Wintertide: A Novel

by Debra Doxer

  From behind me, someone said my name. I was paying so little attention that when I turned around I expected to see my mother there, but instead I saw a beautiful, familiar girl.

  "Hi, Dan. I thought that was you," she said smiling up at me.

  Her hair was much longer, and it looked lighter than I remembered. She appeared thinner, too. You could see the outline of her cheekbones. Her green eyes were the same clear, friendly ones I used to know so well. I hadn't seen Kristen since the summer before I left for college. I had promised to keep in touch, and I had intended to at the time, but when I got to school, I got caught up in everything and I never did.

  "Kristen," I said awkwardly, still taking her in. "How are you?"

  She watched me shyly through long, thick eyelashes. "Fine. I work here, over in accessories." She turned and pointed to a glass counter across the store. "Are you home for the holidays?"

  "Yeah," I nodded.

  "How’s school going?"

  "It’s going okay." She had always been pretty, but she was striking now.

  She nodded, still smiling at me, not appearing to be holding a grudge. I searched for something else to say. “Have you worked here long?” I finally asked.

  “No, I’m just working during the holiday to make some extra money.” She self-consciously pushed her hair behind her ear. "So...do you come home much?" she asked.

  "No, not at all really. This is the first time I've been back in a while."

  "Have you kept in touch with anyone? Your friend Seth, maybe?"

  "I’ve seen him since I’ve been home, but I didn’t really keep in touch while I was at school. I’m really sorry I didn’t call."

  She waved my comment off. “Oh no, it’s fine. No big deal, I know you must be really busy."

  “But still, I should have at least called you back. I am sorry.” She was letting me off the hook so easily. She had always been insecure and unaware of how great she was.

  She smiled sweetly again and then glanced behind her. There was a customer at her counter. "Well, I'd better get back. How long are you home for?"

  I shrugged. "I’m not really sure."

  "Well, why don't you call me while you’re home? Maybe we could do something?"

  "Sure," I said, surprised.

  She took a step back and then hesitated. "Do you have my number? It's still the same."

  I nodded. I still knew it by heart. “Good to see you."

  "You, too.” She surprised me with a quick hug, but stepped back before I could return it, her long hair flipping over her shoulder as she hurried across the store. She had on a brown skirt that flared out around her knees. I watched her for a moment as she asked ''Can I help you?" to the woman that peered into the display case. Then I headed back toward the house wares department to find my mother.

  Seth Cooper’s father was a born salesman. He sold cars for a while, then office equipment, next came life insurance and then health insurance which finally led to him starting his own company. His face was one of the most expressive I had ever seen. His angry face seemed almost a caricature of that particular emotion, scrunched up eyes, tight mouth, flushed cheeks. His droopy jowls jiggled humorously when he laughed. And when he was frustrated, a vein in his right temple would pulsate. His waist expanded about an inch each year, and he had been gradually losing his hair for as long as I could remember. He was an imposing man with a bellowing voice that he used to manipulate his family into submission.

  Seth both admired and feared his father. The lengths to which he would go in order to win the man's approval were tremendous. Will Cooper had supposedly explained the birds and bees to his son by relating the story of his first time which occurred at the age of thirteen with the visiting friend of a cousin. So when Seth turned thirteen, he seemed to think it would be a disgrace if he didn't lose his virginity as soon as possible. It was an entertaining year for me as I watched him make a complete fool of himself in front of every girl that had managed to grow breasts over the summer vacation. In any case, he never found a willing participant. So he spent a week formulating an incredible story, completely fictional, to relate to his father. I wished him luck at the end of the school day, all the time thinking how ridiculous it was. The next morning he was sullen and quiet. I bugged him relentlessly. “What happened? What did your dad say?” Finally, at lunch, he told me.

  Seth scowled and stared down at his tuna fish sandwich. "He said nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  Seth shook his head, obviously, disappointed.

  Telling my own father anything about my sex life, even though I didn’t have one at the time, seemed ridiculous. I’m sure the information would not have been welcome on his part either. But Seth’s dad made a point of talking about sex in front of us. It always made me extremely uncomfortable.

  To add to his issues, everything Seth ever asked for was held hostage unless he could meet certain conditions. "We'll buy you a bicycle only if you get an A on your next math test.”, "You can only borrow the car if you paint the garage.", "You can only have a baseball mitt for your birthday if you make the team.” They reneged of course. Eventually they gave Seth everything. But not until they had made him sweat for it.

  He was always afraid of his father discovering his every indiscretion. It didn't prevent him from committing those indiscretions. It simply caused him to worry himself to a point where he was sure he had a bleeding ulcer at age sixteen. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to Eddie, a person who pushed him toward carelessness. After we would smoke or drink, Seth would use an entire can of breath spray to make sure there was no telltale scent on his breath. He'd stand out in the freezing cold for nearly an hour to air his clothes out. And as I soon learned, payment of Seth's college tuition could hardly be taken for granted. It seemed that was the biggest collateral yet. Any measure of disapproval Seth brought upon himself resulted in his father's threatening not to pay the college tuition bills.

