by Modean Moon
“Oh, I’m sorry, Cassandra,” the priest said. “I should have told you immediately. That’s what the parish secretary’s call was about. My evening appointment has canceled on me because of the weather. I hope this hasn’t inconvenienced you.”
“Ginnie, can you come outside, too?” Paul, Cassie’s youngest, spoke from the doorway. “I want you to see the snowman. He’s got real coal for his eyes. Just like Frosty.”
“I saw him on the way up, Paul,” she told him, smiling at his exuberance. “And he is magnificent. But right now I have to help your mother finish dinner.”
“Oh, Ginnie, come on. It will only take a few minutes,” the little boy said.
“Maybe later,” she told him.
“Go on, Paul,” Cassie prodded.
“Gee, Mom, it wouldn’t—”
“Go on, Paul,” Frank seconded.
The other boys, Mark and James, needed no such prodding. They were already in their coats and headed for the back door.
All six, men and boys, were clearly visible through the dining-room windows as they walked to the snowman, as was Flori, the mother of Ginnie’s pup, who seemed pathetically’hungry for attention.
The men nodded and pointed, obviously approving the craftsmanship of the snowman, and it looked as though Frank was explaining the engineering behind the construction, until Mark, the middle son, scooped up a handful of snow and stuffed it down the back of his older brother’s jacket. James, of course, had to retaliate. And Paul could not be left out.
While the three boys scuffled, the men moved toward the edge of the woods, walking slowly but carrying on an animated conversation. A loud wail came from one of the boys, probably Paul, Ginnie thought. The three men turned toward the driveway. Frank came back on a run, breaking up the overeager donnybrook, but he waved to Neil and Father McIntyre, signaling them to go on without him, and the two of them, smiling, turned and walked into the woods.
Cassie, apparently convinced now that none of her boys were seriously injured, began counting out plates and silverware.
“You never told me how handsome he is,” she said, reaching upward for still one more plate.
“No, I suppose I didn’t.”
“In fact, you never told me very much about him at all.”
“No,” Ginnie admitted. “I suppose I didn’t.”
She reached for the stack of dishes. “Here. I’ll set the table.”
How could she have told anyone about Neil without explaining how she felt about him? And if she tried to do that, she’d either have to lie to her friend or admit to herself that time hadn’t healed anything, that she still loved him as much as the day she’d left their house in the country. She put down the plates and leaned both hands on the table. Even more, if that was possible.
When the males returned, en masse, to the house, Ginnie and Cassie had the table set. The only remaining work was to carry the food from the kitchen to the dining room, which they did while the others engaged in a flurry of washing up and drying of melting snow.
They seated themselves around the large, round table, elongated now by the added leaves, with only a slight flutter of activity from the boys.
“Father, will you?”
“Of course, Frank,” the priest said. Reverently, he made the sign of the cross and began the familiar introduction to prayer.
Ginnie glanced surreptitiously at Neil, seated beside her. This was her life now and although she knew Neil would only be in it for a short while, she couldn’t help wondering what his reaction to it was. She didn’t think that he would ever ridicule it, and she hoped that somehow he could draw as much peace from it as she usually did.
She felt Neil’s small start of surprise as hands were joined around the table, and James, seated on his other side, reached for his. She smiled at him, reassuring him. He locked his fingers with hers, completing the circle.
She barely heard Father McIntyre’s melodious voice giving thanks. Through lowered lids she studied the contrast of her small, pale hand in Neil’s large, darker one.
“And be with your children, Virginia and Neil...” The words penetrated her consciousness. “And their son, Todd. Give them the wisdom to meet the challenges facing them, and the understanding to accept Your will.”
Slowly and carefully, Neil’s strong, tanned fingers closed completely over hers. How did Father McIntyre know? Unless...? She glanced up at Neil’s face, only to find him watching hers. Wordlessly, she returned the pressure of his hand.
Ginnie barely tasted the meal. She accepted the compliments she and Cassie shared, but suddenly here, too, she was the outsider. Cassie and Frank had welcomed her into their family gathering, but she was not really family.
And Neil—She closed her-eyes against the surge of pain. At one time, they might have had something like this together, but that had been destroyed long ago.
She heard Neil’s comments to Frank, heard him answer questions from the boys, heard his easy interplay with Father McIntyre, his compliments to Cassie. They should have been in their own home, she thought, fighting that thought, with their own children around them, not guests in someone else’s home, brought together only by-tragedy.
She recognized the low rumble of Frank’s voice and from the scattered words she picked up, she knew he was relating a story from the campus. She knew that it would be humorous. She knew that she ought to listen, but she could not force herself to concentrate on his words. When laughter erupted around the table, she joined in softly.
“Now,” Cassie said, smothering back her laugh, “how about pie and coffee?”
“That’s a marvelous idea, wife. You and Ginnie go on into the den and I will bring it to you. Father McIntyre? Neil? Would you join the ladies? Boys, kitchen detail.”
“Ah, gee, Dad,” James said. “It’s Christmas. You mean we have to do KP?”
“The ladies prepared this feast for you. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair to expect them to have to clean up the mess, too? Come on, boys.”
