Dust of Snow (3 page)

“I miss the river at the bottom of the yard,”
I said.

A wistful look appeared on her face and I
cursed myself for bringing this up.

“You did love sitting on top of the hill
between the trees and watching the deer as they came to drink. But
no, I don’t spend much time thinking about it anymore. It’s long in
the past now.”

“Lemon roast chicken all right?” I asked to
guide her into safer territory.

“Oh honey, is your stomach giving you
trouble?”

So much for safer territory. I smiled
ruefully. “A little,” I admitted. “But it’s fine, really.” I went
through to the small kitchen and began to unpack the grocery
bags.

“You work too hard,” she said.

Another regular topic. “Carl sends his
regards.”

That made her flush a little, a smile curling
her lips. Carl had charmed her within five seconds when I’d brought
Mother to the holiday party one year when David had been busy.
She’d worried about me showing up with my mom, but I’d waved her
off. A lot of things embarrassed me in life, but my beautiful
mother wasn’t one of them.

“He is a good boss, isn’t he? Even if he does
work you too hard.”

I washed the chicken inside and out, set the
oven timer, and began to chop up herbs as Mother peeled potatoes.
“He doesn’t really. I like my job.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

I sprinkled lemon juice over the chicken and
stuffed another pierced whole one into the… uh, cavity. “Have you
heard from Dad?” I asked, so we could get it out of the way.

“I have, actually.”

This surprised me so much I dropped my knife.
“You have?”

Mother lifted her green eyes and smiled a
little sadly. “He wants to reconcile.”

“He
what
?” I shouted. Then I quickly
regrouped, coughed, and in a more polite tone asked, “What did you
tell him?”

Mother washed her hands, carefully dried
them, and pushed a little squirt of hand cream onto her palm. She
had fine hands with long narrow fingers, just like me. Piano
fingers, she used to call them. “That he could go fuck himself,”
she told me sedately, and I dropped the knife again.

“Good,” I croaked. Then, with more
conviction, “
Good
. What an asshole.”

Her eyes flickered to me in surprise, and
then her mouth pressed together like she was trying not to smile.
In the end she did anyway, laughing a little, like she wasn’t sure
she was allowed. “He is, isn’t he?”

“He
really
is. I can’t believe the
nerve.”

“Me neither.” She looked at me, looked away
again, and smiled in a way I’d never seen her do before, amused and
a little wicked. “You know, I bet his young ladies don’t want him
because…” She giggled. “Because he has a bit of trouble getting it
up.”

“
Mother!
” I guffawed a startled
laugh.

She laughed too, guiltily, then louder. “It’s
true. He never knew what to do with it to begin with, let alone now
that he’s past sixty. Why did he think I didn’t want to have sex?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. This was so wrong and yet the laughter
just kept coming. Mother was clutching her sides, wiping tears away
from her eyes with the heel of her palm. “Such an asshole,” she
said breathlessly.

Abruptly I fell silent. I stepped forward and
did something I couldn’t remember doing in years. I hugged her.
Mother went stiff in my arms before she relaxed. She put her hands
on my back and awkwardly patted it. “I’m all right, darling. I’m
all right. At least I have some years that aren’t wasted on
him.”

My throat constricted, and I cleared it. “I
should get this chicken in the oven. It’ll take an hour at
least.”

“Of course.”

When we sat at her small dining room table,
she asked, “How about you? Have you met somebody new?”

“No.” I looked at my plate.

When I’d told my parents I was gay, Dad had
turned rigid in his seat, mumbled something about STDs, and
returned to his newspaper, while Mother had taken the news quietly.
She’d come to my room later that night to tell me it didn’t change
me in her eyes in any way, and she just wanted me to be happy.

It was never mentioned again, and every
boyfriend I brought home (all two of them) was treated as cordially
as I imagined any girlfriend would have been. By my mother
anyway—Dad had made sure he was never home for long.

“Have you heard from David?”

“No.” I pushed the mashed potatoes around.
Of course I haven't
.

Mother sighed and put her fork down. “You
need to forget about him and move on, darling.”

“What? I have. It’s been a year. I know he
won’t be calling me to reconcile.”

“I would hope you’d tell him where he could
shove it if he did.”

I said nothing and tried to unclench my jaw
so I could eat the rest of dinner, but Mother wasn’t ready to drop
it yet.

“You’re well rid of him, you know that, don’t
you? Just like I’m well rid of your father. David was—”

“David was a good guy. We had a lot of fun
together and he was always there for me when I needed him. He
didn’t hit me. He didn’t cheat on me.” Mother winced and I
instantly regretted my words. “Sorry,” I mumbled and rubbed my
forehead. “I know you never liked him, but he wasn’t a bad person.
You don’t understand because you never really saw how wonderful he
could be when it was just the two of us.”

I just wasn't good enough
.

She patted my hand and squeezed it. “Give it
some time, darling. Someone will come along. Just you wait.”

TWO

IF SOMEONE DID come along, I hoped they had a thing
for icy feet and numb fingers. This winter couldn’t go by fast
enough. I pushed the snowblower back into my garage, tugged off my
gloves, and made my way upstairs while I breathed hot air over my
red fingers. At least it was Friday, and I didn’t plan on leaving
the house for the rest of the weekend if it meant not having to
throw snow around.

No Mr. Montgomery in his office this morning,
no coffee at my desk, and no ice scraper. Instead, a small,
unobtrusively white little envelope leaned against my wrought-iron
penholder. I glanced around. Patricia had just arrived at my old
desk, unwinding a long scarf from around her neck. When I peeked
over the cubicle partitions, I saw Mr. Montgomery walking into his
office. He moved carefully, like his entire body hurt. I wondered
just how long those after-work drinks went on for. Carl emerged
from the front doors but was held up by Amal. I quickly snatched up
the envelope and opened it.

