“Hi.”
Alex turned his head to find the younger girl standing right in front of him.
“Hi.” She was a little bitty thing, with messy curls around her face, and cheeks bright red from the cold. Her hands were red, too. They must be freezing after getting wet.
“Wanna play with me?”
“No.” He stared down at her. “You better go dry off or your fingers will freeze and fall off.”
She stared at him skeptically but nonetheless glanced down at her hands. Once she was sure all her fingers were there, she stuck one of her hands in her pocket. The other still clutched the stick.
“They won’t fall off.” She swung the stick aimlessly around her.
“Not now. But after you go to sleep tonight they might.”
She stopped swinging the stick. She didn’t seem so sure. “How do you know?”
Alex stifled his smile and forced himself to look grim. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Bending two of his fingers back, he held his left hand up. “That’s how.”
With a gasp she jumped back. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and her face lost some of its rosiness. Then she threw the stick away, turned, and ran toward the yellow van.
“Hey, watch it!” Alex yelled when the stick hit the trunk next to him. He jumped down from the car, but as she barreled away, his irritation turned to chagrin. “Stupid kid,” he muttered.
Across the lot the other two children stopped their game at the youngest one’s sudden approach.
“My fingers!” Alex heard her cry. “They’re gonna fall off!”
The boy knelt down before her and wrapped her in his arms. Alex couldn’t make out their muffled conversation, but he saw all three of them turn to stare at him.
Stupid kid, he thought again. Can’t even take a joke. He bent down nonchalantly and picked up a handful of gravel. Then he idly began to toss the chips at a towering birch tree that stood at the edge of the parking lot. The first three tosses missed. But the fourth hit, as did the fifth.
He chanced a quick glance at the three kids. The little girl was standing in the doorway of the van; her brother was helping her remove her coat, then her brightly colored sweater as well. The other girl came out of the van with dry clothes, and the child was swiftly bundled into them. For added measure she donned mittens and her brother wound a red-and-white striped muffler around her head and throat.
Alex threw another rock, but he was aware the moment the three children started toward him.
“Hey!” the boy named Robbie called out to Alex. But Alex only threw another rock. It hit the tree squarely and ricocheted back into the gravel lot.
“Hey, you. Why’d you scare Josie that way?”
Alex turned to face them. The boy was smaller than he by almost a full head. He was younger, too, but that didn’t seem to deter him.
“Tell her it’s not true,” the boy insisted.
Alex’s eyes flitted over the little group. They were an odd threesome, all dressed in jeans and tennis shoes, but with a strange assortment of jackets and sweaters. Almost like foreigners, he thought.
“You mean about this?” Alex raised his left hand up as he had before.
“You see? You see?” the little girl called Josie cried. She clung to her big brother’s arm. “I told you! Now my fingers are gonna fall off too!” At that she began to cry.
“Josie!” The boy turned to her for a moment, then thrust her into his other sister’s arms. Before Alex could react, Robbie grabbed his left arm and twisted it back to reveal his folded-down fingers.
“See! Look, Josie, I told you it wasn’t true!”
Alex shoved him hard and the smaller boy stumbled back. “Keep your hands off me, shrimp. Or I’ll rip your fingers off.”
The two girls sprang back from the glowering Alex, and their brother kept his distance, too. But his face reflected no fear, only disdain. “Does it make you feel good, scaring little kids?”
“Is it my fault she’s too stupid to take a joke?”
“She’s not stupid! She’s only five years old.”
They were still glaring at each other when Jennifer burst out of the grocery store. She was down the steps before she sensed the hostility in the scene and skidded to a halt. The silence continued until Judith and Charles came out with several bags in their arms.
“Alex! Come here and help your mother!” his father called to him.
For a long moment the boys’ gazes remained locked. Then Alex gave him a smug smile. “Gotta go, shrimp.” He glanced over at the two younger girls. “Ciao, babies.” He wiggled his fingers at them, then with a laugh turned away.
