sam thought it over, finally saying, “No. That’s just not right. How do we help her?”

  “I think, if we listen carefully, she’ll tell us how.”

  “You know, she seemed to turn a corner on Monday night. What happened then?”

  Max was tapping her foot, watching Daisy get up and amble toward the house. Jo didn’t move. “She had gotten some messages from the boys. I think she listened to them Monday night.”

  “Where’s her phone?”

  Max gave her a disapproving look. “We can’t invade her privacy like that.”

  “Why the hell not? You think Jo would hesitate for a minute, if it was to help you or me?”

  She didn’t answer, and Sam moved in front of her, forcing her to look at her. “You know she’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  Max looked away. “I don’t know her password.”

  “I bet I do–the same one she uses on her bank card.”

  “She gave you her password?”

  “Gave me the actual card a few months ago, when she floated me a loan. It’s the numerical date that she left Keith for good. I hope she saved the messages.”

  “Wait here. Keep an eye on her, that she doesn’t start back inside.”

  Max sprinted down the hall to Jo’s room, finding the phone inside the nightstand by her bed. She ran back to Sam’s room. “Here.”

  Sam quickly accessed the voicemail. There were three messages saved on it.

  The first was from Matt. “Hi. It’s me. Listen,” there was a several-second pause, “I really need to talk to you.”

  “This was…What? Two days after the wedding?” Sam looked at Max, confused.

  “Shhh.”

  “Mom, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, about the things we’ve talked about. And I just want to tell you, I really do love you but I think you did a lot in my life to hurt my relationship with Dad.” He spoke rapidly, almost in a monotone. “I want to know that it matters to you, and I’m now asking for you to apologize to me, and to Dad, or I can’t be involved in a relationship with you.” There was another long pause, then the call disconnected.

  Max was staring open-mouthed at the phone.

  Sam had one hand over her mouth, the other on Max’s back. “Oh…Oh, no, Max.”

  “I can’t believe this. He sounded like a robot.”

  Apologize?

  She thought again about the things Jo had told her, about what she saw as the invariable, inevitable fate of battered mothers. No wonder she was hopeless: she knew what was happening, and she also knew that there was no way to stop it.

  “That son of a bitch Keith. He still needs to hurt her–probably gets that idiot Shelly to manipulate them.” She saved the message, waiting for the next one to begin.

  “Mom, it’s Matt again. Just wanted to be sure we’re clear on this. Call me when you want to take full responsibility for the things you’ve done. The door’s open, whenever you’re ready, and I know the things that made you be like you are, and it’s okay.” Another pause, then, “Okay. ‘Bye.” Then, a moment later, “I look forward to talking with you very soon. And I love you.”

  Max looked as if she might throw the phone across the room, and Sam squeezed her shoulder. “Steady.”

  “That vicious little bastard.”

  “He’s confused, Max.”

  “Not Matt. His bastard daddy. And his useful idiot of a wife.”

  “I know.”

  “There’s nothing she can do,” Max hissed. “Except help Keith look like her victim.”

  The next message was chilling: it was a full minute of someone breathing into the phone, and nothing else.

  “What the hell…?” Max saved it, then brought up the received calls log on Jo’s phone. “That came in almost three hours after Matt’s last call. It was restricte
d.”

  Sam was visibly shaken. “What’s going on, Max?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced out the window, where Jo still sat on the dock. “Let’s go see how she’s doing.”

  A group of starlings gathered on the birch tree that overhung the dock, singing raucously, too loudly for Jo to tolerate. Her senses were far too raw that morning; she was acutely aware of everything going on around her. She coughed hard a few times, and the birds scattered in an instant. Even the rush of their wings jarred her–she had been unable to completely dispose of the aura that had returned late the night before.

  Her dreams had been the haunting kind, with one in particular that broke her heart when she awakened from it: in it, she was simply sitting alone in one of the many orchards that dotted New Hampshire, under an apple tree, waiting for her sons to arrive. At some point, as she understood that they would never come, she began to cry–and then, they suddenly appeared before her. Her father was behind them, holding his arms open to her. “You loved me anyway,” she sobbed, a blessed relief washing over her as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

  She looked out over the lake, wrapping her arms around herself, still able to feel him there. Her stomach hurt badly.

  Loved me anyway, she mused. What would that have been like? She looked up at the sky, at the endless hues of gray and white.

  Father, I’m so tired.

  She wondered then if maybe, the dream wasn’t about the boys after all.

  She looked up as her friends approached, with a smile that didn’t quite make it into her eyes. “Hey, we’re fully conjugated.” She reached for her sandals. “Good morning, you lazy girls.”

  “Brought you a coffee.” Max sat beside her, touching the water with her toe. “Yikes. Cold.”

  “It always seems colder on cloudy days.” She took the mug from her. “Thanks.”

  They were quiet for a while, then Max asked, “So what’s on your mind?”

  Jo tried to be playful. “No penny?”

  Max watched a butterfly bob and weave over the wildflowers that lined the side of the dock. “You owe me a few.”