The Snow Angel (25 page)

Had I misunderstood everything? Or was Lily’s youth and optimism painting my past with broad, rosy strokes? I wanted to ask my daughter more, to pick apart the grain of truth that she had offered up, but we simply didn’t have time. The snow was accumulating on the windshield in swaths of winter white. “I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Let me go in first. I need a little time alone with him before I introduce you.”

“Fine.” Lily nodded once. She stuck out her hand and we shook to seal the deal.

It was only seven o’ clock in the evening, but The Heritage Home was enjoying a very silent night. A sacred hush seemed to have fallen over the place, almost as if the residents were all small children who were holding their breath in anticipation of Christmas morning. Our footsteps echoed on the tile floor of the entryway, disrupting the unearthly calm.

“Merry Christmas! Welcome to The Heritage Home.” A perky young woman stood from her perch behind a large reception desk as we approached. “You don’t look familiar to me—are you here to visit one of our guests?”

“Mitch—” I had to stop and clear my throat. “Mitchell Clark.” His name felt peculiar on my tongue, foreign and familiar all at once, and I had to repress the urge to run. Did I want to run away? Or did I want to run down the hallways, calling for him until my father stepped from one of the rooms? I couldn’t tell.

But before I could explore the snarl of my conflicting emotions, I realized that something in the woman’s countenance had shifted at the sound of his name. She smiled at me a little sadly and said, “I should have seen it. You look just like him, you know.”

“No, I don’t.” I didn’t mean to be defensive, and I hurried to explain. “Everyone used to tell me I looked like my mother.”

She lifted a hand in apology. “Well, you definitely have your father’s eyes.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to.

“Anyway,” she knitted her fingers together and took a deep breath. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“What?” The word fell off my tongue and I reached for Lily’s hand. Held it tight. “What do you mean?”

The woman flapped her hands weakly. “I’m sorry. I’m
making you uncomfortable, aren’t I? Don’t let me scare you away! It’s just … Oh, I don’t know how to explain. Let me call him.” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and grabbed the handset of a telephone, tapping in a few numbers.

“My dad?” I asked. “Are you calling him?”

She shook her head and gave me and Lily her back.

I glanced at my daughter, more than a little unnerved by our bizarre reception, but Lily wasn’t watching the drama unfold. As I followed her gaze, I realized her attention was completely absorbed by a massive Christmas tree that stood in the lobby. It towered over us, and if the scent in the air could be believed, it was real.

“May I?” Lily asked, looking up at me with wonder in her eyes.

I smiled faintly and let her go, thankful that for the moment at least she was distracted from the strange scene that was taking place behind the reception desk. The woman was gesturing wildly, nodding her head, and talking excitedly into the phone. After a couple of minutes she hung up and spun to give me a crooked grin.

“He’ll be here in a jiffy.”

“He?”

But instead of answering, she pretended not to hear me and began to stack and restack papers that she tipped out of a plastic filing box.

I heaved a sigh and joined Lily at the tree, making a show of studying the hodgepodge of mismatched ornaments so that I wouldn’t seem so nervous. The truth was, my heart was struggling in my chest, flopping around like a fish out of water. I felt wholly out of my element, panicky and downright terrified of what awaited me in the depths of this alien land.

I wasn’t accustomed to nursing homes. My nose wrinkled against the scent of disinfectant and age, the way that the stringent hospital air mingled with the fragrance of the Christmas tree. And the silence made me antsy—it was an awkward stillness, punctuated by eerie sounds I couldn’t place but that I was sure heralded a life about to end without fanfare. Maybe even my father’s life.

Was he confined to a wheelchair? Hooked up to machines? Would he curse at me for never once coming to see him even though I knew he was hurting? There were too many questions and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know the answers. Suddenly, I was overcome by an urge to leave. To grab Lily by the hand and bolt for the door before I made an even bigger mess of a messed-up life.

But it was too late for that now. My skin prickled as someone laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Rachel?”

