Wild Roses (18 page)

"That would look lovely on Helen," Nannie said
when she opened the nightgown from Dad. She placed it on top of the snoozing old
lady.

"Put the necktie on her too," said Mary. So
Helen got decorated with Dad's new tie, a car-washing mitt, and my new hat. Mary
and Nannie were laughing so hard I thought we'd have to call the medics. Dad was
trying to get Helen to hold the hand mixer I'd given him, when she snorted and
flinched kind of violently, sending the car-washing mitt sailing and landing on
the coffee table in a half-empty bowl of Dad's clam dip. Nannie was holding her
stomach with laughter, and had to hurry off to the bathroom. I'd never seen her
this loose.

"Jeez, what was in that wine?" I said to Dad.
He was happy and relaxed, having a grand time, too. When we got everyone packed
in the car to go, Nannie had to come back in because she'd forgotten the
slippers I'd given her. She was in there so long that it shouldn't have been a
surprise that when we came home, we saw that her own Nativity scene had been
moved to the dining room table, and the Christmas cards had been set upright
along the mantel, just as they used to be when she'd lived there with
Grandpa.

156

Christmas day I spent at home with Mom and
Dino. If your parents are divorced, you know this is one of the side benefits of
the whole deal, the time when all of the crap and the moving from house to house
actually starts to pay off a little. Two or more Christmases, two or
more

birthdays. Zebe won the holiday lottery. She
has five Christmases and one Chanukah. She has Christmases with her Mom, Dad,
Grandpa, Grandma (they're divorced, too), and her other set of grandparents. Her
stepmother is Jewish, so she gets Chanukah with them, too. Handing her the keys
to a department store would be easier. Everyone wants to give you the holiday
they remembered. You actually start to feel sorry for those kids whose parents
are married to each other, poor deprived souls. Your social calendar becomes
busier than the president's during election year, and keeping track of
everything becomes akin to solving those annoying puzzles where you slide around
the numbers and try to get them back in order. You never want to see another
Christmas cookie or a turkey again in your life. You realize there are many
stuffing variations, all pretty gross. You realize how truly different Mom's
family is from Dad's family. But you've got a stocking in every house, and candy
and love and presents rain down upon you, like the Red Cross flying overhead,
dropping packages. All this because your parents sucked at being married to each
other.

Dino had apparently done his shopping in no
less than fifteen seconds total, and in the gift section of the men's
department. He gave Mom a six-in-one flashlight, a

157

gold pen, and a box of handkerchiefs. He gave
me an executive desk dartboard and an executive stress-buster ball to squeeze in
your hand. I was glad he passed on the golf ball-care kit and the six-pack of
holiday boxers. The day was nice but uneventful, and after dinner, Dino went
into his office to work. There were only three months left until the concert.
Mom and I sat in the kitchen and ate a piece of apple pie, then took thin slices
of what was left in the dish until we were thoroughly disgusted with ourselves.
Dino emerged, his hair disheveled and tired-looking, his eyes with dark circles.
Mom made him tea, rubbed his neck.

"We would have a pomegranate, this time of
year," Dino said. "In Italy. No, a pomegranate every day." "You must be
exhausted," Mom said. "Unspeakably."

Dino went to bed, and after I let Dog William
outside for a last holiday pee, I headed for bed, too.

Mom must have been feeling sentimental. She'd
come in my room to kiss me good night. "Merry Christmas," I said to
her.

"You too, my girl," she said. Her braid had
swung over my face. Her own face looked thin and tired. "I hope it's a really
good year," I said. Mom paused a beat. "I want that too," she said.

I woke up really early and happy the next
morning, knowing that Ian and I were going to meet. Something about the morning
seemed oddly still, too quiet, and

158

when I peeked through my blind I saw why--it
had snowed during the night, and it was a beautiful soft white everywhere. Snow
is magical, and if you don't think so, you won't see magic anywhere. I got that
excited feeling, like there'd be school closures, even though we were off school
already. I went in Mom and Dino's room, shook Mom awake so she could see. She
crept up so as not to disturb Dino, went out in the backyard in her nightgown
and made a snowball to put in the freezer, like we always did. I told you I
thought it was going to snow. I could smell it in the air, she said. She was
always proud of her weather-predicting abilities, especially after no one
believed her. There was no practice that day, so she went back to bed, and I got
showered and dressed. I was too excited to go back to sleep.

I was hunting around the back of my closet for
warm stuff when I heard a big hamp at my window. I swore at first, thinking it
was Courtney's brothers, but when I looked out I saw Ian standing right outside,
and bits of a snowball dribbling down my window. The street was still sleeping,
and Ian's boots had made a path down the road. God, it was pretty out, and Ian
had on his dark coat and held a slim white box. He was standing there in full
view, really dangerous, and I urged him down the street with my hands, held up
one finger to indicate I'd be right there.

I grabbed the slim white box in my own room,
shoved on my mittens and my old boots, but got this in reverse order, since I
couldn't work the laces. I flung off my mittens

159

and tried again, pulled on my new snow hat from
Nannie, and was happy/unhappy about it. Unhappy because it was scratchy, happy
because the scratchiness reminded me of really great snowy days in uncomfortable
hats. I tried not to clump down the stairs, and when I stepped outside, the only
thing the cold hit was my face. I had on layers of clothes and so I could barely
move, just the way it should be. Ian was down the street, clapping his mittened
hands for me to hurry.

I clomped and sloshed down the street. I picked
a clean patch so that I could make my own footprints. Something about marring
smooth sand or snow and making our mark must go back to our caveman days,
because it is such a satisfying feeling. I was hot already and pulled off my
hat, making my hair look superb, I'm sure. Otis, the neighbor's cat, was picking
his way across the snow with tenderly raised paws and a great deal of
caution.

