by Zoe Kane
And - by extension – Grace.
Annie would never know the things that Danny had said in confidence to his brother over the years. Marcus would not tell her, and she could not ask.
In a way, of course, it had ceased to matter – Danny was just as gone, either way – but there was something unsettling in the way Marcus looked at her sometimes when the ghost of his brother flared up brightly before them. Which happened at least a dozen times a day, in some form, since he was everywhere in every room of the house, in everything Annie saw or felt or touched.
The bed, of course, was the worst; she hated herself, a little, for the fact that she could only fall asleep on Danny’s side, could only choke down the knot of emotion that confronted her every time she entered the room by curling her body up into the valley of the mattress left by ten years of Danny’s weight pressing down on it. But the whole house was full of landmines. And every time she was struck by one – every time her hand paused for a fraction of a second as her fingertips brushed the “HAPPY FATHER’S DAY” mug in the cupboard or she sorted through the junk mail that still arrived day after day with his name on it – she could feel Marcus watching her.
He knew more than nothing. But she did not know how much. And she could not ask him without saying things that could not possibly be said out loud. So instead she felt herself coiling up more tightly in his presence – afraid to give anything away, afraid to say too much. Every time Annie felt herself seized by some painful memory, she would fight to swallow it down, not wanting to reveal weakness in his presence. So it made her silent and tense, it made her walk hastily out of rooms he was in, and it caused him to watch her with a gentle compassion that just reminded her over and over that he seemed capable of reading her thoughts.
The children, however, were crazy about him.
It was hard not to feel a pang in her heart every time Lucy asked for Uncle Marcus to read the bedtime story, every time Sophia wanted to sit by Marcus instead of her when they watched TV, every time Isaac asked him for help with his math homework. He always gently corrected him with “that’s a good question for your aunt, I’m sure she’d love to help you!”, but she was the clear second choice and they all knew it.
“He’s new,” Aunt Vera explained to her, in a comforting voice, when she finally got up the courage to voice her frustrations. “They’ve known you all their lives. Marcus is the one who blew in from New York and brought a tree in a sleigh. There’s a novelty factor. But it will wear off, and you’ll get balance back again once everyone’s a little more comfortable.”
“That’s not it,” said Annie. “It’s that they like him, and they don’t like me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. They think I’m harsh, they think I’m mean, because I’m the one that says ‘Clean your plate’ and I’m the one that says ‘Go upstairs, it’s bedtime – ‘”
“And you’re the one who told them that their parents were dead,” said Vera gently. Annie looked away. “You have to stop punishing yourself for that.”
“I feel like I’m doing all the hard parenting, and he gets to do all the fun stuff, and it makes the kids think I’m mean. I’m Mean Aunt Annie.”
“No, you’re not,” said Aunt Vera. “But if you feel like Marcus isn’t doing enough of the heavy lifting, you should say so. You shouldn’t feel like you’re doing all the hard parenting with no help from him. He needs to be doing half. And you, by the way, my dear one, need to let him.”
* * *
Then the snow came back – just in time for Christmas – and suddenly everything was magical again, and the problems of what Marcus knew, of what to do about him, of what the kiss meant, of her fidelity to Danny’s memory, of her fear and grief, receded into the background. Not forever, but for a little while.
The snow lasted, off and on, until after the New Year, and Annie felt a bit like she was living inside a snow globe. Everything was soft and festive and lit with the bright glow of holiday lights. It wasn’t real, of course; there were moments when she would wake up in the morning and feel the weight of the thick blankets on her body and remember whose bed she was in, who those blankets belonged to, and why she was here, and she would have to curl up tightly as small as she could and wrap her arms around her abdomen and bury her face in the pillow in order to swallow the Dark Thing back down.
