A Cold Christmas (3 page)

Distant music and singing: “She cut off their tails with a carving knife.”

“Ms. James?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, blinked.

“You all right?”

“Fine.” She calculated how fast she could get to the door before he grabbed her.

“You seem a little upset. Would you like me to leave?”

Leave? With the furnace roaring away burning expensive gas, and the house like Hades even with the windows open?

“I'll call a doctor,” he said, voice bland, nothing in his eyes.

“No. No, I'm fine.”

“You sure? You look a little frail.”

“Sure. Yes.”

“Well—” He waited a moment. “I'll go take care of the furnace, then.”

“Yes.” She was losing it. As bad as Bonnie with her fairy-tale imagination. Caley slumped in a chair, put her elbows on the table, and propped her head in her hands.

She could hear banging, followed by ominous silences. Her head throbbed like a jungle drum, and she envisioned him dancing, half-naked, skin glistening, around the furnace. Oh, Lord. She tracked down the Advil, tried to shake two capsules into her palm, and half the bottle came out. She dumped the handful on the table, isolated two, and gulped them down with somebody's leftover orange juice. She grimaced at the bitter taste.

When the doorbell rang, she jumped, sloshing juice over her hand. “Damn.” Get a grip. She rinsed her hand in the sink, ripped off a paper towel, and headed for the living room.

Pulling aside the disintegrating lace curtain over the half-moon of window in the door, she saw her ex-husband on the porch, the light shining on his curly hair. Tall, blond, and handsome, looking like he'd just come in from the range in his fleece-lined suede jacket, ankle boots, and tight-fitting jeans. He didn't look any different than he had three months ago when she'd thrown him out, taking on this derelict house herself with three kids and no money.

She jerked open the door.

“Hi, Cal.” Big smile. He stepped forward to come in. She blocked his way.

His smile turned to hurt. “Aren't you glad to see me?”

“I can't even remember when I was last glad to see you. What do you want?”

“I'd like to come in.”

“No.”

“Come on, Cal. It's freezing out here.”

She closed the door.

“Caley?” He knocked, then leaned on the doorbell.

She opened the door a few inches.

“It's really cold.” He looked charming and sexy.

Her manner softened. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“That'd be great,” he said with relief.

“There's a convenience store six blocks that way and two blocks right. If you jog you'll stay warmer.”

“I have to talk to you.”

“We are talking. Similar to the last time. How long ago was that? Three weeks? Eight weeks?”

“Couldn't we go in where it's warm?”

“It's not
warm
in here, it's the Sahara. The furnace stuck. You want to pay the repair bill?”

“Of course. I'll write a check. How much do you need?”

She knew what his checks were worth. “If you have money why didn't you use some of it to take Adam out on his birthday?”

“I explained that.”

“Yeah, well, when you're eight and your dad says he can't take you like he promised, you don't really understand the line ‘Something important came up.'” She crossed her arms. “It never was a very good line anyway.” She shivered and rubbed her arms.

“Let me in, Caley. I want to see them. They're my kids too. In fact, Zach is—”

“They're not here.”

“Where are they?”

She hesitated, then sighed. They loved their father, and in his own way he loved them too. It was just that his way was limited. He made promises he didn't keep, and it broke their hearts. Zach was beginning to expect it and prepared himself for disappointment. He no longer believed the rosy plans his dad told him about, the ball games, the picnics, the movies, the drives to Kansas City. Zach just kept quiet and waited, but she could see the misery in his eyes when none of the glorious plans materialized. Adam, though not yet burned enough to accept it as the norm, was starting to get the picture. But Bonnie loved her father with no hesitations, got thrilled to bubbling when he laid out some special plan. When he didn't come through, she was devastated and inconsolable. Caley didn't want to badmouth their father, but she hated to see them so hurt and had taken to throwing in a few cautionary words. Like, “That'll be wonderful if…”

Mat stood there blowing on his hands and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Listen, Caley, I have to talk to you. It's important.”

