Angels in the Snow (10 page)

“A wreck room?” Lucy asked. “What's that?”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room and Charles felt a stab of guilt. Jennifer sounded like a little braggart. He probably did, too. But dammit, Joe Walker had a patronizing way of looking at a person.

Alex broke the awkward silence. “It's short for a recreation room. Are the acoustics in that dome good for playing music?”

Marilyn answered him. “It depends. It's probably better for quiet types of music than for amplified sounds. What do you play?”

“He's a retro heavy-metal freak,” Jennifer piped up.

“Shut up, dork.”

“Well, you are.”

“Heavy metal,” Joe mused. “Like Metallica, Aerosmith, Alice Cooper.”

“Skid Row, Guns N' Roses, Whitesnake,” Alex added.

“Whitesnake. Who's that guy that played guitar for them? Steve something . . .”

“Steve Vai.” Alex stared at Joe with a surprised expression on his face. “You like Whitesnake?”

Joe started laughing. “When I was in my twenties? Heck, yeah. There was some real talent there. Especially Steve Vai—that man can coax anything out of a guitar.”

“Alex has a Steve Vai poster over his bed,” Jennifer said as she threw the dice. “He loves Steve Vai. He wants to be Steve Vai!”

“Hey, my room is off limits to you. How do you know what posters I have?”

“A bunch of long-haired scuzzballs,” she replied. Then, realizing what she'd said, she stared guiltily at Joe.

“I take it you don't like longhairs,” he said, pulling his own long ponytail from behind his back. “You think I should cut this off?”

Jennifer's gaze veered to her mother, then her father, and finally even to her brother. But she received no help from anyone. She peeked tentatively at Joe. “Well, I didn't mean you.”

“The music I really like was what came before heavy metal,” Joe said, glossing over the awkward moment. “Jimi Hendrix. Bob Dylan.”

“So you probably aren't a Katy Perry fan,” Jennifer said with an impish grin.

Everyone started laughing at that.

“No, I'm not really a fan of Katy Perry's style of music. But she does have a positive message, which I wholeheartedly support,” Joe added. “I think every kind of music has its place. Music has always been an expression of culture, like all art is. Just because a particular style of music is foreign to our cultural knowledge doesn't mean it's not valid. In fact, music and all the other forms of art are mankind's finest means of learning about one another.”

Alex and Jennifer were staring at Walker in amazement. Judith also seemed fascinated by his words. In contrast, Lucy and Robbie were completely unaffected. No doubt Joe expounded like this all the time to them.

“What's the cultural significance of heavy metal music?” Charles asked. He knew at once his tone was too strident, but he couldn't help it. This guy irritated the hell out of him.

“Those who write it, perform it, and listen to it obviously enjoy it. Perhaps they're angry with the status quo. Perhaps their childhoods were troubled or unhappy, and they view the whole world as an extension of their parents. They're dissatisfied with some aspect of their life and are frustrated and angry about it. I think we've all been there. I know I have.”

“Is that supposed to excuse satanism and all those rituals—they had unhappy childhoods?”

The game had stopped and now everyone was staring at Charles. He hadn't meant to sound so angry. Judith shifted nervously in her chair and both of his children were clearly uncomfortable. But he couldn't back out now.

“Everyone has a less-than-ideal childhood, somehow or other,” Joe replied. “I'm sure our somewhat nomadic lifestyle has left its marks on our children—both good and bad. The thing is, they're three very different individuals. Robbie is the real settled sort. He digs his roots in deep wherever he is. Lucy is an adventuress, always up for our next trip. As for Josie.” He gazed fondly at the sleeping child. “I'm not sure; who knows where her boundless curiosity will take her.”

He gave Charles a keen look, then glanced at Alex. “You like heavy metal. Are you a satanist?”

“No!” Charles answered before the boy could.

At once, Alex's face clouded over. “How would you know?”

“Alex!” Judith jerked upright.

He sent her a furious glare. “I'm not a satanist. That's too ridiculous for words. But even if I was—even if I burned dissected animals in my room—he wouldn't know. He doesn't know anything about me!”

He leaped up from the floor and stormed away. Charles wanted to storm away, too. To hide from all the eyes that were now riveted upon him. But it was useless. The damage was done. The imperfections of their family life had been laid whole before these self-righteous strangers. And now they'd be even more smug.

Marilyn broke the awful silence.

“I think the hardest part of being a parent is accepting that our children are growing into people quite separate from us. They don't need us as much as they once did.”

Charles was trembling inside, but there was a soothing quality in Marilyn Walker's voice. “Is it wrong to hope you've imparted a decent set of values to your kids?” he asked bitterly. He stared at the curtained-off stairs, where Alex had disappeared.

“He probably has those values. Mom, the flag, and apple pie aren't exclusive to the penny-loafers-and-Dockers crowd, you know.”

If Joe Walker had said that, Charles's temper would have boiled out of control. But coming from the soft-spoken Marilyn, the words served to deepen his depression. Was he being unfair to Alex? At that moment, he honestly didn't know.

“Well,” Jennifer interrupted. “What do we do with all of Alex's properties? Do we divide them up or give them to the bank, or what?”

“Maybe you could go convince him to come back,” Lucy suggested.

“Are you kidding? When he gets mad he won't talk to anyone. He just plays his guitar.”

“Well, I guess we should just put his property back in the bank and keep on playing without him.”

The game resumed, but not with nearly the same level of enthusiasm as before. Charles retreated into a
National Geographic
article about an archaeological dig in Greenland, but he remained acutely aware of the movements of everyone. Marilyn pulled out some yarn from her pocket and began to crochet—at least he thought it was crocheting. Judith closed her eyes again, although he was sure she wasn't asleep.