“What was that all about?” his father demanded with a suspicious frown.
“Just wishing the locals a merry Christmas, Dad. Just spreading some Christmas cheer.” His tone grew bitter. “Isn’t that what we came up here for?”
With a sharp motion he hurled the last of his rocks at the birch, but this one went wide of the mark and landed in some shrubbery beyond. Then he took one of the bags from his mother and with careful indifference put it into the trunk his father had opened. He got into the car and slammed the door—just a little harder than necessary, but not enough to get his father started up again.
Jennifer bounced into the car, chattering as usual. But aside from shoving her leg away from his side of the seat, he ignored her. The strong beat of Down easily drowned out the other conversation in the car. As they pulled out of the gravel lot, however, he looked out at the kids from the yellow van.
The two older ones were playing hacky-sack again, but the littlest girl was just sitting in the open door of the van. Her legs were swinging back and forth; for several beats she was in time with the music pounding in Alex’s ears. Then she glanced up at the passing Mercedes and her legs slowed their rhythm.
She was a cute little thing, Alex thought for a brief moment. Then he deliberately turned away from her watching eyes and turned up the volume of his music. Too bad she was so stupid.
Chapter Three
Three quarters of a mil if it’s a penny, Charles thought when he pulled the car into the gravel driveway. Rogers was obviously doing very well at the bank if his mountain getaway house was any indication. It had probably only cost half that to build, he decided as he scanned the multilevel house with a knowledgeable eye. If he’d bought the lot low—and knowing Rogers, he had—the man would turn a pretty penny when he sold the place.
Maybe he should look into resort developments, Charles mused. It would give him reason to get away from the city.
“This is it?” Alex unfolded his gangly form from the car. His tone made his disappointment clear. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. I bet they don’t even have cable. No,” he continued after spying the two single wires that fed electricity and telephone service into the house. “No cable.”
“I suppose you’ve never heard of a satellite dish,” Jennifer said as she alighted.
Alex ignored his sister’s superior tone and stared up at the roof. Then he began a circuit of the house.
Charles sighed. He didn’t know whether to hope they had a satellite dish or not. With it, they’d never see Alex. Without it, Alex would sulk and complain. He stared up at the modern chalet-style house with its wood shake siding and two towering chimneys, and suddenly felt defeated.
Who was he kidding? A change of scenery wasn’t going to alter anything between him and Judith. Even the bright smile she assumed when she stepped from the car seemed only to emphasize the futility of it all. Once more, she was smiling in the face of adversity. Why hadn’t he recognized that habit of hers before?
“It’s beautiful,” Judith murmured. She drew Jennifer to her and gave her an encouraging squeeze. “We’re going to have a splendid Christmas this year.”
But like the puffs of her breath, which hung in the air only a few seconds before disappearing in the icy wind, Charles feared her enthusiasm was just as fleeting. Still, he resolved to match her efforts.
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“It’s great. Great. And look, Jenn, we can take a hike into those woods to get a Christmas tree.”
Jennifer followed the line of his gaze. “I like artificial trees with all the lights built in the best.” Then she ducked out of her mother’s embrace. “Will I be able to call my friends from way out here?”
Judith sighed and her smile faded. “Probably. But we didn’t come here for you to spend all your time on the phone,” she added.
Charles opened the trunk and began to unload their luggage. He leaned Alex’s guitar case against the side of the car.
Almost at once, Alex sprinted up. “Don’t put that on the ground!” The boy yanked the flat case away from the car; then stalked toward the double entry doors.
“No satellite dish,” Charles surmised. He shot Judith a wry look, and for a moment their eyes clung in that old familiar way, sharing an instant of understanding that only parents could comprehend.
Then she looked away. “Maybe we can get him to play some Christmas carols.”
“Fat chance,” Charles grumbled. “He’ll just stream stuff on his phone.”
