The Body in the Snowdrift (5 page)

The room went very still. “But we always stay here with you and Daddy.” Each word was uttered with the precision of a speech teacher.

Marian, who never looked flustered, looked flustered.

“I know, dear, but we've never all been here at the same time, and there simply isn't space. Robert will be in the other bedroom upstairs and Craig and Glenda will be in the one down here, so they can have their own bath. Besides, I knew the cousins would want to be together. Why don't you go over now with Faith and sort it all out. I'm sure you two”—she went over and put an arm around each of her grandsons, who had remained rooted to the floor, waiting for instructions—“want to go see the movie or get out on the slopes right away.”

That did it, and they dashed for the door.

“Stop,” Betsey ordered. “There's a car to unpack.”

“I can help you with that,” Faith said. “Ben and Amy are dying to see you guys,” she added, turning to the boys.

“Thank you, Faith, but this is Scott and Andy's job. And the sooner they get to it, the sooner it will be done.” She followed her sons out the door. If she'd been standing any straighter, the brick on her shoulder would have ripped through her parka.

“Oh dear.” Marian sighed.

“Don't worry,” Faith said. “You planned everything perfectly. It will all be fine.”

But after the car was unloaded and the boys had grabbed their snowboards, rushing out the door as Betsey admonished them not to be late for dinner, it was clear that everything wasn't fine.

“I don't know why Mother didn't speak to me about this. It makes much more sense to have us in with them. Scott and Andy will keep Ben and Amy up late, for one thing. And I don't see why we all have to share a bath,” Betsey said, looking around at the luggage hastily piled in the living room by her sons.

“We don't. This is a custom unit, and there are two master bedroom suites with baths upstairs and a half bath down here. The bedroom on this floor is big. It has two sets of bunk beds, which will be fine for the kids. Once Ben and Amy are asleep, nothing wakes them. Besides, it's vacation. Ben will be staying up later than usual, maybe even Amy, too, although she usually conks out early, despite her most valiant efforts.”

“Don't you find if you veer from the regular routine,
even during vacations, that children get off schedule and it can take weeks for them to get back?”

Faith had never thought about it this way. Vacation was vacation. When she'd been a teenager, not exactly in the Dark Ages, she'd gone to bed and gotten up when she'd wanted during vacation, none the worse for wear.

“I know you think I interfere in my boys' lives too much,” Betsey continued, “but wait until Ben is their age, which won't be long. You have to know what's going on all the time. And deep down, Scott and Andy are grateful for the guidance and support.”

How deep down? Faith was tempted to ask, but she kept her mouth shut. Betsey's words had struck a sore spot. Faith
was
worried about Ben, who suddenly couldn't seem to wait for his voice to change and his hair to grow in all sorts of new places. My God, he'll be using deodorant soon! Faith thought but what was upsetting her the most was that Betsey's words weren't all that different from those of Pix Miller, Faith's best friend and next-door neighbor in Aleford, whose own children were in high school, college, and beyond. Pix Miller, the Dante of child rearing. What Pix said repeatedly was, “Your children need you more in adolescence than they do in early childhood. Pretty much anyone can childproof a kitchen, see to a nap, or read
Caps for Sale
three thousand times. But it needs to be a parent who's home when, say, the police call (Danny in the car when a friend hit a pole, fortunately no injuries, no alcohol) or your daughter arrives home from school in hysterics (Samantha, the last girl in her class to get her period).

Faith reached out to pat her sister-in-law on the shoulder, hoping to dislodge the brick. “I think you're a wonderful mother, and of course your boys appreciate everything you do for them.”

Betsey brightened. “Did I tell you that Scott is going to do the Johns Hopkins program this summer? It's
very
selective, and we're all just thrilled. And Andy's going back to music camp. He has real talent. Fortunately, a flute is portable, so he won't have to miss practicing this week.”

So much for vacations. There would be no veering.