“Oh, really. Important to whom?”

“What?” He was getting a mite impatient with her. “What's the matter with you? Something has come up—”

“Come up? Again? You really ought to get some new material.” She closed the door.

“Caley!” He pounded, then jabbed the doorbell.

After he got tired of pounding and yelling and stabbing her doorbell, she took her woozy head and her aching bones and clumped down the basement steps.

Awfully quiet. She peered under the banister. The furnace sat with its outer panels removed and pieces of its insides spread on the floor. Where was Tim the repairman? Took it on the lam through one of the narrow, grimy windows? Hiding? She really did have to get rid of all the junk down here. Ugly old furniture you wouldn't have in your house, ugly old pictures you wouldn't have on your walls, boxes and boxes of junk left by the previous owners—and maybe the owners before them and the owners before them, for all she knew.

“Ms. James?”

She spun around, heart flying up to her throat, beating so hard she couldn't breathe.

Tim had crept up behind her with a live snake, the biggest blackest maddest snake she'd ever seen.

3

The scream got tangled in her throat and came out in little
uuh uuh uuh uuh
sounds.

He had one hand just behind the snake's head—its mouth was open, its tongue flickering—and the other hand at the end of the tail. In between it coiled and writhed and twisted itself around his wrist.

Faster than she could see, it jerked its head loose and sank white fangs into the ball of his thumb.

Cursing, he grabbed the head and, holding it high, he dashed behind her and fed the snake into a white wicker hamper. He slapped down the lid and propped his butt on it, resting one hand on either side.

“I'll call 911.” She was halfway up the stairs.

“Not necessary.”

“You'll die.”

“Naw.”

She crept back down the stairs.

“It's just a black snake. Harmless. Good to have around, really. They take care of rats.”

Rats? She looked around the basement.

He studied the beads of blood on the ball of his thumb, then sucked them.

She shivered. “Where did it come from?”

“Hibernating over there.” He nodded toward the hot water heater. “Got a bit irritated at being disturbed. Can't say I blame it. How do you feel when you get yanked out of deep sleep?”

“So far I've never bitten anyone.” She eyed him closely, expecting him to drop dead. A great big black snake had been down here since last fall? And the kids hadn't seen it? They were all over this place. One of them could have been bitten. She'd never seen that hamper before, either. Could he have brought in the snake inside the hamper? Why, for God's sake, would he do a thing like that? Just because she hadn't seen the hamper didn't mean it hadn't been here. With the jumble of junk down here, half the slithery creatures of Bambi's forest could be here and she wouldn't notice. Rats? Maybe it was time to clean this place out.

“I could use a rope,” he said calmly. “If I get up it'll get loose.”

“Rope. Right. Rope.” She peered around blankly.

“On the wall over there.” He nodded toward the wall behind her.

Coils of rope of different sizes hung on pegs driven into a board on the wall. He knew more about this basement than she did. She snatched one coil and brought it to him.

“You might hold the lid while I tie it down.”

“Yes. Right.” She didn't like being that close to him, but to her surprise he didn't smell of fire and brimstone, or even sweat and dirt. He didn't smell of anything more horrifying than soap.

He trussed the hamper up like a package about to be mailed.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked

“I'll take care of it.”

“Right.” She had a vision of him eating it as a midnight snack. How had he found it? Had he been clambering through junk? Looking for what? Hidden treasure?

He finished up a knot and plopped the hamper at the foot of the steps, then went to kneel in front of the furnace. Paying some kind of homage to the furnace god? The roar of all that expensive fuel was fierce. He leaned in, did something, then backed away and sat on his heels.

She heard a click and, much to her relief, the roar dwindled. “Will it go back on when it's supposed to?” She had visions of going through the whole process again.

He gave her that scary smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Yes, ma'am.”