The house was even more impressive inside. Soaring ceilings, starkly modern details, and several large contemporary prints contrasted perfectly with large overstuffed furniture and plush carpets. In lieu of potted plants, several tall clusters of dried, curling branches stood in plain white ceramic pots.
“Amanda Olivier,” Charles remarked as he placed his wife’s bags down in the marble-floored foyer. He’d recognize Amanda’s signature decorating touch anywhere.
“It works better in an office environment than a home.”
Charles glanced at his wife. “I thought you liked her work.”
Judith shrugged as she started up the stairs. “It’s all right. I guess I’ve just seen too much of it. Jenn, Alex, bring your bags up to your rooms. There’s no reason for your stuff to clutter up the downstairs.”
The two children followed their mother up the stairs. Jennifer had her pink suitcase and matching garment bag in tow. Alex held his guitar as if it were priceless, while his army-green duffel bag thumped up the polished wood stairs behind him.
Charles raked his hand through his hair. Unexpectedly, a shiver of fear went through him, but desperation demanded that he hold it at bay. This week together would be good for them. They would be forced to deal together and talk.
He accepted the blame for their alienation from one another, for he knew enough about management techniques to have recognized the signs long ago. But he’d ignored the problem until now. They each led separate lives. This week, however, he was going to change all that.
At least, he was going to try.
He started to follow them up the stairs, then stopped. First he needed to turn up the thermostat, get this place warm. Then he’d let Doug know they’d arrived.
It took him several tries to get through, and even then the reception was terrible. “That’s the mountains for you,” Doug said.
At least there was a landline in the kitchen, though. He could always use that in a pinch.
A half hour later, it began to snow. The sun disappeared behind a heavy layer of low-hanging clouds. The wind had picked up, and beyond the driveway the pine trees swayed in the erratic gusts.
A white Christmas, Charles thought. Why did that idea, which should have been so appealing, suddenly just seem bleak?
“It’s snowing,” he said, standing before the large master bedroom window, his fists thrust into his pants pockets. Behind him he heard Judith unpacking clothes.
“I hope it’s not so deep that you and the kids can’t go out for a tree. Is there a hatchet here?”
“An ax. You need an ax to cut down a tree. Rogers said the house has everything we need.”
He turned to face her then, and for the space of two heartbeats they stared at each other. His words seemed to linger in the chill air. The house has every-thing we need. Did it have the magic formula that would heal the wounds that lay between them? He’d brought them here with that hope, he realized. He wanted to recapture happiness—somehow reenter their past. Only this time he would do things differently.
But how? How?
He cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Judith began. “While I put the groceries away, why don’t you see if you can find the Christmas decorations. I can make us dinner—how does a salad and lasagna sound?—while you build a fire.”
Charles stared at his wife. In the soft yellowish light from the overhead lamp she seemed smaller than normal. And more fragile.
Once more he cleared his throat. “We need to talk, Jude.”
She seemed to shrink away from him. “Now? We’ve just arrived. We’re not even settled. Can’t it wait until later?”
The ensuing silence was oppressive. Like a sharp physical pain, Charles’s fear for their future tightened around his heart until he could hardly breathe.
“How much longer can we afford to wait?” he finally managed to say. “You can’t raise the specter of—dammit!—of divorce, and not expect to talk about it. Christ!”
Judith swallowed. He saw the jerky movement of her throat and the suspicious glint of moisture in her eyes. But she didn’t cry. “How appropriate. Profanity for Christmas,” she replied in a brittle tone.
“What does that have to do with anything!” Charles exploded. “Our lives are falling apart and you’re avoiding me, Jude. But it won’t work.”
“Really? It worked for you for years. You’re a master at avoiding what you don’t want to see.” She laughed, a harsh sound with no mirth. “I learned from a master.”
Charles was torn between wanting to shake her and wanting just to fold her into a desperate embrace. He trembled with the effort to do neither.
