Angels in the Snow (3 page)

“Fine. Let's go inside. But not you,” he added, glaring at Alex. “You can just stay in the car alone. Maybe then you'll appreciate the company of others a little better.”

Judith knew better than to intercede on Alex's behalf; it would only make things worse. But why must he always antagonize his father? It wasn't as if they spent that much time together. Alex could make his own life so much easier if he would just meet his father halfway.

But that would never happen. Alex was too much like Charles, though neither father nor son would ever admit it. Both of them smart and driven. Both of them determined never to back down and always to get their own way.

She pulled down the vanity mirror and checked her hair, then pulled a lipstick from her Gucci bag and freshened her makeup. But no amount of concealer would erase the lines of tension around her mouth, or the faint circles beneath her eyes. Frowning, Judith snapped the visor back into place.

“Give me your brush, Mom,” Jennifer demanded.

“It's not gonna help,” Alex muttered at his sister.

Jennifer ignored him. She clearly knew she'd won the last go-round, and only smiled smugly. When she had her bangs arranged just so, she tossed the brush onto the front seat and got out of the car.

“Want me to bring you a root beer?” she asked sweetly, bending slightly to see her brother on the backseat. “Maybe an Almond Joy?” Then her face turned taunting. “Well, too bad!” She slammed the door.

“That was unnecessary,” Judith rebuked her as she stepped out of the car, too. But Jennifer bounded ahead to where her father waited on the unpainted porch of the general store, and Judith wasn't sure she'd heard.

If Alex was like his father, was Jennifer like her? she wondered as she walked up to the store. Did she taunt Charles whenever an opportunity presented itself, as Jenny invariably taunted Alex? Up till now she would not have thought so, but how else could she describe her behavior today? She was unhappy, and it appeared she wanted Charles to be unhappy, too. She'd given up on believing they could ever be happy again.

Charles had not, though. That was apparent in everything he'd done and said in the last week. But that knowledge only stoked the simmering anger she'd suppressed so long. She knew it was hopeless; why must he be so determined to prove her wrong?

Judith ran her hand nervously down the front of her cream wool Ralph Lauren blazer, straightening one of the carved bone buttons before she mounted the steps to join Charles. He had one arm draped about his daughter's shoulders, but Jenny shrugged out of his embrace as her mother approached.

“Be sure to get Diet Coke, Mom. Not regular.”

“You drink too many soft drinks,” Charles said. “Juice would be better for you.” When she just pulled the door open and entered to the accompaniment of several jingling bells, he turned toward Judith.

“She drinks too many soft drinks,” he repeated. “They both do.”

Judith shrugged. “You drink too much coffee.”

“I'm not a growing child, Jude. There's a difference.”

She walked into the small store, past the door he held open for her. “As long as they do things in moderation, there's no harm done.”

“I'd like us to eat good, old-fashioned meals this week. Real breakfasts with pancakes and juice. Soups. Stews.”

Once more, resentment flared in Judith's chest. “And I suppose you're cooking?” She yanked a small shopping cart from the line of them and headed down one aisle, oblivious to the foods she passed.

Charles hurried to match her brisk pace. “I can make pancakes.”

“And soups? And stews?” She stopped abruptly before a display of canned soups. Without bothering to examine the labels she began grabbing the cans, then moved a little distance down the aisle to snatch up several canned stews.

At that moment Jennifer rounded the corner ahead of them. “Hardly
any
good magazines. But they do have Diet Coke.” She heaved two six-packs into the cart. “We need some cookies, too.”

“How about fruit?” Charles interjected. “You don't eat enough fruit.”

Jennifer shot him an aggrieved stare. “Fine, Dad. Get fruit.” Then she turned away toward a display of individually wrapped snacks.

Judith moved on to the dairy case and added a gallon of milk to the cart. Charles added two more.

“Do you think we could have a turkey on Christmas? Maybe with chestnut stuffing?”

Judith felt a sudden sorrow. Charles wanted a picture-perfect Christmas, complete with happy children, contented wife, and all the traditional trappings. If they played the role, he was convinced they could become that smiling Norman Rockwell family. She knew better.

But as she stood there in the wood-ceilinged store—as the ring of an old-fashioned cash register reached her ears and someone called out a friendly greeting to someone else—she didn't have the heart to burst his bubble. It wouldn't hurt her to go along, and at least the next few days would be peaceful.

She sighed, then steered the cart toward the meat refrigerators. There were five turkeys left in the case. She started to take out the smallest one, but Charles came up behind her and picked up the largest one instead.

“Do you remember how to do a turkey?”

It was a natural enough question, for she usually had Christmas dinner catered. Yet Judith felt that he meant much more. Do you remember how to be my wife? Do you remember how to be happy? Do you remember how to love me?

She averted her eyes from his probing scrutiny. “I remember.”

They shopped in relative harmony after that. Although their conversation was trivial—primarily concerned with which brand and how much to get—Judith recognized once again how important her attitude was to relieving the overt strain between them. She only had to maintain that pleasant facade for the rest of the week. She'd done it for years. She could manage for a few more days.

She was just congratulating herself on her plan when she rounded a corner and spied Jennifer speaking with a stranger. He had long hair pulled back into a ponytail at his neck, and wore a fringed leather jacket. And he had no business talking to her little girl.