It was a gift card for Green Leaf Spa.
One
Hour Massage
, it read, along with contact information. To G.P.
No From. Behind me someone gasped.

“Did you get another gift?” Patricia’s eyes
twinkled with delight when I turned to face her.

“Looks like it.”

“Oh my God! Do you have, like”—she leaned
closer and whispered— “a secret admirer?”

“Of course not,” I said quickly. The thought
made me uneasy. It brought something else to mind, something far
less pleasant, but Carl walked up and beckoned me in before the
thought could take shape.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Patricia promised. I
nodded, despite the fact we’d never deliberately met up for lunch
before.

Half an hour later, I had my laptop open on a
screen with the name of every person employed at our office, and I
was filling a jar with little strips of paper. I left my own name
out for a reason I didn’t stop to examine. I sent out a mass e-mail
informing everyone about the Secret Santa plans with a twenty-five
dollar limit, and could they please come and chose a name at their
earliest convenience.

Five minutes later, the first couple of
people trickled by. All of them had something nice to say, which
made me feel good, but I couldn’t help wondering who was leaving me
these gifts and how many people knew about it. By the time Amal and
Mr. Montgomery stopped by, asking me if I’d join them for lunch,
the root of self-doubt had dug a little deeper. I could hear
David’s voice in my head.

“
You know the reason you hardly have any
friends is because you act like you're better than everyone else.
If you’d just smile more and pretend you actually want to be around
people, they'd want to hang out with you too.“

“I don’t have time right now,” I said. My
stomach burned. I really should eat something to ease the acid
back, but facing a cafeteria full of people at this moment was too
much. I mustered a smile, but Mr. Montgomery’s return gaze was
solemn.

“All right, but don’t work too hard,” Amal
said, cheerfully oblivious as they walked away.

Patricia appeared next, bouncing on the balls
of her feet as she picked a name, made a face, and stuffed it
back.

“Hey!” I protested, grinning as she stuck out
her tongue and chose another one.

“I wouldn’t know what to buy for them,” she
said. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

“I…” The words wouldn’t come.

Patricia frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just… don’t feel like going to the
cafeteria right now.”

She studied me for a minute, then just said,
“Okay,” and turned on her heels. I watched her brown ponytail bob
up and down, and then space-barred my laptop out of sleep. I hadn’t
done much more than stare at unread e-mails when Patricia was back,
two sandwiches in one hand and drinks pressed to her chest.

“Come on,” she said. “Help me out here.”

I took the drinks, stood to give her my
chair, and grabbed the spare stool usually reserved for my laptop
bag. “What’s all this?”

“You have to eat, Gregory. You’re not filling
out that shirt nearly as nicely as you used to.”

“Um.”

She cast me a quick grin and went back to
unwrapping the food. “Don’t worry—I know you don’t lick my side of
the stamp. Now tell me what’s up with these gifts.”

“I don’t know,” I found myself reluctantly
revealing. “I don’t know who they could be from. At first I thought
they were really thoughtful, but now I’m wondering…”

“What?”

“If someone is playing a joke on me.”

“A joke?” Patricia took a bite out of her
sandwich, then grabbed the envelope and lifted the gift card out of
it. “That’s not a cheap joke.”

“It could…” I took a breath and said what had
been on my mind all morning. “It could be more than one person.
People here do that sometimes, you know. For fun.”

She assessed me, and then pointed at me with
her sandwich. “I wouldn’t find it funny if people made me think
someone liked me and it turned out to be a joke.”

“No,” I admitted. “Neither would I.”

But really, why on earth would someone be
sending
me
thoughtful gifts? It didn’t make any sense. An
elaborate joke was the most likely scenario. Did people here think
I was pathetic and lonely? With my ties and my cuff links and lack
of social life? Possibly. No, actually, more like probably. I
couldn’t really blame them, although it made my chest feel
hollow.

“For what it’s worth,” Patricia said, voice
low and serious, “I haven’t heard anything. You know”—she tilted
her head in the general direction of the cubicles—”along the
grapevine. But if I do, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Patricia,” I said, meaning it.

“No worries. If someone is pranking you, it’s
mean and it should stop.” She grinned. “But if they’re not, I want
to be the first to know.”

“Promise,” I said, and she smiled. I suddenly
felt hungry and ended up devouring my sandwich while Patricia
laughed at me.

“It’s good to have you back,” she murmured,
squeezing my shoulder, leaving me wondering where on earth she
thought I’d gone to.

We were usually allowed to leave early on
Friday, but I’d had some issues with arranging a visa for one of
our employees who needed to travel to Brazil, and it ended up being
closer to six when I stepped out into yet more snow. Darkness was
near complete at this hour, and I startled when I heard a door bang
and someone swear in the almost empty parking lot.

Mr. Montgomery stood tugging at his hair next
to a blue Toyota.

“Something wrong?” I asked, hurrying over.
The snow stuck to my shoes and I nearly slipped when I reached him.
My feet were already freezing.

“Car’s dead.” He grumbled. “I think it’s the
battery.”

“I don’t have any cables,” I said
apologetically.

He gave me a surprised look. “Most people
don’t keep cables in their car. It’s fine. I’ll just call a cab and
come back tomorrow. I don’t want to spend my Friday night in the
office parking lot waiting for a jump start.”

“I can give you a ride home. It’s not out of
my way at all.”

“Oh?” Mr. Montgomery’s eyebrows lifted. “How
do you know?”

It took me a second to figure out what he
meant. “Well, Carl has me do the final payroll check, so everyone’s
address passes through my hands twice a month. I’d just noticed
yours because it’s barely a block away from my place.”