But those moments were few and far between, once the snow returned. It was as though the family’s grief had agreed to take the holidays off, knowing it would have plenty of time to come back for them after they had to pack the decorations back up to the attic again in January. After the snow melted and turned from a glowing white confection that frosted the streets with diamonds, back into a cold gray hostile slush that would make going outside miserable. After the sweet easy rhythm of Christmas break was replaced by work and school and normalcy.
No, there was plenty of time later for all of their Dark Things to return. They would bide their time. They were perfectly happy to wait. Let them have this, the Dark Things said. Let them rest, just for a moment.
And so the snow fell, wrapping the city in a sparkling blanket of velvety white, and inside the Walter house there were board games and bedtime stories, hot chocolate and winter walks and endless viewings of A Charlie Brown Christmas, and while Grace and Danny were never far from anyone’s thoughts, the poisonous sting was taken out of the memories, just for a little while. Sophia could show Uncle Marcus how Mommy put cinnamon on the whipped cream for hot cocoa without her lip quivering at all, and Isaac’s broad hints about how much he wanted a bike were amusing without being fraught with trauma; nobody was thinking, for these next few days at least, about what had happened to the bike he was supposed to get.
For the next few days at least, it was kind of like they were a family.
The kids were operating at a high pitch of pre-holiday mania, and Marcus had dived into Christmas mayhem so deeply that he was, in some ways, a big kid himself. Which was sometimes endearing and sometimes exhausting, leaving Annie the only adult. But it was hard to be too annoyed at him for tracking mud in the house when he’d been out for hours sledding down the driveway with Lucy in his lap. It did, however, generally mean that by the time they put the kids down, Annie was worn out to the point of exhaustion and made her way straight to bed herself shortly after.
Christmas Eve dawned cold and clear, with a brisk snap in the air and a temporary respite from the falling snow. Alexa and Abe came over to play for the afternoon, and then Marcus and Annie took the kids to the 5 p.m. Children’s Mass with Uncle Mike and Nana, followed by dinner at Nana’s house. The children dozed off in the back seat on the long drive home from Hillsboro, the sugar rush of cake and cookies finally wearing off and sending them into a heavy stupor.
Annie drove along the dark highway with Marcus at her side and realized it was very nearly her first real moment alone with him since the shock of finding him in their house last week on the day the snow first arrived. He too seemed to become suddenly aware of it, and she could feel him wanting to say something without being entirely sure what he should say.
Because, after all, they still hadn’t talked about the kiss.
They had orbited around each other at a friendly, respectful distance, and they had come over the past few days to feel far more familial towards each other than Annie would ever have expected. But the moment under the mistletoe had not repeated itself. Annie told herself this was a relief, that it made things simpler, that the last complication the children needed in their lives was their aunt and uncle trying to sort out the impossibly complex tangle that would emerge if they tried to move towards any kind of – well, anything.
So it was a good thing that he hadn’t kissed her again. And she really ought to let it go. That was the sensible thing to do.
Instead, staring straight ahead along the dark highway, she said to him in a light, casual tone, “You know, I held out as long as I could, but I have to ask – did you really not hang that mis
tletoe?”
He laughed, a low, delighted chuckle that made her whole body suddenly feel warm and alive. It was very easy to like him, when he was like this. Dangerously easy, in fact.
“I definitely did not hang that mistletoe,” he said in a meaningful tone. “Definitely. For sure. One hundred percent.”
“Marcus,” she said suspiciously.
“I mean, it definitely was not me engaged in the act of physically hanging that mistletoe, no.”
“Marcus – “
“Like, if you were standing there in the room watching as the person who hung the mistletoe was doing the actual hanging, then no, that person would not be me, Marcus Rey.”
She sighed. “Okay, Marcus, are you the one who was responsible for the mistletoe?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“You lying liar,” she said, trying to hide the irrepressible smile that kept bubbling up to the surface. “You told me it wasn’t you.”
“It wasn’t,” he said. “All I did was hand the hammer and the nail and the mistletoe to Vince and then give him the ladder and then tell him where it was supposed to go. But that’s not the question you asked.”
