by Zoe Chant
She skirted her mother, who was flapping a dishcloth for emphasis, ducked past Sylvia’s elbow, and slipped into the den. Her father and Granny Z were eating in there, the chessboard set between them. If those two were deep in a game of chess, a bomb could go off right outside the window and they wouldn’t so much as blink.
Doris rounded the corner into the alcove, and quietly slid the door shut. She was alone with the phone.
She dialed Bird’s number, half-expecting it to go straight to voicemail.
But on the second ring, there was Bird. “Hello?”
“Bird, it’s Doris.”
“Oh! I didn’t recognize this number,” came Bird’s cheerful voice. “It didn’t look like the usual prefix for scammers, but these days . . . wait. Are you okay?”
“I’m up at the grandpa house. The only phone that works is this old landline. We’re fine. We did get snowed in, but we have a ton of food. You know the Lebowitzes and food—pack for Napoleon’s army on the march to Russia. Which is just as well, because it turns out that we’ve got a small army. Besides the family, Joey is here with the twins and his Chinese student.”
“Joey Hu?” Bird repeated.
“Joey Hu. The very same.” Doris’s every nerve heated with fire as she said his name. She drew a deep breath. “They were going to have a campout, but the snow came as a surprise—and it turned out they were right on the road above us. Of course, there are only two roads in and out of town. So I guess it’s not that strange, if you’re going to pick this lake in the first place . . .” Aware that she was babbling, Doris stopped. “Uh, still there?”
“Do you need . . . help?”
Doris laughed. “Like I said, we’re fine, though snowed in. You and Godiva and Jen don’t need to gallop to my rescue.” She chuckled at the idea of Godiva, in her mid-eighties, charging up the mountain. Though she’d do it.
“Well,” Bird said slowly. “I was thinking of Mikhail. If you needed help. In any way.”
“Thanks for the thought, but it’s a four-hour drive, and anyway, this isn’t exactly forest fire weather. And what else could happen?”
A slight pause, then Bird said, “He could be there faster than you think.”
Bird paused again, as if she was expecting some kind of reply. Like . . . ?
Doris reflected that Bird—though the most honest person she knew, as well as kind, generous, and compassionate—was a bit of an odd duck. And seemed to be getting odder, now that she was married. No, not odd, it was more like she seemed to weigh her words in a way she never had before, then she’d say things like that, and wait. For what?
On the other hand, she was truly happy.
Meanwhile, Bird was going on, “I’m so very glad that you were able to help Joey, but . . . his, uh, camping place is by your house?” Bird sounded worried.
“It’s really okay. He and Xi Yong and the twins are here, warm, and dry. And like I said, we have enough food to outlast a New England blizzard. Which doesn’t happen in Southern California—this snow is sure to melt off in a day or two. And, well—I don’t even know quite how to talk about this, but . . .”
“I hope you and Joey are friends?” Bird said into Doris’s pause, her voice sounding determinedly cheery now. “I really think you’d like each other. Mikhail thinks so too.”
“Well, you were right,” Doris said. “I never . . . I didn’t think . . . I, uh, don’t really even know how to have this conversation. But I’m figuring it out. And this is why I called. He said something you’ve said. About consensus reality. It felt like he was saying something else. And not to the seven-year-old in front of him. I mean, who even talks to seven-year-olds about consensus reality?”
The phone was so silent Doris thought it had gone dead on her. When a cramp in her fingers called her attention to how tightly she was gripping the receiver, she sighed again. “Bird? Do I sound like an idiot here?”
“No.” Bird was emphatic. “You don’t.”
“Is it weird, or just me, to feel that there might have been another conversation going on there?”
Another silence, then Bird said, “Mikhail trusts Joey Hu with his life. I do, too. Do you… Can you trust him?”
Doris found herself gripping the phone again. She made her hand relax. “I’m beginning to. But like I said, new territory.”
Bird was silent again, then she spoke slowly, as if picking her words. “All the years we’ve known each other, I always thought you liked knowing exactly what was going to happen each day.”