  Unlike his father, Seth’s mother had an indefinable personality. She was very quiet, a part of the house like the sofa or the kitchen table. As a nurse, she was always working odd hours, but when she was home she merely smiled and allowed her husband to do most of the talking. Seth never spoke about her much, and I didn't know her well enough to make any judgments other than to say she seemed nice enough.

  Seth's fear that his father might one day stop paying his college bills was rooted in some event which occurred during his freshman year. He never went into details, but he alluded to the fact that he was on some sort of probation with his father and any tiny hint of trouble would result in his dad's pulling the rug out from under him. We sat on the floor of my bedroom that grey Sunday afternoon, leaning back against the bed, tossing tiny balls of paper into the cardboard box in which my Christmas present had come. More paper lay on the rug around the box than in it. It was drizzling outside, causing tiny melted pockmarks to form in the thin layer of snow still on the ground. Drops occasionally tapped lightly against the windows.

  I was watching television in the living room when Seth unexpectedly arrived. He greeted my mother with his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans. Mom welcomed him cheerily. A swift tide of apprehension hit me when I saw him. But it dissipated when we went upstairs to my room and he simply dropped to the floor stating that he didn't want to sit alone in his house all day. He looked tired.

  "I haven't heard from Eddie. Have you?" he asked.

  I shook my head as I set up the box and ripped some sheets of paper out of a notebook. Then I sat down beside him and started rolling ripped strips into balls and tossing them across the room. Seth absently did the same.

  "Something's not right. He should have called one of us by now."

  "Why would he call me?” I asked.

  Seth shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I mean that he should have called me by now."

  "Do you want to talk to him?"

  Another shrug. "Don’t know that either."

  “What do you know, Seth?” />
  He blew out frustrated breath. “Give me a break, okay?” He ran his hand through his hair the way he always did when he was stressed. “How do you think you would have turned out if you had his father?" Seth asked me.

  "I could never do what he did,” I answered, understanding what his question implied. “No matter what had been done to me."

  "You don't know that."

  "Yes, I do."

  Seth turned away and stared at the floor. "My mom says he isn’t going to make it. It’s just a matter of time. She said his wife hasn't left his bedside since he was brought in. Yesterday the police came to talk to her and she screamed at them, saying she was going to hire a private detective because they weren't doing anything to find the person who beat up her husband."

  "A private detective?"

  "Yeah, but my mom says she hasn’t really slept at all and she seemed kind of hysterical."

  "So the police haven't done anything?"

  He nodded. "That's what his wife said.”

  "I'm sure the police are not doing nothing."

  "I only know what my mom said.” He absently rolled a piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. I stared out the window at the falling rain.

  “I thought you’d be back at school by now,” Seth said.

  I shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

  "What are you doing tomorrow?" Seth asked changing the subject.

  "I have to work."

  He nodded at me. Then we both seemed to be out of things to say. The silence stretched on between us, and I began to wonder when he was going to leave. I supposed he had planned to spend most of his vacation with Eddie. "Maybe," he finally said, "the police won't ever question Eddie about it."

  "Maybe," I agreed dully. "What do you think he did with the fireplace poker?” I asked. It was something I had been thinking about for some time.

  Seth sat up straighter. “I was wondering about that, too. He probably took it with him. Otherwise, they would have arrested him by now. The policy definitely have his prints on file, and I’m sure his fingerprints were all over that thing. He had to have taken it with him.”

  I nodded, silently agreeing.

  "Well, I'd better get back," he said quietly.

  I followed him downstairs to the door and said goodbye. Mom yelled goodbye to him from the kitchen. I watched as he walked slowly to his mother's car, not at all bothered by the rain.

  "It's so nice that you two are becoming close again," Mom said when she heard me walk into the kitchen.

  "It's only because he doesn't have anyone else," I replied. I wasn't upset, merely stating a fact.

  She turned away from the counter, where she was filling a pie crust with apple slices, to look at me. "Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  She eyed me for a few moments, her lips pursed together, before turning back to her pie. “You’ve changed since you’ve been at school, Daniel.”

  “I know.” I surprised her by giving her a peck on the cheek. Then I walked out of the kitchen and went into the living room.

  fourteen

  John Benedetti died the next day. I found out while I was working at Professor Sheffield's house. I’d slept badly again that night, waking early, sitting in the kitchen alone, wasting time. I had on the same pants I’d worn to the professor's house last week. When I reached into the pocket, I found the packets of chamomile tea he had given me to cure my sleeplessness. I left them on my bed and decided to try the tea this evening before resorting to another sleeping pill.

  The professor's house was immaculate when I got there. I was stunned. "Barbara insisted on straightening up a bit before she left," he explained standing uncomfortably in his newly tidied living room. "I haven't been able to find a thing since.” The toys were gone. The furniture was dusted and small bowls of peppermints were again laid out around the room.

  I was sitting at the desk, typing swiftly, putting a great deal of effort into becoming absorbed in my work. I had just turned on the radio when the report came on. I heard the name Benedetti, and my fingers froze over the keys. I sat staring at the tiny speaker with its little black holes. The man on the radio said the victim died as a result of his injuries and that there were no suspects in what was now being described as a murder investigation.