She couldn’t help laughing at that. She could feel him looking at her, could feel the warmth of his smile on her face, and she wanted so badly to smile at him back.
And so, just for a moment, she took her eyes off the road.
The deer came out of nowhere, loping across the long stretch of open highway and disappearing into the distance as Annie slammed violently on the brakes, jolting the children awake.
“Jesus,” exclaimed Marcus as the car jolted to a halt.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a little shaken, “there was a deer. It just jumped out of the trees, I didn’t see it. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Everyone okay back there?” And he turned to the back seat to look at the children. “Stop the car,” he said suddenly to Annie.
“What?”
“Pull over,” he barked, so forcefully that she obeyed him without question, then watched in astonishment as he yanked off his seatbelt and climbed over the divider into the back of the car.
“Marcus, what are you doing?” she asked, and then saw him unbuckle all three of the children’s seatbelts and gather them all as one into his arms. Only then did Annie notice that they were crying – big noisy gasping panicked sobs that seemed to pull all the air out of the space around them.
Isaac clung to Marcus’ arm, burying his little face in one shoulder as Lucy burrowed her way into the center of his chest and Sophia wrapped her arms around her sister. “We’re okay,” he said over and over again, kissing their hair and stroking their trembling backs. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Everybody’s safe. It was just a deer. We just stopped too fast for a minute. That’s all.”
“I was scared,” Sophia mumbled into the fabric of his sweater. “I was scared it was going to be like the other thing.”
“I know, baby,” he murmured. “I know. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t like that. Look, everybody’s okay. Everything’s fine.”
Annie sat in the driver’s seat of the motionless car, watching them through the rearview mirror and hating herself. But Marcus was magnificent. He held them close and he said the right things and he listened as they murmured things into his ear in small, confiding voices and he squished into the back seat with them for the rest of the ride home, holding them close as their soft, frightened sniffling sobs subsided.
When they got into the house, faces red and tear-stained, Marcus disappeared into his bedroom and reappeared holding a small bundle in his arms. “I have a Christmas present that I was going to give you tomorrow,” he said to the kids, “but I think it might be a fun surprise to do it right now.”
Curiosity temporarily won out over tears, and as Marcus knelt down the bundle revealed itself to be a small cardboard box with a cloth draped over it, which he carefully removed so they could peer inside.
Staring up at them with perplexed eyes was a tiny brown-and-gold striped kitten.
“IS IT REAL????????” shouted Lucy so loud that the kitten began to panic. “DO WE GET TO KEEP IT DO WE GET TO KEEP IT????”
“Yes, it’s real,” chuckled Marcus. “It’s yours to keep. Now, you’re going to have to be the ones to take care of it – I’ll help show you what to do, but you guys are going to be in charge of feeding him and cleaning the litterbox and making sure he doesn’t make messes. Don’t put this all on Aunt Annie.”
“I can’t believe we have a cat!” exclaimed Isaac. “I always wanted a cat.”
“Can I pet it?” asked Sophia.
“Gently,” said Marcus. “He needs to get used to you. Don’t freak him out.”
“What’s his name?”
“I thought Dolphin might want to pick the name.”
“I’ll go get him!” yelled Sophia, racing up the stairs.
“All of you go put your pajamas on while you’re at it,” he called after her. “And brush your teeth!”
Lucy and Isaac followed Sophia upstairs. Only after they had all disappeared out of sight did he turn to see Annie leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching him.
“How much trouble am I in exactly?” he said warily, as he set the box with the kitten down on the floor and stood up.
“That depends,” she said. “How long have you been hiding a cat in your bedroom?”
“Only like two days.”
“There’s been a cat in this house for two days and you didn’t tell me?”
“I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it,” he said. “Vera told me they’ve always wanted one. Are you mad?”
She thought for a second. “I feel like I should be,” she finally confessed. “It’s a huge decision to make without me knowing about it.”