“Well, yes,” Doris admitted. “Who doesn’t?”
“And what you didn’t like were surprises, especially things that . . . were unexpected. That might change how the world looks. Even if. Maybe. It might be . . . something for the better?”
Bird was definitely sounding odd again.
“No, but my family is very much that way, at least most of them. I guess I’ve accepted their worldview in that I’ve tried to run my life in an orderly way. And, yeah, I was settling safely into my little niche, but I’m beginning to realize it was starting to crowd me. The thing I’ve been thinking is, well, ever since I met Joey, I’m beginning to feel that my safe box is actually a cage. And I want out.”
“Yes.” Bird hissed the word. “Oh, yes. I was the same. Talk to Joey, Doris. Have this same conversation with him. And really, be careful up there. Okay?”
Doris laughed at her friend’s earnest tone. Bird was so sweet! “Bird, you know we’ve been coming up here for years. There is no fire danger, for the first time in whenever. Nor have we ever faced howling packs of wolves—”
“Doris! There you are!”
Doris’s mother stood in the doorway. Doris hadn’t even heard the door sliding open.
Mom looked tired and sounded fretful. “If someone doesn’t collect all the bath towels, there won’t be a stitch left in the house! I simply cannot be in fifty places at once, and there’s still dinner to start! Heaven forfend Marrit ever lifts a one of those black-polished fingernails of hers. . .”
Doris looked at her mother, remembering that her next birthday would be her eightieth. Though Mom had always seemed ageless, she did get tired.
“Thanks,” Doris said into the phone. “Gotta go.” And to her mother, “I’ll get started on the laundry. Why don’t you go take a nap? Sylvia and I can handle the kitchen.”
“Do the dish towels first. We’re down to two, count them, two. Everything else smells moldy, though your friend hung them up so nice last night—don’t think I didn’t notice. But it’s so humid in here, nothing dries all the way. And that reminds me, you didn’t say if he’s single?”
Doris had to hand it to her mom. When it came to whiplash subject changes, she was the Olympic champ.
But that didn’t mean Doris had to play in that game.
“On my way to collect the towels, Mom,” Doris said, hustling through the kitchen toward the nearest bathroom. She managed to hold in her laughter until she got there.
Kisses—crushes (because of course that was what it was)—having to hide your love life from your mom? Imagine even having a love life? Doris was giddy with exhilaration, her mind caroming off one idea to the next. Joey—kisses—the house full of people—Bird’s odd conversation. Be careful? What was that about? Surely not a warning about Joey!
Doris stopped short, and replayed the conversation. No. Whatever it was about, it definitely wasn’t Joey. Bird liked Joey. Bird had been hinting pretty loudly that she’d love to see Doris and Joey as friends. So . . .
Rounding the corner to the pantry, Doris nearly rammed into Vic, who slumped in the pantry door, looking hopeful. She couldn’t help thinking uncharitably of a begging dog, hoping someone would feed it.
Mom was of the generation that assumed women did housework.
Doris felt differently.
Assuming her teacher voice, Doris said, “Since it seems you’ve nothing to do, you can collect the towels and start the wash, or everyone will be dancing naked in the snow to
dry off tomorrow. The laundry is in the basement. Make sure there’s no one in the shower, or the water turns cold when you start the machine.”
“Awwww,” Vic complained dutifully, but sloped off.
Doris turned toward the mud room—and there was Joey!
“There you are,” she began, and shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.
But Joey just said, “I was going to look for you, too! I stepped outside for some air, but the snow is coming down again.”
“Without a jacket?” Doris asked.
He laughed. “I got used to colder weather than this when I was young. Southern California has a lot to learn about what cold really is.” His grin faded, and there was that searching, almost wistful look she’d glimpsed a couple of times since his arrival. “There’s a lot I’d like to tell you, but I think we need a bit of uninterrupted—”
Vic reappeared, arms laden, and a grin on his face that made Doris instantly suspicious. She excused herself and followed Vic to the laundry room, which was directly beneath the upstairs bathroom. And from down here, she could hear water running upstairs.