“Not only do they rot the teeth, but they rot the brain as well—”

“Jennifer.” Judith threw her arm protectively around her daughter's shoulders. “I was looking for you, dear,” she said, sending Jennifer a cautionary look. “We're about to check out. Excuse me,” she added as she edged past the man. For a moment their glances met.

“It's all right, ma'am. I was just suggesting she buy dried fruits instead of that bag of processed sugary treats. Just as sweet, but much better for her.”

Judith hesitated. “Yes, well. Thank you.” Then she looked down at Jennifer. “We really must be going, dear. Your father is waiting.”

“Can I get the dried apricots
and
the jelly beans?”

“Fine.” Judith gave the man one last glance. He wasn't as young as she would have expected; probably near her own age. And his eyes seemed kind—serene. Not at all what she'd feared when she'd seen him with Jennifer. Still, he
was
a stranger, and her daughter had to learn to be more wary. She urged Jennifer past him.

“Bye,” he called. “Merry Christmas.”

Jennifer turned back to him with a bright smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Judith added as well. But she kept one hand firmly on Jennifer's elbow.

“Don't you know better than to speak to strangers?” she whispered angrily once they were out of sight. “Haven't we told you that over and over again?”

“I was just being polite,” Jennifer defended herself. “Always be polite to grown-ups. Isn't that what you say? Jeez, Mom. It's no big deal.”

Judith didn't answer. It
had
been no big deal; she knew that now. Jennifer could come to no harm in the grocery store with both her parents within earshot. Yet she'd felt so vulnerable when she'd seen that man with her daughter.

But it was more than that, she realized. The real truth was that she felt excruciatingly vulnerable to everything lately, and so she had overreacted.

As she gazed down into Jennifer's resentful young face, Judith sighed. “It's all right, dear. I guess I'm just a little touchy today. The trip and all,” she added with a wan smile.

“Here's the rice,” Charles said as he came up to them. “And canned mushrooms. There were no fresh ones.” He added the items to the cart. “What kind of cereal does Alex like?”

“Honey Nut Cheerios. Or Shredded Wheat. What else do we need?”

“Don't forget candy canes,” Jennifer suggested. “We have to have candy canes.”

Charles rubbed the top of Jennifer's head affectionately. “We're going to have a great Christmas, Jenn. Just you wait and see.”

“Dad!” the twelve-year-old complained, ducking away from his hand. She quickly combed her fingers through her hair to straighten where he'd mussed it.

But Charles's exuberance wasn't dimmed. “She'll see, won't she, Jude?”

Judith gave him her most determined smile. “I'm sure it will be lovely.”

OUTSIDE IN THE CAR,
Alex was growing restless. How long did it take to buy a few groceries, anyway? He flicked off the pounding rhythms and piercing wail of Slipknot, then removed his earbuds.

A car pulled out of the parking space to the right, and beyond it he saw an old-time hitching post and watering trough. Three kids were clustered near the trough. The smallest one was poking at it with a stick, while the other two looked on. Then the middle-sized one ran over to an old yellow van and jumped up through the opened side door. In a minute she was back with something in her hand—he could see now she was a girl.

Alex watched as she and the older boy began to play hacky-sack. He'd seen it done before, tossing a small leather ball back and forth with the feet. The older boy was pretty good, but the girl missed every now and again. Although the boy always laughed at the girl's mistakes, she didn't seem to take offense, for she laughed also, then tried again.

On a whim Alex decided to get out of the car. It was probably as cold inside as it was outside, so he might as well stretch his legs. He tossed his smartphone onto the seat, then opened the door and climbed out.

All around him the small parking lot was hemmed in by towering pines and birch trees. Aside from the occasional car passing on the highway and the laughter of the children by the van, it was amazingly quiet. A good place to play music. Then he remembered that he didn't have his amp, and his mood fell again.

Why did his father always have to spoil things? Why did they always have to do what
he
wanted to do? Go away to the stupid mountains. Leave his amplifier behind.

Miss the Metallica reunion concert.

Angry once more, he hopped onto the trunk of the car, feet on the bumper, not caring whether the studs on his jeans might mar the Mercedes's finish, as his father always claimed.

He scowled down at his hands, then turned to stare at the noisy kids. The little one was hitting the ice-covered water with a stick. He—or she, Alex couldn't tell, the way it was bundled up in an old brown hooded coat—gripped the stick with two hands and pressed the pointed end against the ice. In a moment the ice broke and the child's hands plunged into the water.

Stupid kid
, Alex thought as he watched the child jump back, shaking water from the now-wet ends of the coat sleeves. When the child looked around, as if to see if anyone was watching, Alex realized it was a girl. When she caught him watching her, she grinned, then picked up the stick again. Once more she poked at the ice, but carefully, so as not to get wet again.

Alex looked away, but at a triumphant shout, his eyes veered back to the kids. The hacky-sack game had taken a different turn, it seemed, for it was the older boy who leaned down to pick up the leather toy.

“I got you that time!” his sister crowed. “What do you think of that, Robbie?”

The boy grinned and said something, but Alex couldn't make it out.

“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.