Tom and the kids returned, followed shortly afterward by Dennis's arrival. Suddenly, the condo was filled with activity. Except for Dennis. Dennis had the affect of one of the large philodendra that typically grace a dental practice's waiting room. He and Betsey had been college sweethearts, marrying the day after graduation. She'd done office work while he got his D.D.S. degree, studying for her real estate license at night. Both tasks accomplished, Dennis joined a practice in Plymouth and Betsey joined Fairchild Realty. Having colonized the South Shore early in the twentieth century, arriving from Ireland by way of Boston's West End, various Fairchild branches had established Fairchild's Market, Fairchild's Realty, and, later, Fairchild's Ford. Dick had all but retired from the real estate business now, and Betsey was the only Fairchild in the office. Dick hoped to take Craig on, but he hadn't gotten his license yet. What Faith hoped was that the issue wouldn't come up this week, hot potato that it was. The last time it was discussed, Betsey had exploded at her brother—out of her par
ents' hearing—and informed him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't let him destroy the family business, which she was carrying to new heights. He'd told her it wasn't her decision and he'd do what he wanted. Faith had left at that point, conveniently hearing Amy call.

Robert, three years younger than Tom, was Faith's favorite. He was the quintessential uncle, sending postcards often and surprising his nephew and niece with gifts. He was a sales rep for a sporting goods manufacturer and looked the part. All the Fairchilds were attractive, but Robert was handsome. He'd been a star high school and college baseball player, “the Sox's loss,” in family lore. He still played in, as he put it, “an old folks' league” and carried himself with the muscular grace certain athletes have. Robert loved sports—any and all sports. He'd watch grass grow just to see which blade came up first. He'd never married. Faith supposed it was a combination of life on the road and not having met anyone who would surf past any non-sports channels. He seemed happy to turn up for family gatherings—it had to have been difficult for him to take this week off, Faith realized—and happy also to quietly vanish from the room at said gatherings at the first indication of a “discussion.”

Leaving the kids to Tom, Faith went next door to get dinner on the table. Robert had arrived and had already set places for the grown-ups at the big round table by the fireplace, and ones for the kids at the breakfast bar.

“Are Craig and Glenda here yet?” Faith asked after greeting him.

Robert silently pointed across the living room to the closed door.

“Newlyweds,” said Faith, laughing.

“I guess.” He smiled at her. “I hope she likes to ski. If you'd told me my baby brother would marry a woman who had never skied before, I wouldn't have believed it.”

Craig was the best skier in the family—by far. Just as Ben looked up to Scott and Andy, Craig had worshiped Freddy Stafford, a champion racer in his day. Craig's old room in the house in Norwell was crammed with trophies. He really should have been a ski instructor or gone into the ski patrol. Robert had a job he liked, as did Tom and Betsey. It was only Craig who still seemed out of his element.

“It must be love,” Faith said.

“What must be love, my gorgeous sister-in-law?” asked Craig, opening the door and walking toward them.

“You and your nonskier wife,” Faith replied.

“You bet it is, but in a few days, the word
nonskier
will no longer apply. Glenda is extremely well coordinated—and motivated. She'll be flying down black diamonds before we leave.”

Dinner was a noisy and convivial gathering. Everyone seemed determined to have a good time. Dick, the paterfamilias, was in his element. The chili was a success, although both Glenda and Betsey used the lettuce and crudités to make salads.

“I have to burn some calories before I can add any,” Glenda told them. Though she didn't turn down an Otter Creek—a local microbrew—and then allowed as she'd have another instead of dessert.

As chairs were pushed back and belts loosened, Faith was thinking that Dick's plan had been an inspiration. The kids would always remember this time. This time of family togetherness.

Scott and Andy had squeaked in just before dinner, earning a disapproving look from their mother, although not a scolding. They'd cleared their dishes and were on their way out the door, hoping, Faith realized, to slip away unnoticed.

“Hey, you two, where do you think you're going?” Betsey called.

“Night skiing,” Scott said.

“I don't think so. Take off those parkas and sit down.”

Dick stood up. A scotch before dinner, a few Otter Creeks, and the fire had turned his face bright red. “Let the kids go, Bets. We're supposed to be having fun. All of us.”

“But they can go another time, Dad. It's our first night here. I thought everybody would play Pictionary or bridge the way we usually do.”

