Summer Snow (13 page)

“Really?” Simon yelped. “I'd like to go with you, Julia! I like going to the library.”

Glancing back at them, I saw Janice lay her hand on Simon's shoulder. She shook her head at him gently and mouthed something, probably admonishing him to wait for a proper invitation from me. His face crumpled enough to convince me that there was no way I could leave him behind now that he had his heart set on it.

Though I had wanted to be alone, it struck me suddenly that Simon was an easy companion to walk with on the road to Janice. I had a lifetime of reasons to distrust her. But there was nothing in sweet, uncomplicated Simon that I needed to fear. When I saw the way she looked at him and ran her fingers over his body as if somehow sealing him against every hurt, I found it significantly easier to want to try. Simon was a fantastic place to start practicing belief.

“He can come,” I told Janice. “You can come,” I assured Simon. “The library is pretty small, but they have a lot of neat picture books.”

“I don't need picture books,” Simon said. “I can read.”

“No, you can't,” Janice shushed him.

“I can read my Clifford books!”

She smiled indulgently at him and then winked at us. I took it to mean he had his Clifford books memorized.

“Maybe I can help you with your reading if you help me with my funny faces,” I offered, hoping Simon wouldn't see Janice's patronizing look.

“Okay,” he agreed lightly. “I'll go get my sweater on.” Simon practically skipped out of the room.

Janice watched him go and then came to stand at the sink. She held out her hands, and as though it were the most natural thing in the world, Grandma squeezed out a washcloth and gave it to her. I had forgotten that table washing had been Janice's role all those years ago. Evidently Grandma had not.

I froze for a moment, and in my mind the house was full again. Grandpa pushed his chair away from the table and balanced on the back two legs, chewing on his unlit pipe. Dad spun a towel into a tight cord of fabric and whipped it at my legs as I giggled and danced out of the way. Grandma laughed, plunging her hands in and out of the sink. We were happy. Janice was the shadow in the sunlit room, halfheartedly wiping the table, ignoring us with a distant look in her eyes.

But this Janice was not the same one who had grudgingly participated in the rites of our family over ten years ago. I watched now as she swept the cloth over the table, head bent, eyes downcast. She washed as though everything depended on each calculated flick of her wrist. As though she could atone for all that had happened by wiping away the hurt and the years with suds from a wet washcloth. It felt wrong to observe her somehow, but I couldn't tear myself away.

It was quiet with Simon gone, and once or twice Janice looked toward the living room as if she was wary of his return. Finally she cleared her throat. Keeping her back turned to me, she said, “Simon doesn't know that...” Her voice dropped. “He doesn't know that you are his sister.”

I followed the movement of her hand, forgetting the glass that I clutched in my own. “I won't tell him.”

Janice seemed relieved. “We'll tell him, Julia.” She tumbled over her words, looking up at me with relief in her eyes. “Just not yet. The right time will come.”

“Okay,” I agreed. It struck me that I complied as easily as Simon had.

We had to move Simon's booster seat from Janice's car to mine. I could have just driven her car—she offered to let me take it—but something inside me balked at the idea of sitting in the seat that she occupied.

When we were buckled in and on our way down the highway, I let myself stare in the rearview mirror and take in the boy who was my brother. He really was adorable. I decided it was impossible for me to be biased, as I hardly knew the skinny little rascal in my backseat. Anyway, we had absolutely nothing in common, so it couldn't be an affinity for my own genes that drew me to him. If he was chocolate, sweet and rich and handsomely dark, I was vanilla—bland and tepid, dull against the animated glimmer of his eyes.

Simon looked out the window as I drove, talking quietly to his reflection and occasionally singing a line or two from a song that I couldn't quite determine. It would have been melodramatic to say that I loved him, but in those minutes between the farm and Mason, I felt that loving him wouldn't be nearly as much work as I thought it might have been.