Joe checked little Josie's brow and murmured to Marilyn that she felt cooler. Then he disappeared up the stairs.

Probably going to seek out Alex
, Charles thought sourly. He couldn't pretend any longer about the root of his irritation with Joe Walker. He was jealous, plain and simple. The man connected with Alex in a way he himself never had—at least not in recent years.

He stared at a picture of a Norseman, frozen for centuries, but the ancient features didn't really register in his mind. Instead he saw the picture from his desk. Himself with Alex, Judith, and baby Jennifer. Alex had thought his dad the most important man in the world back then.

He looked again at Judith. Her eyes were open now, but she was staring blankly at the ceiling.

He'd been more important to her, too. Despite their struggles back then, she'd never talked of leaving him.

He let the magazine fall to his lap, and closed his eyes. The fire crackled in the hearth. The three children's voices were quiet as they rolled the dice and moved their pieces on the Monopoly board.

“Uh, Lucy. Would you consider selling me Marvin Gardens?” Robbie asked his sister sheepishly.

Charles heard her giggle. “You were right, Mr. Montgomery,” she called. Then she turned to her brother. “Sure, I'll sell it to you. But it's gonna cost you plenty.”

J
oe Walker came down the stairs with a battered-looking guitar. There was little conversation in the room as he fiddled with the instrument, tuning it and strumming a few chords while he hummed under his breath. The mood of the room was decidedly subdued. But being confined to one room with eight other people for the duration of a blizzard was enough to subdue anyone, Judith thought. Seven, she amended as she once more looked at the red bedspread that curtained off the stairwell, preventing the loss of precious heat to the upstairs.

Alex was still up there. He must be freezing.

She glanced over at Charles. Why didn't he go up after him? Alex would never come down at his father's request, though. Maybe if he ordered, but not if he asked.

How had their relationship become so skewed? Most kids would balk at the order but consent to the request. But Charles and Alex were embroiled in a classic power play. Charles demanded that Alex be what he expected of a son—to look and act, and even think like a younger version of himself. And Alex was equally determined to be just the opposite.

From the corner of her eye she saw Josie shift in her make-do bed. Her eyes opened, revealing a wide and blurry blue gaze. For a moment she appeared frightened. Clearly she did not remember where she was. Then her mother bent over her, and her rosy cheeks relaxed in a smile.

“Hi, sugar. How are you feeling?” Marilyn touched her palm to the child's brow. “No fever,” she murmured to her husband. Then she picked up Josie, blanket and all, and settled down into the chair with the little girl in her lap.

“I had a funny dream, Mama,” Josie said as she cuddled in her mother's embrace. “We were in the most beautiful place you ever saw. It was soft and warm. And it smelled good.”

“When we get home Moonbeam can tell you what your dream meant,” Lucy said. She got up from the game and knelt before her sister. “Want to help me beat them in Monopoly? You can roll the dice for me.”

Josie smiled, but shook her head no.

“Can I get you something, puddin'?” Joe asked. “Are you hungry or thirsty? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

Again she shook her head. “Everybody in my dream was so nice. There was a gate to keep out all the bad people.”

“Well, there're no bad people here,” Marilyn answered.

The child frowned in concentration. “Is it still Christmastime?”

“Of course it is, honey. You've only been asleep a little while.”

“Well, where's the Christmas tree?”

The other three children looked up from their board game.

“Yeah. We need a Christmas tree.”

“We can cut one down.”

“We
have
to have a Christmas tree.”

Joe laughed and laid the old guitar aside. “You're right. We
do
need a Christmas tree.” He reached for his coat.

“Shouldn't you wait until it stops snowing?” Judith asked.

“I doubt it's going to stop snowing today. Robbie and I will just go out past the driveway. We won't go out of sight of the house.”

“Can't I go too, Daddy?” Lucy implored.

“If it weren't snowing so bad I'd say yes. But those drifts are probably getting pretty deep. They might be over your head in some places.”

She frowned in disappointment, but didn't pout as Jennifer would have.

“We can get the ornaments ready,” Jennifer said. “Do you know where they are, Mom?”

“In the basement,” Charles answered.

Joe looked at him while buttoning up his jacket. “Want to join us?”

“I'll help,” Alex interrupted before Charles could reply. He pushed past the curtain, already dressed in coat and hat. His nose was red from the cold upper floor of the house, and he deliberately avoided his father's eyes.

Joe paused and glanced again at Charles. So did Judith. She saw him stiffen at Alex's entrance, and though there was no physical manifestation of it, she sensed his emotional withdrawal. Joe must have recognized it as well, for without further word he headed for the kitchen, followed by both boys.

“Well.” Marilyn squeezed Josie close. “Looks like you've set the ball rolling, sweetheart. I better start some lunch, though, because they're going to be hungry—and cold. Shall we make sandwiches and soup, Judith?”

“That sounds good. I'll help.”

“Terrific. Girls, come with us. You can get those ornaments.” Then Marilyn looked at Charles. “Do you think you could watch Josie?”

Charles appeared lost in thought—unpleasant thoughts, judging by the expression on his face. But at Marilyn's request he looked up. “Watch Josie? Uh, sure. I can do that.”

He stood up and crossed to the couch adjacent to them. When he sat down, Marilyn stood up and, to his obvious surprise, placed Josie squarely in his lap.

“We won't be in the kitchen long,” she said with a smile. “Thanks.”

Judith could barely stifle her amusement as she and Marilyn entered the frigid kitchen. Charles hadn't held a little child in years. He could handle powerful bankers, union bosses, and irate contractors with grace and assurance, yet just now he'd looked completely undone because of a five-year-old girl.