Authors: Holiday Outing
softly and then entered, peering at the sleeping forms of Daniel in a sleeping bag on the floor
and Matthew stretched out on the sofa.
Matthew sat up immediately, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to you in private,” I whispered, hoping Daniel was a deep sleeper.
“Now.”
Matthew slowly rose from the couch. The darkness made it difficult to decipher his
expression as he pulled on his coat for warmth and followed me into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” he asked again. I lit the gas lamp and could now see his expression,
giving away nothing but tiredness.
I took a deep breath. “It was you.”
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He frowned. “What?”
“You need to give the pushke back. It isn’t yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matthew said. His voice was rough with
sleep.
“You’re an art historian. You were the only one in this family who recognized Marc
Chagall’s Jewish name. Once you saw the pushke and realized it was an original painting
from the famous artist, you couldn’t help yourself. How much would an original Chagall go
for?”
Matthew watched me carefully. The sleepiness was gone. In its place a wary eye
remained. “Between eighty and one hundred million dollars.”
I held out my hand. “If you give it back to me, I won’t tell anyone you took it.”
“Did you hear me?” Matthew said, his voice a high whisper. “One hundred million
dollars! And this is an item unlike anything else Chagall ever painted!” He stepped toward
me. “We could split it. I can sell it through a private buyer. No one will ever trace it back to
us. We’ll go fifty-fifty on the proceeds.”
“No.” I glared at him. “I’m not stealing from my family! You have to give it back.”
Matthew shook his head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. And this is your last chance to give it up anonymously, before I wake up the
entire household and tell everyone what you’ve done.”
There was a tense silence. Matthew didn’t look remorseful, or even frightened. He
looked…dangerous. My mouth went dry. What if Ethan was right? What if it was enough to
consider murder?
But then Matthew shook his head. “Fine. You win. I’ll put it back.”
“Do it now.”
“I’ll get it. It’s in the den.”
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“Really?” My curiosity got the better of me. “Where? Ethan and I looked for it.”
Matthew smiled coldly. “I wrapped it as a present for myself.” He slipped past me. “Be
right back.” He tiptoed into the study.
I waited outside, listening to make sure he didn’t wake Daniel. And then I heard a
rusty creaking sound and realized he was opening the study window -- the only window big
enough for a person to fit through.
I bolted for the front door, hastily stuffing my feet into the closest pair of shoes. They
were my father’s boots. I ran outside. In the brilliant moonlight, I could see Matthew,
running off through the hip-deep snow like a complete idiot.
“Matthew!” I shouted, no longer caring who I woke up. He headed into the neighbor’s
yard, wrapped pushke clasped in his hand. “Shit!” I stepped inside and grabbed my coat,
hanging beside the door.
“What’s going on?” Ethan ran down the stairs.
“He bolted!” I threw open the front door. “I’m going after him.”
“Jonah! You’re in your fucking pajamas! Put some clothes on and --”
“No time!” I charged outside.
The moonlight glowed on the snow. I plunged into it, shivering instantly as ice slipped
under my open coat, melted onto my cotton pants.
It was easy to track Matthew -- he left a body-size trench in his wake. His black form
lurched behind the neighbor’s house. He headed away from the road. Where the hell was he
going?
“Matthew!” I shouted. “Come back!”
Matthew turned to look at me, and then plunged ahead faster, trying to run.
I watched in horror as he tumbled down the hill and then disappeared.
Oh God. The Feingold’s duck pond.
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I charged through the snow, ignoring the cold burn on my feet, on my legs,
everywhere. I focused on the location I last saw Matthew. Where the hell did the duck pond
begin? My mind frantically mapped the terrain.
Illuminated by moonlight, I saw the black hole of the pond ice.
I lay flat and slid forward to the edge of the ice. I plunged my hand into the freezing
water. Pain flared up my arm. The water was so cold it burned.
I felt something slap against my wrist, and then a desperate tug downward. I braced
myself and pulled with all my strength.
Matthew’s face broke the water. His hand clawed at my arm as he pulled himself up.
“Help!” He gasped, sucking in air.
“Pull yourself up!” I cried. He was dragging me into the water with him.
I yelled out in pain as he hauled himself out of the water using my arm as an anchor.
He still held the pushke in his hand, wrapped in soggy paper that began to freeze in the
frigid air.
“Stay flat on the ice!” I told him.
“Jonah!” I heard Ethan cry in the distance.
Matthew panicked. He bolted to his feet and ran, cracking the ice with each step.
Before I could make it to the edge the ice broke open and I fell in.
I gasped from the frigid water. My lungs felt crushed. I swallowed water and panic
flooded me. I felt like I had a blow to the head, my chest caving inward.
I struggled upward, trying to remain calm. There was no current in the pond. I
wouldn’t lose the hole in the ice as long as I didn’t panic.
My face and neck flared with pain, but my limbs were already numb. I had to get out
of the water while I still had strength.
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I threw my arm upward, but I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I groped, hoping what I
felt was ice and air. I used all the last of my strength to pull myself out of the sucking water.
I gasped loudly as I surfaced. I quickly scrambled into the nearby snowbank and curled
into a ball, violently shivering, flooded with intense pain. I was scared and suddenly
exhausted.
Voices called out in the distance -- Ethan’s, and it sounded like my father and uncle.
There were others now as well -- neighbors perhaps, but I couldn’t make it out for sure. The
snow was so cold but I thought if I could just sleep a bit it would warm up eventually…
“Jonah!”
I felt blazing heat on my face, something groping me.
“Wake up. Wake up!”
It felt like too much work to open my eyes, but something hot poked me, so I cracked
them open to slits.
Ethan cradled my head in his lap, his face pale in the moonlight.