Ginnie had been shocked the first time she witnessed this division of labor, but by now she had grown accustomed to it. She had grown, in fact, to enjoy it, for herself as well as for her friend. She grinned at Neil, knowing the thoughts that must be passing through his mind and wondering what would have happened if she had ever approached him with the idea that perhaps the men in her household should clean up after themselves.
To her surprise, he pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Do you need an extra hand, Frank? I’ve gotten pretty good at KP myself.”
“Thanks, no,” Frank told him. “I’m just going to do a little bit of supervising and I’ll be right on in.”
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Noises from the electric-train set in a corner of the spacious den competed with Christmas carols from the stereo and laughter from the boys and even, Ginnie was surprised to discover, from herself and Neil.
She had to inspect each of Paul’s presents and each of Mark’s presents. James, who considered himself a little old for show-and-tell, didn’t drag everything out, but there were a few things of which he was particularly proud, and he did put these on display.
Paul curled by her side with a new book while Cassie was out of the room. Ginnie helped him with the words that were just outside his vocabulary range. She watched Neil sprawled on the floor with Mark and James and an enormous pile of Lego, which slowly assumed the shape of some sort of alien space-landing craft.
She tried not to remember other Christmases together. She tried not to remember Neil on the floor playing with Todd and his new toys. She tried not to remember the aromas coming from her kitchen. She tried not to feel cheated.
Darkness crept into the room. The lights from the tree were no longer enough. Cassie lighted lamps around the pleasant room. Paul began nodding sleepily, the aftereffects of too much food and much too long a day. Ginnie saw Neil glance at his watch.
“We really should be going,” she said softly.
Neil shot her a look of gratitude, and Cassie, for once, didn’t argue about her leaving so early. Father McIntyre took Ginnie’s hand in one of his slender ones, and Neil’s in the other. “My prayers will be with the three of you.”
Cassie hugged her friend, as did Frank, a little self-consciously, before shaking hands with Neil. “I’ve enjoyed this afternoon, in spite of the tragedy behind it,” he told Neil. “If we can help in any way, let us know.”
“Oops, wait a minute!” Cassie said, darting into the kitchen and reappearing with a loaded grocery bag. “You’re not leaving me with all the leftovers.”
“What do you mean?” Ginnie asked. “Why do you think I come out here, if not to get away from those.”
“No fair.” Cassie remained firm. “I wrapped them for the freezer. If you don’t want them tonight, just stick them in there. They’ll keep till the Fourth of July, if need be, but I’m not storing all that food in my house to tempt me into gaining another five pounds.”
And then Ginnie and Neil were alone in the car, in the dark, once again silent.
“They’re nice people,” Neil said after long, uncomfortable minutes.
“Yes, they are,” she answered, pretending to concentrate on the road.
“You’re fond of them, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I am.”
Seconds stretched into minutes before he spoke again. “You interact very well... with the boys.”
She felt a tugging at her heart and a tightness in the back of her throat. She heard no censure in his voice, but she dared not speculate whether he meant—you interact very well with their boys, why couldn’t you have done so with mine? Or maybe, just maybe — you interact very well with their boys, why couldn’t mine have done so with you?”
Neil insisted on entering the darkened house first, and on checking out each room, flipping on the lights as he went. When he was satisfied that the house was indeed empty, he carried the food into the kitchen for her. While she put it away, he made what she knew was a necessary telephone call.
She knew the answer by the expression on his face, but she had to ask anyway. “Is there any word?”
He shook his head. “More of the same. Which means more of nothing. For God’s sake, he can’t be that hard to find!”
Ginnie saw the raw pain in his eyes before he turned from her. “I’m going to take the dog outside,” he said abruptly.
She nodded silently. The pressure in her throat had built steadily. Now she knew she would not be able to force words past it.
Shivering, she adjusted the thermostat, knowing that the temperature was only partially responsible for the chill she felt, and then stood in indecision, not knowing what to do next .
Neil had not mentioned staying, but she couldn’t imagine him leaving at this time of the night. And yet if he stayed, how could she just casually point him toward the guest bedroom? She laughed, a choked little laugh.
Gran’s lessons in etiquette hadn’t covered anything like this. No one’s lessons did. Maybe someday in this changing world, there would be a book, How To React When Your Ex-Husband Stays Over For The Night. Chapter 1—“How To Invite Your Ex-Husband To Stay Over For The Night.” Chapter 2—“What Do You Do When You Want Him In Your Bed, Not The Guest Room?” Chapter 3— “How To Not Want Him.”
A worthwhile project, she thought bitterly. Maybe that’s what she could do with the sleepless nights that were sure to follow when he left—if she could bear the pain of researching it.
She heard Neil at the back door, stamping the snow from his feet and talking softly to the puppy. Sighing, she went to join him in the kitchen.
“It’s been a long day,” he said. “I don’t see any sense in waiting up all night for something that might not happen.”
She moistened her dry lips and nodded, agreeing silently, knowing that she would be awake at least half the night, anyway.
“You know that I’m staying here,” he said.
She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. Again she nodded.
