The Depths 0f Winter (Shifting Seasons Book 3)

by Sammie Joyce

  “Any chance you’d be interested in going to the opera this weekend with me?”

  There were so many problems with the inquiry that I didn’t know where to start.

  “Y-you like the opera?” I sputtered dubiously. Just when I didn’t think this man could surprise me any more, he outdid himself.

  “Honestly, I don’t get to go as much as I’d like because in these parts, there aren’t many people who appreciate the fine arts, I’m afraid.”

  I nodded, smiling at the idea of Pat James or Mr. Wilks going to the opera.

  “There’s a production of Madame Butterfly playing in Anchorage this weekend.”

  That answered my next question because I was sure that there wasn’t an opera house in town.

  “Anchorage,” I echoed slowly and he nodded.

  “I have tickets already but no one to go with me.”

  How could I refuse this offer?

  An attractive man, determined to make things right with me, inviting me to one of my favorite pastimes. When was the last time I’d gone to see a show? When was the last time I’d even left my house in a dress?

  “Is that a yes?” Flint encouraged lightly and I choked back all my reservations, offering him the first genuine smile I’d given him since we’d met.

  “Yes,” I agreed, watching his face explode with happiness at my concession. “Can I call you later in the week to confirm?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s why I gave you my number,” he replied. Our eyes locked and another flutter went through my chest, but this time, it wasn’t laced with the slightest bit of fear.

  My defenses were lowering, despite the trepidation that had smothered me upon entering Lucette’s.

  And I had to admit, it felt really good to let them down.

  11

  Margot-Celine

  To my absolute horror, Lowell and Kea were at my house when I returned from the impromptu date with Flint.

  It wasn’t a date! I kept telling myself but I knew it had been.

  “Where have you been!?” Lowell screeched over Pascal’s incessant howling when I pulled up beside her truck. The two women were shivering as they paced around the property and I had to wonder how long they’d been there, upsetting my dog.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, sliding out of the driver’s seat. “You’re driving Pascal fou!”

  “We were worried sick about you!” Lowell snapped back, unperturbed by my annoyance. “You called in sick today, you weren’t home—”

  “Demoiselle, je suis l’adulte ici! I am the adult here. You can’t ask me about how I choose to spend my days.”

  Lowell gaped at me, giving Kea a look of disbelief before turning her attention back to me as I made my way up the steps toward the house. The temperature had dropped again and I could smell the snow forming in the atmosphere.

  I wonder if that’s how Flint can smell me, the same way we smell ozone.

  Another frisson of pleasure shot through me and I forced myself to silence it.

  “Margot-Celine,” Kea sighed, following me into the house. “We were really concerned.”

  I felt slightly guilty, hearing the note of worry in her voice, and as Pascal came bounding forward to address us all, I glanced over my shoulder at the girls.

  “Everything’s fine,” I assured them. “You didn’t need to come here.”

  “You didn’t answer your home phone,” Lowell insisted. “I thought the worst…”

  Lowell closed the door, trapping in the heat of the house as I kicked off my shoes and coat.

  “Things didn’t go very well with Flint last night,” Kea sighed. “He was still really angry when Emmett and I left and—”

  “I was just with Flint and he’s fine. We worked it all out,” I repeated. They both seemed stunned by my announcement, eying me warily as they remained in the entranceway.

  “W-what do you mean?” Kea asked when Lowell didn’t.

  “Just what I said,” I replied, setting my purse on the coffee table in the living room. “We’ve reached an understanding.”

  My answer was met with even more silence. Then, they both spoke at once.

  “Where did you meet?” Lowell wanted to know.

  “What did he say?” Kea demanded.

  Irritation grew inside me, the slightly heady feeling that had followed me home completely disappearing. Pascal followed me around, sensing my slight discontent at the unexpected visitors.

  “Jeune filles, I’m sorry but I have things to do this afternoon,” I lied. “Believe me, everything is fine now. I’m sorry you were worried about me but I just needed a day to myself.”

  I eyed them pointedly. My words weren’t lost on them and they exchanged a look before nodding begrudgingly.

  “All right,” Lowell sighed even though neither of them looked convinced. “Will you be at school tomorrow?”

  “I will,” I promised and I meant it. The day off had been more fruitful than I had ever imagined it could have been. It had done more than clear my head—it had given me some kind of absolution too.

  Kea nudged Lowell out the door, causing Pascal to look after them longingly.

  “Drive carefully,” I called out after them, the maternal instinct in me jumping forth. “It’s going to start snowing soon.”

  “We don’t have that far to go,” Kea assured me, closing the door and leaving me alone to replay the afternoon in my mind.

  I considered making myself another cup of coffee but I was feeling slightly wired after my meeting with Flint and I didn’t think caffeine would be a good idea in my state.

  Pascal barked and I opened the back door to let him out, but instead of closing the sliding door, I found my eyes trailing along the darkness beyond, wondering if Flint was out there in the woods at that moment, watching me.

  I couldn’t help but wish he was.