Mostly I realized that I trusted him and his guileless motives for wanting me to be a part of his life. He didn't know who I was, yet he believed me with the willing innocence of a child who has known no reason to mistrust. For a moment, I wished that I could wipe myself clean of those experiences that had jaded me. I wished that Janice with her washcloth could make me forget, make me new and trusting and ready to believe that everything would once again be as it should have always been. But then again, I didn't really want that. I possessed a wisdom that Simon would soon enough know too. There was safety in knowing. There was safety in being prepared.

“Is this where you work?” he cried when we pulled up to Value Foods. “Can you have all the candy bars you want?”

“Yes, I work here,” I answered, happy to find that Simon could elicit more laughter from me. “And no, I can't have all the candy bars I want.” It had never occurred to me that working in a grocery store was nearly the equivalent of working at Disney World for a five-year-old. What preschooler wouldn't want to be among the rows of Ding Dongs and Doritos day in and day out?

I parked near the store, intending to leave the car running while I popped in for my paycheck. “Can you wait in the car for me, Simon? I'll just be a minute.”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “I want to come in with you. Mommy says it's dangerous to stay in the car by yourself.”

I wanted to explain to him that Mason was safe, that I routinely left my car running when it was cold outside, and Grandma hadn't used a house key in ages. But he looked wide-eyed and scared in the rearview mirror. I decided it wasn't that big of a deal to take him in. “Fine,” I said, turning off the car. I reached over the front seat and unbuckled him. “Can you get out by yourself ?”

Simon furrowed his brow at me. “I told you I wasn't a baby.”

“Okay, okay.” I threw up my hands. “Climb out and come around to my side. I don't want you walking through the parking lot by yourself.”

We entered Value Foods hand in hand, and when we were through the doors, Simon made no movement to extract his hand from mine. I held his warm fingers and was proud to have him by my side.

Alicia and Michael were lounging by the first checkout lane, and the store looked nearly dead. Catching sight of me and my pint-size buddy, Alicia smiled and raised her arms in question. “Who is this, Julia? I didn't know we had a new employee.”

“He's a good worker,” I teased, pulling Simon along with me. “He's also very good at making silly faces.”

“I am,” Simon asserted and jutted out his jaw as if to prove it.

Alicia and Michael laughed. “Seriously, who is this little guy? He's a hoot.”

I hadn't really planned an answer since I had intended to leave Simon in the car. But I only paused for a second before I replied, “This is Simon. He's the son of a family friend.”

Alicia crouched down and extended her arm in greeting. “I'm Alicia. It's very nice to meet you, Simon.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said politely. He shook her hand but did not let go of mine.

Michael waved at Simon. “I'm Michael. You've got cool hair, buddy.” Michael ran his fingers through his own hair as if to replicate Simon's mussed-up waves.

Simon grinned.

“You're here for your paycheck, aren't you?” Alicia asked, straightening up. “I brought them to the front so everyone doesn't have to run all the way to the storeroom. Clark's back there.” She smiled meaningfully.

“Thanks, Alicia.” I pulled away from Simon and gave him a reassuring smile, pointing him in the direction of the candy. “Go pick out a chocolate bar, Simon. I'll buy you one if you promise not to tell your mom.”

“Really?” Simon gushed. Not waiting for an answer, he took off in the direction I had indicated.

I couldn't help but laugh at the bob of his receding head. I was in a fantastic mood considering the events of the last few days, and, even better, Michael was across the lane from me and we were more or less alone. It frustrated me that this dark-haired guy could make my heart skip a beat. The timing was all wrong. My life was all wrong. And yet here he was, watching me with a sly smile that made me want to smile back. I was seized by a desire to flirt with him a bit, be coy and playful and fun—just to see if he would respond even a little.

Michael beat me to it. “We haven't worked together in a while,” he said, frowning slightly to show his disappointment.

“Who makes the schedule?” I demanded, my hands going clammy and cold in spite of the flush in my cheeks. “We have to have a talk with him.”

“Or
her
,” Alicia said, handing me my check. “I make the schedule.”

I started, feeling like we had been caught in the act. Of flirting? What was so wrong with that? Trying to explain away my blush, I unzipped my coat and leaned against the high counter in front of the cigarettes. I bent over, resting my arms on the smooth top and feeling unusually safe and hidden with my stomach pressed tightly against the side, well below eye level.