Vic jumped when he saw her.
“I told you to wait until no one was …” Then she remembered what it had been like to be his age, with a sister like Sylvia. “No, let me guess. Your sister in the shower?”
Vic flashed a wicked grin. “It’s called ‘you snooze, you lose.’”
As he spoke he tossed the laundry into the machine, emptied a detergent pod into it, and before Doris could voice a protest, hit START. The water promptly began humming in the pipes.
Sure enough, a muffle scream issued from overhead.
Vic let out a cackle.
“If your sister is anything like mine, you’d better hope she never finds out you’re responsible,” Doris told him, but she was struggling to suppress a smile. “Actually, she’ll probably figure it out anyway.”
“Gotta go, bye,” Vic said hastily. “Hi, Uncle Joey! Bye, Uncle Joey!”
Doris turned to find Joey a few feet away, smiling. “Were we ever that young?” she asked.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” he said, smiling his beautiful smile.
Once again, the sense of opportunity hovered between them, but then feet pounded upstairs and Sylvia came quickly down the stairs. “Clean towels, clean towels … Doris! Where is—oh, hi!”
She actually grinned at them, a thousand-watt smile as if she couldn’t think of anything better than finding the two of them alone together. Doris found herself blushing again. She’d blushed more since she met Joey than when she actually was a schoolgirl.
“The towels are in the machine,” Doris said. “There’ll be clean ones soon.”
“Oh good. And … I’m so sorry to interrupt.” She genuinely sounded sorry, too. “But do you think you could handle—well, I was going to say lunch, but as late as it’s already getting, it’s going to be more like dinner than lunch? Mom is completely frazzled and exhausted, and you’re way better at crowd cooking than I am. I promise I’ll take care of the dishes.”
Doris and Joey traded a look. His smile was rueful, but there was a mischievous sense of conspiracy in it that made her chest fizz and her toes curl.
“How about if we make dinner together?”
Doris’s heart leaped. “I’d love to.”
“Come on, then,” he said. “I saw some board games upstairs. I’ll help you in the kitchen, and then let’s get some games set up before the knives come out.”
And Doris laughed from sheer giddiness, and relief, and an overwhelming sense of sweetness. She never had to dread Joey’s reaction to anything her family could throw at him. He wasn’t offended by them. Or intimidated. Or horrified.
Could it be that this impossible whatever-it-is between the two of them might just be possible after all?
Doris had always loved cooking. She’d cooked under all sorts of circumstances, from campfire cooking when she was a girl scout, to cooking with a group at the synagogue, and of course cooking alone.
She had never cooked with someone who made it an act of love. Because that’s what it felt like, cooking with Joey. She’d enjoyed doing dishes with him, but that hadn’t prepared her for standing side by side with him at the prep table, arms touching, sometimes hips bumping, as their hands chopped the carrots she pulled from the fridge and the white radish he’d brought with his camping gear, then the tomato and the sirloin.
It was sexy, cooking with Joey. Every sense came alive, her body tingling at his proximity. At how intimate it was, to be cooking with someone who obviously took the same pleasure she did in assembling their ingredients and blending them.
For spice, she contributed onion, ginger, and star anise, and he brought out two different types of soy in tiny pots, rice wine, a bit of cinnamon stick, and dried orange peel. They started a pot of rice going, warmed up the huge iron pan that he said was closest to the wok he usually cooked in, and they stood together at the stove as the ingredients went in, sizzling and raising delicious aromas.
They held out bits to one another to sniff, and to taste, and they talked about Doris’s new book. She found herself telling him about how her mother had seemed to channel her great-aunt while preparing the knishes, and he told her about the herb garden in his Chinese relatives’ village that was purported to have been planted during the Song dynasty—which dated back to the time Robin Hood was supposed to have lived.
When she exclaimed, “Oh, I’d love to see an herb garden that old,” he turned to her and said softly, “I would love to take you there.”