“I’m not avoiding anything now, Judith. I want to set things right between us. That’s why I planned this trip. I want to begin again—”
“You want a lot, Charles. You always have. But wanting it isn’t enough. It takes two to make a marriage work.” She took a slow, shaky breath. “Did you never consider that I might not want it?”
If she had torn his heart out by the roots, he couldn’t have hurt more. Charles was terrified even to take a breath; he was sure he would break apart. The worst fear of his life had been exposed, and he recoiled as if he’d been struck a physical blow. Unable to cope with her complete dearth of feelings for him, he jerked about and fled.
Judith stood in the spacious bedroom, staring at the place where Charles had been, seeing the stricken expression on her husband’s face—and she felt the same wrenching pain he had.
When had she become so cruel?
She honestly didn’t know.
There had been a time when Charles had meant everything to her. Her world had centered on him, and later, on him and their children. Now she seemed completely self-centered. She wanted what she wanted, and too bad for anyone else.
Yet she still wished it could be how it used to be. She wanted to be madly in love with her husband, so that nothing else would matter. Only everything else did matter.
She shook her head in confusion, unable to decipher what she wanted anymore. She wanted to feel that old thrill when she saw Charles, the one that centered low in the pit of her stomach. And she wanted to know he felt the same thrill for her. But like the emotional part of the marriage, the physical side had suffered, too. Charles turned to her in bed as often as ever, but more and more she tried to avoid him. She felt so apart from him emotionally that the closeness of lovemaking seemed dishonest. Even when she longed for him, she felt compelled to push him away.
It was madness, and yet she couldn’t prevent it.
She turned automatically to the task of putting away their clothes. His hung on the right side of the closet, hers on the left. She placed his other items in the three right-side drawers of the large dresser and hers in the other three. She even tossed her phone into a drawer. After all, there was no one she really wanted to talk to. On one nightstand went the b
ook she was reading: Luncheon of the Boating Party by Susan Vreeland. On the other went today’s Wall Street Journal. Finally she placed the empty luggage in the rear of the closet. Only when everything was well put away and she couldn’t put it off any longer did she finally descend the wide stairwell.
The house was strangely hushed. Jennifer was on her phone, of course. Judith recognized the electronic tones of the game she liked to play. Alex was perched in a bay window playing the guitar. How quiet the instrument was when it was not plugged into an amplifier. She could hardly hear it.
Her eyes skimmed the room restlessly, unable to focus on anything. How would she manage an entire week here?
With a fortifying breath, she buried the thought. Her children deserved a good Christmas. Charles obviously was trying to give them one; she could do no less. Even if it were the last Christmas they would celebrate as a family, some good might come of it. By losing the perfect family image he cultivated so desperately, Charles might come to realize how important it was to look deeper than just the surface.
But somehow Judith doubted it.
“WE’LL ALL HAVE ASSIGNED CHORES,” Charles said, pushing his half-eaten plate of food away. He bent over the list that lay next to his plate. Anything to avoid the flat expression in his wife’s eyes.
“I’ll keep the fires going. Alex will keep a path open to the car.” He looked up at his silent son. “I’ll help you clear the driveway.” Then his gaze shifted to Jennifer. “You will be responsible for breakfasts and lunches. That includes washing dishes, too.”
“But Dad! That’s not fair!” Jennifer cried. “Alex gets to play in the snow but I get all the cruddy work.”
“Everyone keeps their own rooms neat and their beds made,” he went on, ignoring her outburst. “You’ll do dinners, Jude. Now, have I forgotten anything? Oh, yes, we’ll all decorate the Christmas tree. Together. And we’ll all go out tomorrow to pick one out and chop it down.” He looked around at his family, willing someone to break the awful silence.
“Can I be excused?” Alex didn’t wait for an answer but scraped the chair back, nearly toppling it as he stood up. Jennifer was quick to follow. The one grabbed his earbuds and phone, and retreated to the window seat he’d claimed earlier as his own. The other made a beeline for the television, rapidly flipping channels until she found something to watch.
Angels in the Snow Page 3