Michael watched me with a glint in his eye before turning to Alicia. “Julia and I have lots to talk about,” he complained. “We should work together more often.”

Alicia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I'll get right on that.”

“That'd be great,” Michael said without skipping a beat. “I'm also due for a raise. Could you bring that up with Clark for me?”

We joked and laughed until I could almost pretend that my life was as normal and mundane as nearly every other person's in this sleepy town. It was a soothing mirage, and I wasn't quite ready to face my reality when Simon came bounding back.

“Look! I found a Twix! It's my favorite candy bar. …” He trailed off, staring at me. His face had transformed so completely that even Alicia and Michael looked concerned.

“Simon, what is it?” Worry fractured my voice.

Simon raised a thin finger and pointed at me. “The baby!” he almost yelled. “You're going to hurt the baby if you squish her like that!”

I could feel the color drain from my face. He didn't say that. He couldn't have just said that. But Alicia's expression told me that I hadn't dreamed it. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were round in disbelief. I couldn't bring myself to look at Michael.

“Julia! Don't do that!”

Startled, I straightened and backed away from the counter. “Simon, it'll be okay,” I assured him quietly, willing him not to say more. My fingers fumbled with the zipper of my coat as I tried to hide any evidence that would support Simon's claim.

“You didn't have breakfast this morning either,” Simon accused.

“You have to take good care of the baby.”

“Enough.” The word was as hard and final as a guilty verdict. I pulled a dollar from my coat pocket and laid it on the counter. “That's for the Twix.”

Taking Simon's hand, I led him away. I could feel their eyes boring into my back and the force of their unsaid questions virtually pushing me out the door. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. This wasn't what I had planned. They would have understood if only I could have been the one to tell them. They would have known that there was much more to me than this one misstep.

I was almost gone when I turned around and looked back toward Alicia and Michael, not at them. I couldn't make my eyes meet theirs. “I was going to tell everyone soon,” I tried to defend myself. As if that would explain everything.

I buckled Simon in wordlessly and got behind the wheel.

“What's wrong?” Simon's voice was small and faraway.

I glanced up at the mirror and studied him as he stared into his lap. I watched him mangle the candy bar. “Nothing,” I said. But he wasn't a baby. He knew.

I skipped the library and drove straight home, heartsick and utterly worn. My mind spun; it assaulted me from every direction and I couldn't make any sense of what I was thinking or feeling. It was all too horrifying. A part of me couldn't believe that it had happened, that Simon had blurted out the one secret I had guarded so carefully for four months. What was supposed to be understated and discreet was now crude and trashy. I saw myself through their eyes, and I hated what I saw.

Simon was as quiet as a mouse in the backseat, but he recognized the farm as we crested the hill and murmured something I couldn't discern. Then he said audibly, “I didn't mean to make you mad.”

I bit my lip, not knowing how to respond. Finally, because his face was so drawn with disappointment, I glanced over my shoulder to force a weary smile at him. “I'm not mad.”

Simon studied me seriously. “Yes, you are.”

How could I lie to him? I looked away.

“I'm sorry,” he said sadly.

“I believe you,” I whispered. I didn't know what else to say.

Grandma was wrong. Belief has nothing to do with suspension. It is all about
suppression
. Forcing things down, deep down, where you hope that they will die and not grow in the darkness to emerge someday as a tree with bitter fruit.

Stronghold

W
HEN
S
IMON AND
I returned from Value Foods, it was clear to everyone that something had happened. Simon was pale and reserved, stealing glances at me as if he thought I might tell on him like some playground tattletale. Of course, I would never do such a thing, but he avoided me like a whipped puppy, and I didn't give him any reason to behave differently. In fact, I may have contributed to his anxiety, because it rankled me a bit that Grandma and Janice gave
him
concerned looks. My attitude turned more and more sour with each minute we were home—
I
was the one they should have been worried about. Simon may have been only five, but he had ruined me in ways that I could hardly begin to grasp.