“Not me, sis, I'm going skiing. Cards are for when there's no white stuff around,” said Craig, heading to his room to get ready.

Robert emerged from one of the upstairs bedrooms, carrying his skis, in time to hear his brother's words. “Great,” he said. “I thought I'd be by myself.”

Clearly outnumbered, Betsey said to her sons, “I guess you can go, but you should have asked first.”

“Mom, can I go? Can I? Please, pretty please!” Ben begged. Faith looked around for Tom, who had apparently gone next door. She was on her own. Ben was too
young to ski alone, and she didn't feel like going herself. Plus, there were all the dishes to clean up.

“You can come with me,” Robert said, to Faith's relief and Ben's delight. “If it's okay with your parents.”

“Go get ready, but only for an hour. It's been a long day,” Faith said.

Tom returned, carrying Ben's things. Her husband had been one jump, or slalom or whatever, ahead of her, Faith realized. Soon only the women and Dick were left.

Birthday or no birthday, Dick Fairchild was not the kind of man who pitched in when it came to housework. Lawn, car, the exterior of a house, yes, but washing dishes—boiling water even—no. He sat down to read the paper and was soon fast asleep.

“Sit down and relax, Marian. These will be done in a jiffy,” Faith said. “Besides, there isn't room in the kitchen for all of us.”

Glenda and Betsey had already started rinsing the dishes and loading the dishwasher. The cleanup was soon finished. Glenda squirted some hand lotion into her palms, rubbed it over her hands, and reached for her rings. She'd put them in a saucer next to the sink with Betsey's.

After she'd slipped on hers, she held up one of Betsey's. “This is such a pretty diamond. I love the emerald-cut setting,” she said, holding the ring up to the light and sending tiny sparkles over the counter.

Business must be good, Faith thought. It was a new ring; she hadn't seen it before. An early valentine? Betsey's wedding and engagement rings were modest, bought before Dennis had made any money. This ring
was at least triple their karats, maybe even quadruple. Glenda obviously had an eye for diamonds—and not simply the black ones that marked the most difficult trails.

Amy was asleep in her grandmother's lap. Faith hoisted her daughter up on her hip. She couldn't do this with Ben anymore and wouldn't be able to with Amy much longer. She said good night to everyone. Glenda and Betsey had gotten out a pack of cards.

Next door, the condo was empty. The silence was welcome, and she planned to crawl into bed with a book as soon as Amy was settled. Turning on the light, a thought suddenly occurred to her. Where was Dennis? She hadn't seen him go off with the others. He wasn't next door, and there was no one here. The place had been dark. So where was Dennis the dentist, anyway? Probably at the Pine Slopes pub, having a drink on his own. Faith didn't blame him one bit.

 

Faith opened her eyes. One minute, she'd been thinking about the accident, then the night before—Marian by her side; the next, she must have fallen asleep. Now Marian was gone and Tom was in her place. Tom. She sat up and he put his arms around her, holding her tightly.

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart. It must have been terrible. Are you all right?”

Yes,” Faith said, realizing it was true—or would be soon. The image of Boyd Harrison's body, which had been indelible before her nap, was blurred at the edges now. She had needed to sleep; hadn't slept well the night before. She never did the first night in a new
place, and that was why she had gotten up so uncharacteristically early and, in the full flush of winter wonderland romanticism, decided to go cross-country skiing before the others were awake. She'd planned to be back in time to make the heart-shaped pancakes that were a Fairchild, as in Sibley-Fairchild, family tradition. She'd brought valentine cards for everyone and thought she'd make a quick trip into Burlington to the Lake Champlain Chocolate Factory's outlet store for heart-shaped favors for tonight's dinner.

“What are the kids doing? What time is it?”

“The kids are fine. We saw your note, and I wondered why you weren't back to make pancakes, but they were so hot to get to the Pine Cones, Saps, or whatever their groups are called that I gave them some cereal, took them over, and decided to take a few runs myself. It's almost noon.” He shook his head and said ruefully, “It was stupid of me to go off like that and not be here with you.”