“Damn it, Ginnie, you don’t have to look like you’re afraid I’m going to attack you at any minute. I’m not leaving you alone in this house tonight.”
Fool, Ginnie, she berated herself. What had made her think she would have any decision to make. What had happened that morning between them had been a fluke, an accident.
“The bed in the guest room is made up,” she told him. “But I’ll have to get you an extra blanket.”
Later that night, awake as she had known she would be, she thought of the truly difficult things she had done in her life—telling Neil she wanted a divorce, getting in her car and driving away from Pleasant Gap, and him, leaving him in the park with no more than a hug, and tonight, turning away as he began unbuttoning his shirt and walking from his room to hers with no more than a casually spoken good-night.
The wind shifted, howling around the house. Ginnie would have to find that branch tomorrow. It was scraping again, reminding her of the terror she had felt the night before. There was no terror now. Neil had erased that by walking into her house. But her terror had been replaced by an aching loneliness. Just knowing he was in the house was both comfort and torture.
The wind clipped a pine tree, moaning through it, and rattled at a window. She pulled the blanket more securely around her. Lord, she was cold. In the snug warmth of her home, she was cold. What was it like outside? Where was Todd tonight? He’d have no blanket to cover him, no central heating to flip on, no comfortable flannel sleepwear.
She shifted in the bed, burrowing against the pillow. Neil would be thinking those thoughts, too. How in God’s name could he stand the waiting?
Chapter 10
The blare of the alarm clock penetrated Ginnie’s warm cocoon of sleep. “All right, all right!” she muttered as she fought her way up from under the covers. “I’m coming. I hear you. Shut up already.”
And mercifully, it did. Ginnie peered from beneath the blanket. Neil, already dressed, shaved and smiling at this ungodly hour, held a cup of coffee.
“I’ve been waiting for that foghorn of yours to go off for hours.”
She scooted herself up against the curved metal columns of the headboard, drawing the sheet with her, chasing the cobwebs from her brain. Neil looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept well, but not overly disturbed. Had there been word?
Her “Good morning” came out in a throaty rasp.
“It really is, you know,” he said as he walked across the room. “I’m surprised you don’t have booby traps in your path to the alarm clock.”
No. There hadn’t been word. He couldn’t tease her like this if there had been.
“Oh, no,” she murmured, yawning. “I want to make it hard enough to turn off the alarm for me to remember the trip, not to injure myself.”
“Here.” He handed her the coffee, and she accepted it gratefully.
“Scoot over.”
She did, from long habit, never forgotten, and he sat on the edge of the bed.
“What do you have against morning, Ginnie?”
She glanced up at him from under a sweep of her unruly hair. She saw no criticism in his eyes and no disapproval, only a gentle teasing.
“Nothing,” she said. “I love morning. It’s just getting into it that I hate.” She yawned again. “Mmm. This is good coffee.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I did, didn’t I?” she said apologetically. She had been. The coffee was excellent. But she wasn’t nearly so surprised by Neil’s skill at making coffee as she was by the fact that he was sitting on the edge of her bed, beside her, and they were once again sharing the intimacies of early-morning coffee. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be doing so.
“You didn’t sleep very well last night,” she said, looking at the dark shadows that ringed his eyes.
He shook his head. “Neither did you.” His voice lowered to a tone she remembered all too well, a tone she’d thought never to he
ar again. “Maybe we should have kept each other company.”
She felt the blood draining from her face and concentrated furiously on the coffee. “Don’t tease me, Neil.”
“I’m not teasing.” He stopped abruptly, took the cup from her and placed it on the table. “Maybe I was,” he said softly. “What I meant was, maybe we should have stayed awake together, after all, since we were obviously both awake. But I think what I wanted to know was—Never mind what I wanted to know. Oh, hell, Ginnie, what I wanted to know was if you missed me as... if...”
“You know, that’s the strangest thing,” she said gently.
“What is?”
“The way you lose all your renowned powers of oratory when you talk to me.”
“I do, don’t I?”
“Why is that, Neil?” she asked expectantly.
He leaned toward her, and when he spoke his voice was as husky as hers had been. “Why do you ask, Ginnie? Do you really want to know? Or are you only making conversation?”
Suddenly, she wasn’t comfortable anymore. She was trapped in the satin depths of his eyes, caught in the past when her heart had responded to his, when her body had responded to his. Only this wasn’t the past, this was now. Ginnie had spent years getting over those emotions, driving the ache from her, telling herself she didn’t want him. Now here she was, responding to a need within her that denied the time that had passed, denied the hurt, denied the loneliness.
She shrank against the pillows, dragging her head back and forth. “I—I can’t.”
“You feel it, too, don’t you?” he asked relentlessly.
“Please don’t, Neil. Don’t drag it up. Don’t make us talk about it. It won’t do any good, you know. Nothing has changed. Nothing can ever change.”
“You still love me, Ginnie. That hasn’t changed, either.”
“No!” she cried, pushing up against the headboard, scooting away from him, as though removing herself from him physically could tear that invisible bond that held her forever bound to him.
“No. You can’t do this to me again, Neil. It’s Little Rock all over, and I won’t let you—”