  My stomach churned, pushing its acidic contents up into the back of my throat. I swallowed hard. Eddie killed a man, and I saw him do it. This wasn’t really news to me, but the reality of it kept pummeling at me. It was late afternoon, and although I sat at the computer for another two hours, I did no more work that day. I drove over to Seth's house when I left Professor Sheffield's. I expected to find him much less composed than he was. I also expected to find him alone. He wasn't.

  "Danny, how are you?”

  "I’m fine Mrs. Cooper," I said. She had on her nurse's uniform, white pants with a white button down shirt and white thick-soled shoes. She welcomed me inside, and only then did I see Seth right behind her sitting on the couch solemnly.

  "Seth and I were just talking about the poor man who was found by his wife in that big old house. He died this morning."

  "I heard," I said while glancing over at Seth. His eyes looked glazed over as he stared at his mother.

  "Well it's just awful. It's all anyone can talk about at the hospital. From the slant of the questions the police were asking his wife, some of us think maybe the old owners could have been involved somehow. I'm sure they must be angry about losing their home. And I heard the husband lost all his money in some business dealings that weren't exactly on the level if you know what I mean."

  "I guess anything's possible," I said.

  "Well, you never can tell about people," Mrs. Cooper continued. "When I married Will, I thought I was getting an honest man and look how that turned out."

  I looked over at Seth. The color rose in his cheeks. His mother noticed also. "See there," she said to me, "now I've embarrassed Seth. I'm sorry, sweetie. I'll go to work now and leave you boys alone. Please don't go out tonight. The maniac who killed that man is still out there somewhere.” She picked her coat and purse up off of a nearby chair, wished us a good night, kissed her son on the cheek and then walked out to her car, leaving the scent of her floral perfume heavy in the air. Seth hadn't said a word since I came in.

  I walked over to the couch and sat down on the other end. He turned to me and smiled grimly. His breath wafted over in my direction. He was drunk. How could his mother not have smelled the alcohol on him?

  "Have you been drinking all day?"

  His grin widened, and he leaned his head back onto the cushion. "Nope. Just the best part of it."

  "Have you heard from Eddie?" I asked.

  “No.”

  He stood clumsily, banging his shin on the coffee table, grabbing the arm rest to balance himself. When he headed into the kitchen, I followed. He took another beer from the refrigerator and chugged it. He stopped suddenly, lowering his arm and holding his hand to his stomach.

  I spent the next hour keeping him company while he got sick over the toilet. His hair was damp with sweat, and after the first few minutes, I had to crack open a window or else I would have become ill myself from the stench. After cleaning up in the bathroom, I brought him upstairs and put him to bed. When I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. "I'm sorry, Dan," he said in a sleepy voice.

  "For what?"

  "For everything."

  I wondered if my everything was the same as his. "It's okay, Seth. Just go to sleep."

  I walked out of his room, closed the door softly behind me, went down the stairs, through the family room and out to my mother's Buick in the driveway. The wind whistled around me as I hurried to get the door open. Once inside, I leaned my forehead against the cold steering wheel. A flood of regret washed over me. I pressed my head hard into the wheel trying to stop the tears I felt pricking at my eyes. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel this before. Not completely. Not fully. I’m not sure how long I sat th
ere. Eventually, I pulled myself together and drove home.

  My cell phone rang late that night. It startled me awake, and I grabbed it off my desk. "Hello?” I heard only silence on the other end. "Hello?" I repeated. There was no response. I hung up, annoyed. The caller ID read private number. I had just put my head back down on the pillow when the phone rang in my hand.

  "Hello?” Silence. "Seth?” Nothing.

  I stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again. I'm not sure how long I sat on my bed, completely still. Finally, I lay down and closed my eyes. I listened to the familiar creaking of our old house. At some point my father came home. I could distinguish a motor in the distance, growing louder as it approached the house. Tiny pebbles in the driveway crunched under the weight of the tires. Then the motor was turned off. The front door opened and closed. I heard his heavy work boots and jingling keys coming up the stairs and going into the bedroom across the hall. I never fell back to sleep.

  When the sun rose, brightening what had seemed like an endless night, I dragged myself out of bed. I showered slowly and lazily, dressed and drove to Professor Sheffield's house. He spoke to me only a few times throughout the day, but I never really paid much attention. I managed to get through the morning in a daze, weary from a lack of sleep, my head heavy on my neck. The professor did not keep coffee in his house. At some point in the afternoon, I took the car, drove to a nearby convenience store and bought an extra large coffee.

  Seth was waiting for me when I arrived home at the end of the day. I was surprised to see him because there were no cars in the driveway. "I walked," he explained. He appeared jittery. I noticed his fingers playing nervously with the buttons on his shirt while he continually ran his other hand through his hair. But Mom didn't seem to sense anything abnormal, other than the fact that he had walked three miles in below freezing temperatures.

  "That's the best way I know to catch cold," she chastised. "Never mind the fact that there's a murderer running around loose somewhere."

  "We're going to go up to my room, Mom," I said as I headed for the stairs.