Go then. Go go. He replaced the panels, packed up his tools, and picked up the white hamper using the rope as a handle. She stood way back and let him climb the stairs. In the kitchen, she opened the door, watched him cross the small porch, go down the five steps, cross the driveway, get into the van, and back out. From a living room window, she watched him drive away. When she was sure he wasn't going to come creeping back, she called Ettie and said she'd be right over to pick up the kids.

Mat had the children, Ettie said. He would bring them home. Mat had the children? Why did Mat have the children? Her head couldn't figure that out. She took two Advil and waited. And dozed. And waited. And dozed. And waited.

When they finally came, it was way past the children's bedtime. They were overtired, high as launched missiles and wild from excitement. With a disapproving look at the mess in the living room, he said, “See you tomorrow.” Caley only had time to sputter before he was gone.

“Daddy's taking us ice-skating.” Bonnie danced in circles, joy spilling over. She looked much better.

Caley caught her and took off her coat. Bonnie no longer felt hot.

“And then we're having lunch and then we're going to a movie. And I get to pick where we have lunch.”

“Yeah!” Adam punched the air, pulled off his gloves, threw them at the ceiling, and flung his coat after them. “I get to pick where we go skating.”

Zach was quiet, but she could tell he was excited too. “What do you get to pick?” she asked him.

“The movie.”

How clever of Mat. He knew Zach would find something the Littles would both accept and that way Mat wouldn't have a fight on his hands.

It took her hours to get the Littles in bed. If Mat didn't show tomorrow, she would personally kill him.

When she finally got everybody settled, she threw her creaking, achy self into her own bed and dropped into sleep. She kept waking because she couldn't breathe. Finally, she stacked pillows, propped herself up on the headboard, and dozed. The phone, ringing at six-thirty, jolted her up from the first sleep she'd had all night. The scheduled organist couldn't make it. Flu. Could she take over the services?

“Sure,” she croaked.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she held her hands against her throbbing temples. Right. I can do it. A hot shower helped aching bones, but when she left the steamy bathroom, she started shivering. Teeth-chattering, bone-shaking chills. She downed more Advil. I can do this, she told herself. Of course, you can. Get dressed.

No problem deciding what to wear. She always wore the same clothes, church services, concerts, choir performances, weddings, funerals. Long black skirt and white blouse. No time wasted dithering about what to wear, and lots of clothes weren't necessary. She always looked either professional or devout, whichever was required. Would she be warm enough? Maybe she should wear long johns under the skirt.

Wrapped in one of Mat's old flannel robes, she padded into the kitchen for coffee. Adam slammed in right behind her. If he was awake, the other two were also. He saw to it. Bonnie came next, looking totally recovered. Caley felt her forehead and sighed with relief. She wouldn't have to tell her daughter she couldn't go with her father today. Assuming he turned up.

“What time is he picking you up?”

“Ten. That's what he said.” Zach was not totally convinced either.

“Mommy, I got here first.” Bonnie tussled with Adam.

“I did!” Adam shouted.

“It's mine.”

“Hey!”

Bonnie and Adam were in a shoving match about who got to sit in the only chair Caley had gotten around to refinishing. She shrieked at them, sent Adam to one end of the table and Bonnie to the other, and plonked herself in the prized chair. She drank coffee. Bonnie and Adam squabbled over who got the Cheerios first.

When she left for the church, she told Zach they could watch as much television as they wanted as long as there was no fighting over what to watch. They were to take turns choosing. “Right?”

“Right, Mommy,” Bonnie said.

“All
right,
” Adam said.

“We'll be fine, Mom,” Zach said. “Don't worry.”

*   *   *

In the hour between services, Caley dashed home to check on the kids. It was after ten and Mat hadn't put in an appearance yet. Bonnie was making him a Christmas card, Adam was watching cartoons, and Zach was working complicated math puzzles on the computer. Mat still hadn't shown up when she had to leave for the second service.

He'd better get here.

*   *   *

As soon as she played the last note of Handel in the postlude, she raced home.