  * * *

  Focusing on teaching was one of the hardest things I’d had to do in a long time. My lessons seemed longer than they ever had in my teaching career and even my students noticed that I was distracted.

  “Mme. Doucette, we did this yesterday,” Devon Moony groaned on Wednesday. “Twice.”

  Embarrassed, I realized he was right and tried to force myself to pay attention to my lesson plans.

  Suddenly, I understood Lowell much better than I had before.

  No wonder the girl is always itching to get out of here, I mused. What fun she and Davis must have, exploring the wilds like literal animals.

  A part of me wondered if I was jealous of their relationship and more humiliation flushed through me. That was ridiculous. Lowell was a young girl, one with her whole life ahead of her. I was a thirty-six-year-old woman with a spotty history. This kind of romance was for a teenager, not a grown woman who was trying her best to maintain a low profile.

  “Lowell,” I called to her after class on Wednesday. “J’ai besoin d’un moment, s’il vous plait.”

  The customary taunting from the other students followed my request for her to stay but she ignored them and remained after class, her eyes shadowed with nervousness.

  “What is it?” she demanded the second the last student had left. “Is it Flint? Is he bothering you?”

  I blinked, surprised that her mind had gone there. I shook my head.

  “Non, cherie,” I laughed. “It’s you.”

  She looked at me in confusion and I pulled out her latest pop quiz, shaking my head.

  “You’re still not doing as well as you should be, Lowell,” I chided her. “You promised that you’d try harder.”

  Her mouth parted as she gaped at me.

  “Y-you’re lecturing me about my grades?” she demanded incredulously. “I let you in on the biggest secret this town has ever seen and you’re worried about my stupid French quiz?”

  I didn’t like her petulance and said as much.

  “D’abord,” I began, “you didn’t let me in on anything. I followed you because your grades have been so p
oor. Deuxièmement, je suis ton professeur. My concern, above all else, is your well-being, Lowell. So, oui, I am worried about your stupid French quiz. I’m worried about everything you do. Don’t you want to get into a good college?”

  Resignation filled her face and she lowered her head.

  “Of course I do,” she mumbled. “But I just want to spend as much time with Davis as I can…”

  She trailed off and looked up at me. I tried to give her an impassive look but I felt nothing but empathy for her. All week, I’d been fighting with myself about calling Flint. I would pace around my house at night, the cordless in one hand, paper napkin in the other. Every time I’d come close, I’d make up an excuse for why I shouldn’t call him.

  It was too soon or I made a mistake agreeing to go. I wasn’t ready or I didn’t trust him yet.

  None of the reasons were true, not really, but I had yet to hear his voice on the other end of a phone.

  “Your grades are improving slightly,” I offered begrudgingly. “Isn’t there any way for you to mix your studies with your time spent with Davis?”

  She nodded and sighed.

  “I’ll figure something out,” she replied and this time, I believed her.

  “I hope you do, Lowell, because we’re getting awfully close to the second half of your senior year. Soon, you won’t be able to turn it around.”

  She seemed startled by the reminder, as if time had gotten away from her the same way it does for so many of us.

  “I will,” she told me. “I swear.”

  I gave her a warm smile.

  “Good. That’s all, then. Have a good night.”

  She bid me the same and moved toward the door, pausing to look at me.

  “Mme., are you all right? You seem like you’re not all here these past couple days either.”

  I blushed and turned my head, pretending to busy myself with papers.

  “I’m fine,” I replied quickly. “These dark days wreak havoc on my body.”

  She shrugged, accepting my response, before disappearing out the door and leaving me alone in the classroom where I’d been so many times before, but this time, it felt strangely lonely.

  In fact, most spaces had seemed lonely these past few days but I’d managed to suppress the idea until that moment.

  You have an invitation to the opera this weekend, that little impish voice reminded me. All you have to do is call…

  I gathered my papers and stuffed them into my portfolio, admitting for the first time that the little voice was right about something.

  I was going to call Flint.

  * * *

  Despite my determination to call him on Wednesday, I didn’t build up the nerve until Thursday after school and only because I had a glass of wine before I did.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  The mere sound of his voice sent a flood of relief through me. It took a second for me to respond but he saved me from having to do it.

  “Margot-Celine?” he asked and my eyebrows shot up.

  “H-how did you know that?” I breathed and he chuckled.

  “You may or may not believe this, but I don’t get a lot of calls, particularly not from numbers I don’t recognize. I was hoping you would.”

  A smile lit my face and I was glad he couldn’t see me. I knew I was grinning like an idiot.

  “Oui, it’s me,” I laughed nervously.

  “I’m glad you called,” Flint told me and I was sure my face was bright red.

  “S-sorry it took so long,” I told him quickly. “I-it’s been a busy week.”

  “I understand,” he said and I wondered if he knew I was lying. “You’re calling now and that’s all that matters.”

  Inadvertently, my mind wandered to Rene. If I had told him I was going to call him and left him hanging for three days, I knew his reaction wouldn’t have been at all like Flint’s.

  They aren’t the same man. Not all men are beasts.

  The thought stunned me.