I tossed a snowball in Ian's direction. "That's
for the one at my window," I said. My aim sucked and I hit the Fredericis'
mailbox.

"You better watch it," he warned. If my hair
had gone all undersea creature on me, Ian didn't seem to care. He grabbed me up
in his arms and lifted me up and set me down again.

"Snow," he said. His breath came out in a
puff.

"I love it," I said. "This is the
best."

"Let's go to the riding trail, then we can do
the presents," he said.

"Okay."

160

We walked hand in hand, or rather, mitten in
mitten, which is about the coziest and Everything All Right with the World
feeling you can get. We walked toward the school, the center part of the island,
where there is a perimeter of forested riding and walking trails. We walked past
the trail marker, and I slid the snow off its top into a heap. The trail didn't
look real. It was a postcard day. The branches of the trees were heavy and
drooping with white thickness, and the ground was a soft and sparkly
carpet.

"So beautiful," I said.

"You too," Ian said. He took hold of one strand
of my hair, looked at the color of it against his mitten. He looked at my face.
"Brown hair, dark eyes, white snow."

We walked a bit, just listening to silence.
Snowy quiet is more quiet than regular quiet. It's like the world is holding its
breath.

After a while, Ian stopped.
"Presents?"

"Sure," I said.

We both knew what we were getting each other.
We agreed to get each other the same thing, only we'd choose which kind.
Eliminate all gift-giving hassle and anxiety. We swapped boxes. I bit the
fingertips of my mittens and pulled them off, tossed them to the ground so that
I could open the package.

"Ready?" I said, and we both pulled the scarves
from the boxes. Mine was red, amazingly soft, fuzzy. The one I'd chosen for Ian
was blue, with thick, wide stitches.

"Let me," Ian said. He wrapped the scarf around
my neck.

161

"I love it," I said, and wrapped his around his
neck, tucking the ends inside his coat. "Me too," he said.

We hugged for a while, stood together, and I
had that feeling you get in nature that you are small against its grandness,
same as when you used to see the tiny figure of a person against the Latitude
Drive-In Movie screen, before they tore it down to put a strip mall there. Ian
put my mittens back on my hands, and we walked a little, boots
crunching.

"Fir, cedar, evergreens," Ian pointed. "Spruce.
Poplar. Deciduous. Water can go up hundreds of feet, to the tiniest branches up
there. Just travels up, molecule by molecule."

"I didn't know you knew about these
things."

"I like to study trees." He looked upward, and
his dark hair fell away from his eyes. "They're quiet. They're solid. Sure of
where they are."

"You must get tired of sound."

"God, really."

"You could study trees instead." Ian laughed.
"You could."

"I'd love that. I would so love
that."

He stopped on the trail then, and we kissed in
the snow, in our new scarves. It was one of life's perfect moments, where you
look around and think I want to remember this. You try to etch it in your brain
so that when you are Nannie's age and are living at Providence Point,

162

you will look out the window and see red and
blue scarves against a white background, Ian's breath against the backdrop of
trees, new snow beginning to fall; at first, small diamonds, and then huge fat
flakes that sat on the shoulders of Ian's dark coat and fell upon his hair. You
will remember the soft flakes against your upturned face, the way they fell upon
your tongue, and Ian telling you he loved you into your hair. You would remember
all of it, and feel that sense that you had everything you ever wanted in the
world.

We walked back home, stopped at the beginning
of my street. The media-monster boys didn't even have their sleds out, and there
were no forts or snowball fights or snowmen and women, but the blue light from
the television shone from the living room windows. Mr. Frederici was shoveling
his walk, even though the snow would likely turn to rain by night, and the snow
would be mostly gone except for a few lingering patches by tomorrow. That's how
the snow was around here. A day or two of thrill and traffic all messed up, and
then you had to wait another year for it to happen again.

Ian put his mittened hands against my cheeks
and kissed me, his mouth cold, and then warm again. His dark hair was wet from
the snow. I'm sure I had mascara all over my face, but he looked at me like he
loved me. Then Ian gazed down my street, at our house.

"My mother was playing one of his recordings
yesterday," Ian said.

I was silent. We both just stood and looked at
my

163

house. Unease was starting at my toes, creeping
up. The day had been so perfect.

"What his music does to you--there aren't even
words."

Perfect, and fleeting.

Ian returned to his lessons, of
course.

He didn't even tell me. I just heard his voice
in the house a few days later and I knew what had happened. God damn it, it made
me mad. I wasn't sure who I was so mad at. Dino, for being right. Ian, for
giving himself up. He had broken our pact. It was settled. At least that's how I
saw it.

"Ian!" I called, after he left on his bike. He
put on his brakes, had his head down. Like Dog William when he peed on the
carpet. I ran to catch up to him. Fury, confusion, and hurt all mixed together
so I didn't know which was which.

"You didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry. I don't know. I
couldn't."

"Why? And why are you doing this? You don't
even want this. Why? Please. I just don't get it."

"Look at you. I knew you'd be hurt. I didn't
want to hurt you. I just couldn't do it." He reached over, picked up my hand. He
rubbed the top of it with his thumb.

"What happened, Ian?"

"My Mom found out I quit lessons, and flipped.
I told her about us. She doesn't even want me to see you anymore. Cassie, I
don't want that."

164

Great. Nice Janet with the chipped toenail
polish. Anger bubbled up. Love meant nothing, I guess. Not compared to what that
violin meant. I turned my head away. I stared at the Fredericis' house. I didn't
even want to look at him.

"I don't want that," he said. "Do you hear me?
Cassie."