I stiffened. That wasn’t my dad’s voice … “Uncle Cooper?” I whispered, turning around.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Two words and I was undone. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was in his arms, hanging on for dear life. How many years had it been since I had seen Cooper? Surely, I was a little girl the last time we met. He was so much older than I remembered him, wrinkled and white, but his back was straight and I knew by the way he smiled at me that his mind was perfectly sound. My dad’s older brother was still a man of great integrity and poise.

“Uncle Cooper, what are you doing here?” I asked, backing away so I could drink him in with my eyes. “I thought you were living in New York.”

He tipped his head as if to tell me New York was a lifetime ago. “After I retired from the firm I found that the city didn’t much suit me anymore. Then your dad had his stroke, and it just made sense that these two bachelor brothers should spend their final years together.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking for any physical sign that my uncle needed to be in a care facility. He was eight years older than my dad, but as far as I could tell, Cooper looked fit and healthy for his age. “Why here?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t being too forward in spite of all the years between us.

“We’re just down the road from the best cancer hospital in the Midwest.”

“Cancer?”

“Leukemia. They gave me six months to live.”

“Oh, Cooper …”

“Honey, that was four years ago.” Cooper winked.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have loved to know that you had left New York … that you were battling cancer …” I faltered, knowing that the wall between us was one that I had built. And yet …

“When I moved back, your dad made it very clear that you wanted your space. He said, ‘If we love her, we have to respect her wishes. We have to let her go.’ It might have been faulty logic—and believe me, it nearly killed your father to abide by his own edict—but he believed that one day you’d come around. And, well,” he shrugged almost sheepishly, “you’re here now.”

It was exactly what Max had said: You’re here now. One season of my life had rolled into the next and I finally found myself back where I began. Back where I belonged.

I put a hand to my forehead and tried to make sense of all the information that was coming at me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m a little overwhelmed right now.”

“Me, too.” Cooper smiled and looked past me, his expression softening as he regarded the child behind me.

Throwing up my arms, I blew a breath through my lips. “Oh, Uncle Cooper. What am I thinking? This is my daughter, Lily.”

Lily was half hidden behind me, but when I introduced
her to Cooper she shot him a disarming smirk. “I didn’t know I had an uncle,” she said.

“Great-uncle.” Cooper threw back his shoulders as if to emphasize that he fit the description. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Lily.”

“Very nice to meet you,” she said, offering him her hand. Instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips. Lily’s cheeks shone pink, but it was a delighted blush.

I glanced between them in a bit of a daze. In a very short time my world had tilted on its axis, and I would have loved nothing more than to cuddle down in one of the plush couches and talk with Uncle Cooper for hours. Even though I hadn’t seen him much as a kid, my legendary big city uncle was a bright spot in my life. He was a wonderful listener, full of wisdom, and I could really use his sage counsel. But seeing him stirred up something else in me: an understanding that I had to see my dad. Now.

“He’s here,” Cooper said as if he could read my mind. “He’s been waiting for you.”

“What?”

Cooper shook his head. “You’ll see. It’s too hard to explain. But I think this will help.”

I hadn’t realized that Cooper was carrying anything until he handed me a fat manila envelope with a sense of ceremony. It was labeled with my name and the address of Cyrus’s house in Everton, but I couldn’t tell what was
inside. Another envelope? I thought. My night seemed full of hidden magic.

“It’s letters,” Cooper explained so I didn’t have to undo the clasp. “Dozens of them. Your dad started writing them shortly after the stroke, and he hasn’t stopped for years. The first ones he was able to write, but as things got worse he dictated and I wrote. There’s a notebook that I think he means for you to have, but these are the letters that I’ve written for him. I put each one in a separate envelope and dated it so you have some sort of pattern to follow, but I’m sure they’re very repetitive. He’s been pretty confused of late.”

“Dad’s been writing me letters?” I clutched the oversized envelope to my chest, uncertain how to respond. “Why didn’t you send them?”

“I didn’t know if you would read them. I wanted to wait until you were ready. Are you ready, Rachel?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek for a second, then gave him an earnest nod.