  “Have you given any thought to the opera tomorrow night?” Flint asked, filling the silence between us. He made it sound like I hadn’t already agreed to go and I found myself loving him for it.

  “T-tomorrow!” I gasped. I hadn’t realized the tickets were for the following day.

  “Oh, didn’t I mention it was on Friday?” He sounded disappointed, as if I was going to cancel our plans.

  “You said the weekend,” I replied. “But tomorrow is fine.”

  “Really?” His pleased tone made me happy.

  “Well, yes. I like Madame Butterfly.”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “Years ago, when I was in college,” I confessed. Those had been the days before Rene. “L’Opera de Montreal had a seat with my name on it when I went to McGill.”

  “You’re Canadian!” He sounded startled.

  “Québécois,” I conceded. He paused.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing about how you came to be in Alaska.”

  I stiffened slightly but I wasn’t going to let his innocent comment ruin my good mood.

  “I was hoping to pick you up after school so we can have dinner beforehand and make the eight o’clock curtain. It’s a bit of a drive,” Flint offered. A thousand protests flew to my lips but I caught every one of them before I could utter one word to the contrary.

  “That sounds great,” I told him. “I’ll meet you in the teacher’s lot at four.”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Margot-Celine.”

  “Whatever for?”

  He paused.

  “For giving me the chance to show you the man I really am.”

  My cheeks were so hot, I was sure my head was going to explode, but somehow I managed to play it off and we disconnected the call.

  I glanced at the clock on the stove, my head still swimming with the one glass of wine, but mostly the conversation. It was five-thirty and I needed a dress for the following night.

  Without giving myself a chance to overthink it, I jumped up from the sofa and grabbed my purse, heading out the door with a call out to Pascal.

  It would be the first time I’d been shopping in the three years since I’d left Rene. I hoped I still remembered how to do it.

  12

  Flint

  I asked myself what I was doing at least four hundred times from the minute I’d asked Margot-Celine to the opera, to the minute I picked her up at the school.

  None of what I’d told her was a lie—I did love the opera and I had bought two tickets, hoping that Davis would go with me. I should have known better—he had looked at me like I’d developed another head when I asked. Sometimes, I thought things were getting worse between us. I had no idea how to reach my son. He saw me as overbearing and demanding; I saw him as impulsive and careless. Still, I hoped that one day, we might mend whatever was broken between us. There were times when I thought he blamed me for his mother’s death, even though I had nothing to do with it.

  Truth be told, I’d just expected that I’d throw out both tickets. I couldn’t see myself enjoying a show in the city by myself, and seeing a bunch of happy couples experiencing it together was apt to make me melancholic.

  But inviting Margot-Celine? That had been something I’d done without any control. It was like some spirit had possessed me and spoken the words for me. I’d been in shock the day after, waiting for the phone to ring as Margot-Celine solidified the plans. When it didn’t, I began to feel relieved. It had been a mistake asking her in the first place.

  However, when she didn’t call me on Wednesday either, I found myself slightly upset. How bad would it be to take her out? She was a beautiful, timid woman who desperately needed someone to trust and I owed her some semblance of security after how we’d met, didn’t I?

  By Thursday, I found myself willing her to call and when she did, I felt a relief so strong, it almost took my breath away.

  But when I got off the phone, I again wondered if I was making a mistake. It w
as disloyal to the memory of Davis’ mother, wasn’t it? Didn’t I owe her better?

  Davis noticed my rollercoaster of emotions and commented on it on Thursday afternoon when I was getting ready to leave. He’d popped in unexpectedly and eyed me suspiciously when he saw me in my tux.

  “Can you shift into a penguin now too?” he joked. I stifled a sigh, debating whether to tell him the truth or not. I hadn’t dated after his mother had passed, over fifteen years earlier. I didn’t even know how to present this to my adult son.

  “I’m going to Anchorage tonight,” I told him.

  “Oh.” He looked at me a moment longer and shrugged, sauntering away without another word. So much for having an awkward conversation about dating with him.

  You’re not dating Margot-Celine, I reminded myself. You’re barely even going on a date with her.

  I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and winced. It was time to go.

  With a final look at myself in the mirror, I ran a hand through my dark hair and then down my freshly shaved cheeks. It was showtime for everyone.

  * * *

  Nothing prepared me for Margot-Celine when she emerged from the back doors of Novak High.

  A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight and into the morning but the custodian had plowed and salted the lot, allowing for the French teacher to walk in her red, matte pumps toward me.

  She wasn’t wearing her glasses and her dark red hair was swept into a high chignon, soft tendrils falling to catch the last of the light in glimmering golds and browns.

  As she approached, her eyes narrowed to ensure I was the one driving the hybrid vehicle, I saw she’d taken great pains with her makeup. Instantly, I was out of the car, hurrying to take her arm and help her into the passenger’s side.

  Her coat was thick and long but I caught the glimpse of a shimmering burgundy material through the neckline of her coat.

  “You look incredible,” I told her, feeling my breath catch as I stared down at her from outside the passenger side door. She looked up at me, the greens and yellows of her eyes glinting as she tried to avert her gaze.