“I know.”
“They’re really young. And animals are a lot of work.”
“I know.”
“But fifteen minutes ago they were sobbing in the back seat of the car,” she said quietly, “and now you’ve made it Christmas again. I can’t be angry at that.”
He crossed the wide hallway towards her and wrapped her in his arms, holding her comfortingly close just like he had with the children. “I do it too,” he told her. “Every time we’re in the car when it’s snowing. My whole body feels it. I don’t feel safe again until I’m out of the car.”
“I know,” she said. “Me neither.”
“And I was so busy making sure the kids were okay that I didn’t even check on you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I am now,” she said. “I was scared too.”
“Do you think it will be like this forever?”
“I don’t know,” she said, burying her face in the soft wool of his sweater and feeling the tension in her body begin to ease. “I hope not. But I don’t know.”
The kids came thundering back down the stairs, stuffed animals in hand, and dove onto the floor to stare adoringly at the tiny kitten.
“Does Dolphin have an idea for a name?” asked Marcus.
“Yes, Dolphin says his name is Bug,” said Sophia.
“Bug?”
“Yes.”
“Hi Bug!” said Lucy, waving at the kitten. “This is Princess. She’s your cat friend.”
“Can Bug sleep in our room tonight?” asked Isaac.
“No, for a little while Bug is going to live in the guest bathroom where his litter box is,” said Marcus. “Once he gets used to it, then he can sleep upstairs with you.”
“Can Lucy sleep in our room tonight?”
“Lucy can sleep in your room,” said Annie. “Lucy is not a cat.” This made Lucy fall down giggling.
“It’s almost time for bed,” said Marcus, “and we have some important stuff we have to do first, don’t we? It’s Christmas Eve. We’ve got to get ready for Santa.”
“I’ll go get the cookies!” hollered Isaac.
“Wait, Isaac, stop,” call
ed Marcus. “Freeze.”
Isaac froze, a confused look on his face, in the living room doorway.
Right under the mistletoe.
“What?” asked Isaac, puzzled. Then Sophia and Lucy started giggling, and Isaac got it. “Awww man,” he exclaimed. “Not again!” But it was too late. Marcus had swept him up in his arms.
“Sorry kid, it’s the law,” he said, and deposited a loud series of noisy kisses on both of Isaac’s cheeks.
“My turn, my turn!” yelled Lucy. “I want kisses!” She ran to the doorway to stand under the mistletoe, and then she did something that astonished everyone in the room.
Instead of calling to Uncle Marcus, or to her sister and brother, she turned to the person standing by herself in the hallway, watching everyone else, and she held out her arms.
“Aunt Annie, Aunt Annie, I’m under the mistletoe!” she sang. “Come get me!”
Marcus looked at Annie with pure joy shining in his eyes, and Annie felt the surprise sting of tears. This was the first time any of the children had openly sought affection and comfort from her before, and both of them knew it. Both of them knew what that meant.
And yet there she was, tiny and pink-cheeked and wearing her candy cane pajamas, standing with her arms wide open, ready and waiting.
Ready for Annie to love her. Ready to love her back.
So Annie picked Lucy up in her arms and held her tight as Danny Walter’s blue eyes sparkled back at her out of a tiny, happy little face that she kissed over and over and over.
Marcus set Isaac back on his feet and he scampered off to the kitchen with Sophia to get the Santa cookies. “We need carrots for the reindeer,” said Lucy a little drowsily, and Annie – who did not want to let go of the warm, soft weight of the child on her shoulder – carried her into the kitchen to open the refrigerator and pour a Christmas mug full of milk for Santa and hand Sophia a fistful of baby carrots. Then she watched from the doorway as Isaac and Sophia set out the treats for Santa, giddy and bouncing and ecstatic, and she thought about what a miracle it was that the universe had granted them all a reprieve, just for a little while, from the agony of their grieving so that it could be Christmas Eve.