Every nerve in her body thrilled. It wasn’t just his words. Those were nice, but the elation that ran through her was the idea of cooking like this, next to him, again.
Like . . . every night.
The delicious aromas worked through the house, bringing everyone drifting in to load their plates.
The dinner was pronounced a smashing success. By the time everyone had eaten, Sylvia reported in as promised to tackle the cleanup, with Nicola and Marrit in tow. Doris was physically exhausted but mentally fizzing. She was aware of being happy, and told herself fiercely to enjoy it while it lasted.
After the twins finished their dinner, they drifted through. Vic muttered under his breath, “We’re off.”
“Excellent,” Joey said.
The twins disappeared into the mud room.
“What was that all about?” Doris asked.
Joey looked thoughtful. Then he said softly, “There’s something very important I want to talk to you about. But . . . when we can be private.”
Private? With Joey?
Her heart thumped against her ribs, and she said, “How about now?”
FIFTEEN
JOEY
Joey’s fox leaped about joyfully.
Hand in hand, he and Doris started for the stairs—but they were interrupted again when the door knocker banged loudly.
“Who could that be?” Elva bustled out of the kitchen, everyone else trailing her. “We’re all here!”
Joey’s senses prickled: shifters near.
Doris was following her mother, so Joey fell in step beside her.
Sylvia beat her mother to the door. She opened it, and gazed out at a pair of men who were clearly unfamiliar to her.
The taller, with too-bright eyes and buzzed blonde hair, said, “Excuse me. We’re neighbors. We’ve run out of food, and the snowplow hasn’t come. You have anything to spare?” He flashed a twitchy, mirthless grin that reminded Joey of a neon light on the blink.
Elva threw up her hands. “No food? Of course we have some extra! Glad to share.” She thrust her way past everyone who’d crowding in, a woman on a mission.
Joey remained where he was, shielding himself from the mythic plane. He sensed that the tall blonde one was a wolf shifter. So was the shorter man, built like a bull, with the narrowed gaze of one assessing the strength of possible adversaries—or targets. “Got any booze?” he asked, looking Sylvia up and down, then flicki
ng his gaze to Nicola. He grinned in an unpleasant way.
Doris stepped in front of Nicola, arms crossed. “I’m afraid we’re all out.”
The short one sneered at her in a travesty of a smile. “So what’s going on here? Girl party?” He stared past her to Joey—who glimpsed himself in the other’s eyes: medium height, slim, silvering hair: old.
“Here we go!” Elva called from the rear, and pushed through, her arms loaded. “Here’s our extra bag of rice. You can feed a horde with that. Beans as well—instant protein if you mix the two. Here’s two frozen chickens, and a couple heads of cabbage.”
“Got any more meat?” the shorter man asked as the twitchy one took the two bags. “We don’t want the green stuff.”
“Well, I could—” Elva began.
“Out.”
It was Doris’s father who said it, and there was a ring of authority in that quiet voice.
Joey turned to look at him in shock. Doris’s father was so quiet and unassuming that he normally seemed like part of the furniture. But now he was standing straight-backed and tall, and he was a big man. For the first time, Joey realized that Doris’s father was well over six feet tall, with hands that looked much bigger when they were dangling at his sides, half clenched into fists, than when they rested on a chess piece or a book. Old or not, he stood like someone who knew how to handle himself in a fight.
The two men seemed to recognize that, for they both backed up a step. “Right. We’ll be going, then,” muttered the short one. “Thanks for the grub—the food.”
The tall one brayed a laugh as they turned away, and Joey’s fox-hearing caught the taller one snarling under his breath, “You could have pushed about more food.”
“Go find it yourself,” the other retorted. “What does ‘lay low’ mean?”
Elva shut the door. There was a moment of silence. Then Nicola said, “Grandpa, you were amazing.”
“I can’t argue with that, dear,” Elva said, kissing him on the cheek. Her husband looked embarrassed and slouched again.
“What just happened?” Joey murmured, holding Doris back with a hand.