“He’s sick, Rachel,” Cooper began to explain. “It started pretty much right after the stroke. He doesn’t remember everything—”

“I’m ready,” I interrupted. I didn’t know if I could handle all the nuts and bolts, the long list of ailments that I was suddenly sure afflicted the father I remembered as strong and whole. The last time I saw my dad we were barely on
speaking terms, but he was healthy. And now, poised on the brink of finally seeing him again, I wasn’t sure that I could reconcile the man in my mind with the person Cooper was trying to prepare me to meet. It was too much. There was only one thing that mattered: “I want to see my dad.”

“Of course, honey. He wants to see you, too.”

Christmas Eve, 7:30
P.M.

M
itch is startled by a knock at the door, and his heart stumbles over a bubble of sudden anticipation. He’s waiting for something, for someone, and though his mind can’t remember, his heart does. Mitch turns from the window and smooths a hand over his tuft of downy hair, hoping. But the woman who peeks inside his room is unfamiliar. He can’t help but deflate.

She’s lovely, to be sure. Hair the color of burnt chestnuts and eyes that gleam like troubled water even from all the way across the room. But there is
a weight on her shoulders that makes her bend beneath an unwieldy burden, and the expression on her face is indecipherable. Hesitation? Fear? Hope? Mitch isn’t accustomed to such complexity in his nurses. Nor is he used to seeing the aides out of uniform. The tailored wool coat the woman is wearing is hardly standard issue.

“May I come in?” she asks. The request is so quiet it is almost a whisper. Mitch fights a wave of irritation.

“I’m waiting for someone,” he tells her.

She straightens up a little and closes the door behind her with a soft click. “You are?”

Mitch merely nods, and returns his attention to the window where the snow still falls in lazy clumps. The dim room has turned the glass into a mirror, and in the gray reflection he can see the woman behind him pick at the buttons on her coat. She seems upset, but Mitch doesn’t know how he can do anything about that. Besides, can’t she see he’s busy?

“I just wanted to say hello,” she murmurs. Her long hair falls in curtains on either side of her face and for a moment Mitch can almost imagine what it would be like to reach over and tuck it behind her ears. It feels like an old reflex, bittersweet and somehow dear, but surely he would never dare to touch a stranger.

And then it hits him: She’s not a stranger.

Mitch sucks in a quick breath as he tries to place the
pretty woman. Is she an old friend? A candy striper who retired her pink and white uniform? A niece, perhaps? But no, his brother lives in New York. He never married. Never had children.

Whether or not Mitch remembers her, the woman that hovers at the farthest edge of his small room is someone he should know. So, he stifles a grumpy sigh and mutters the only thing he can think of to say, “Hello.”

She looks up and studies his face. Doesn’t appear to find what she’s looking for as her mouth twitches in a little frown. “It’s me. Don’t you remember me?” Before Mitch can formulate an answer, she shakes her head. “He told me that you didn’t remember everything, but still. How could you forget…?”

The sorrow in her face is almost overwhelming, but Mitch can see that there is anger, too. She’s mad at him, and something about that makes him mad, too. He doesn’t have time for such games.

“I can’t believe that you don’t know who I am. After all this time. After everything we’ve been through …” She rubs her forehead in frustration and squeezes her eyes shut as if she is battling a killer headache. “Fine,” she huffs after a few tense seconds. “Whatever. I give up.”

Mitch wonders if he should say something, but she doesn’t give him a chance. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway now, because we’re leaving.” She says this as if it
should mean something to him. But Mitch doesn’t know who “we” are or where it is they think they’re going. Is he supposed to care? He grunts noncommittally and she continues. “Not like you care, but we’ve been stuck in a pretty bad situation, and I think we’re finally free.”

“Good for you.” Though he still resents the intrusion, Mitch is surprised to find that he is genuinely happy for her. There’s nothing worse than a sweet girl in a bad situation. The woman with the sea-blue eyes seems sweet, even if she has an obvious chip on her shoulder.

“I guess I just wanted to say hello, and good-bye, before we leave. It’s just …” She closes her eyes and the lines of her face betray the long, hard road it’s been. She sighs. “It’s just been a very long time.”