It was too much effort to keep my eyes open -- besides, he looked really pissed off.
“Stay awake,” he growled at me. I felt myself tugged upward. I wanted to warn him
that I was soaked through. Every part of me was numb, but I felt pressure, my body shifted
around. He must have carried me in a fireman’s hold -- my head was upside down, I could
feel pain and pressure building in my brain. Everything was so exhausting.
“I’m tired,” I slurred.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, goddamn it!” he snapped.
“Nice bedside manner,” I mumbled. I closed my eyes once more and gave in to the
rhythm of his movements.
I was distantly aware of other people. I heard my name called out, in panic by my
mother, in sympathy by someone else.
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“Pushke?” I whispered.
“We have Matthew,” Ethan told me. He shifted me around and I opened my eyes
briefly to watch him gently tuck my hand in from the door frame. It alarmed me that I
couldn’t feel any of this.
“He confessed to everything. He’s getting warm upstairs.” Ethan lowered me onto
something soft. The carpet, I realized, in front of the fire.
I opened my eyes again, and saw that everyone rushed around me. Someone yanked at
my wet shirt. Someone else wrapped me in a comforter. Ethan’s white face hovered over me
as he gently pulled a wool cap onto my head.
Someone shoved a mug toward me and Ethan scowled and pushed it away. “No! No
alcohol. He needs something hot and sweet -- hot water with sugar and honey.”
I think Aunt Goldie tried to strangle me with something orange. Ethan moved in front
of me again, gently wrapping my mouth and nose loosely with a scarf.
“It’ll prewarm the air before it gets to your lungs,” he told me. His voice sounded
strained. In the firelight I could see he was deathly pale.
“Thanks,” I slurred. When did I start sounding so drunk?
There was something important I had to tell him. Something I thought he should
know, especially since it was so cold outside.
I remembered. “I think I’m in love with you,” I told him.
Ethan’s eyes darted to my mother and then back to me. “Tell me all about it when
you’re actually conscious.”
And suddenly realizing that consciousness was an option, and not a requirement, I
smiled and leaned back against the carpet and closed my eyes.
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I was sweating.
I blinked, cocooned with darkness and blazing heat. My skin felt sticky. I stuck to
something.
No, I was stuck to someone. Ethan.
I shifted and Ethan pulled me tighter against him, crushing me to his naked body.
This is nice, I thought, but then I couldn’t figure out how I went from accusing
Matthew to ending up in the sack with my old flame.
Or why I sweated so profusely.
I struggled against Ethan’s iron clasp and he opened his eyes.
“I’m hot,” I told him.
He let me go and turned. Before I could ask what was going on he stuck a thermometer
in my mouth. My eyes widened.
I peeled my thighs off of Ethan’s. My groin was damp with sweat. I rolled over and
luxuriated in the soft sheets. Sun streamed in from the cracks between the curtains. What
were we doing, laying around naked in the daylight?
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Ethan propped his head on his hand and looked me over. “How do you feel?”
I mumbled “hot” around the thermometer. Ethan merely raised an eyebrow.
My wrist ached dully, and my skin felt sore and flushed. I had a headache and smelled
bad. But otherwise, I was alive. And it began to sink in how lucky I was. It could have been
much worse.
“Let’s see,” Ethan said, pulling the thermometer from my mouth. He smiled. “Ninety-
eight! You’re in the clear, hon.”
“Good. Then get this hat off me. And don’t call me hon.”
Ethan laughed as he pulled the cap off my head. “Why not?”
“I don’t like it. It’s what old ladies call me.”
“Daniel is shoveling out the driveway. I’m driving you to the hospital as soon as he’s
done.”
“I’m fine,” I told him.
“You had hypothermia,” Ethan said, frowning. “You need to be checked out.”
“Judging by my utter lack of clothing, I think you did a very thorough job of checking
me out, thank you very much.”
Ethan laughed. “I was warming you up. There’s still no heat, remember?”
“I’m sure my mother loved the suggestion.”
“She suggested it, actually. She knew that one of the best ways to warm someone
exposed to cold temperature is sharing body warmth. I thought you’d prefer it that I stepped
up to the plate before your Aunt Goldie could volunteer.”
I shuddered at the thought. Ethan pulled me to him. “Sure you’re okay?” he asked
immediately.
“Yeah.” I smiled and closed my eyes. “So the pushke made it back?”
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Ethan stroked my cheek slowly. “Yup. It’s downstairs on your mother’s mantle once
more. Matthew is sleeping in the den under a mountain of blankets. I did not volunteer to
warm him up with my naked body. I felt more inclined to call the cops.”
“That fucker cracked the ice, even after I warned him not to stand up.”
Ethan’s expression darkened. “That’s it. We are calling the cops.”
“Has he repented, at least?”
“He made a grandiose apology to your mother and your uncle. I personally think we
should turn him in, but your family seems unwilling to press charges. Your father did state
Matthew is no longer invited to stay in the Levinson household.”
“Did you tell my parents about the pushke? That it’s a Chagall?”
“They are fighting about it right now.” He smiled. “Your father wants to sell it. Your
mother refuses to part with it. And of course your uncle is about to commit suicide knowing
what he just gave away.”
A loud whoosh! filled the air and suddenly the heating system cranked on. The bedside
radio blasted and the lights all snapped on. I could hear the television blare downstairs.
Ethan laughed. “Power! At last!”
I let my hands trail along his flank, let my fingers comb through his pubic hair. I
grasped his shaft, which was brilliantly hot and soft, soothing to the feel. “I’ll give you a kiss
to celebrate,” I whispered, lowering my head.
“When are you leaving?” Ethan suddenly asked.