Cold Comfort (4 page)

I oscillated my sights away from the deluge of bottles finally coming to rest at the bottom of the hill. Beneath the brim of a Boston Red Sox baseball cap was “the guy who broke my heart in college.” I was perplexed, not only shocked by what had just happened, but by the curl of Jack’s grin framed by the open window of his Jeep.

“Here, let me help,” he said, now pulling the Jeep past me, over to the curb.

My heart was still beating wildly.

After he cut the engine, he swung the car door open and hopped out. Then he thrust the drivers’ seat forward and reached into the back. His short, Sherpa-lined Carhartt jacket revealed a patch of bare skin above the waistband of his jeans as he tossed over a plastic crate, releasing about a dozen live lobsters onto the back seat. They looked perturbed enough to lift their banded claws high as if in protest.

“Those yours?” he asked, pointing down the street toward the bottles of water with one hand and holding the empty crate in the other.

“Y-Yes, t-they were.”

No sooner had I stuttered those words, when Jack set off down the hill, a gleeful bounce in his step as he gathered up the dozen or so bottles of water and dropped them into the crate. Then he headed back toward me and the Jeep, the crate anchored against his hip. His face was beaming a smile.

“Where are you going with these?” he asked.

“Minnie’s,” I told him, pointing around the corner. “Just a few houses up this block.”

He handed me the heavy crate with the water. The muscles in my arms grew weary as he reconfigured the bungee cord around the entire shopping cart so it would be able to roll again.

“Okay. Lead the way,” he said.

He firmed a hand atop the bundle of firewood and together, we set off.

With a quick glance at the contents of the cart, Jack said, “Well, I’m thinking either you’re anticipating a lot of thirsty people at your Thanksgiving feast tomorrow, or you’re expecting a raging inferno to take over your fireplace?”

“Haven’t you heard the weather report? A Nor’easter is supposedly headed straight for us, and my aunt is convinced we’re in for a blizzard that’ll keep us housebound for days. She’s got the food part covered, but the water, battery and firewood detail was assigned to me.”

“You’re only going to get about two fires out of this bundle of wood. But I’d bet the acid in the batteries might torch up pretty well.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him, playing along.

“You know, I can get you some more wood, if you need it. I know a guy.”

“Thanks. But I’m not convinced this storm is going to materialize into anything.”

“Oh?”

“Weather people have a reputation for being notoriously wrong.”

“Well, we’ll see if photojournalists can predict the weather with more accuracy come tomorrow.”

“You’re on,” I told him.

By now, we were at the steps in front of Minnie’s brownstone.

“Well, thanks so much for your help,” I told him. “I think I can take it from here.”

“No, for the sake of our fine city, you’d better allow me.” He pushed me aside and started to lumber the cart up the steep concrete steps leading to the front door.

When we reached the top landing, I was huffing and puffing, still lugging that heavy crate with the water.

“I don’t have my key,” I told him. “Can you press the doorbell?”

We waited for my aunt to answer. The air felt chilled and hard, and an awkward silence bloomed between us as Jack and I both stared at the chipped paint on the front door. Standing so close to him, seeing a visible cloud of condensation from his hot breath fill the air, stirred something in my belly—feelings that touched upon some very deep, recessed memories of loneliness and unrequited love.

The spell was broken when Minnie flung open the door. Her voice exploded bright and cheerful with, “Giacomo?” Then she narrowed her eyes on me.

Jack said, “Caught this niece of yours single-handedly littering the streets of the city.”

“I’m sorry. I broke your shopping cart,” I explained. “I guess I tried to pile in too much stuff. Jack, here, was nice enough to help me out.”

“Ohmygoodness… Well, get out of the cold, you two,” she said, stepping aside to let Jack wheel the overburdened cart into the vestibule.

When we entered, and I finally set down the crate with the water, The oven timer in the kitchen started to ring.

“Oh, that’ll be the sweet potatoes. They must be done boiling.” Aunt Minnie excused herself as Jack and I untied the bundle of wood and set it on the floor in the corner. Then we lined up all the water bottles in neat rows against the wall.

When Aunt Minnie returned, she looked at Jack and asked, “How about a cup of coffee?”

“No. No. I can’t stay. I’ve got to get back to the shop. I’ve got a dozen angry lobsters freezing to death in my car.”

“Well, thank you so much for helping Anna Maria.” Aunt Minnie gave Jack an endearing kiss on the cheek. “And thank you, also, for the
fill-its
. They look wonderful.”

“My pleasure,” Jack said.

When their embrace ended, Jack looked at me as if expecting I’d show my gratitude similarly. But I kept my feet glued to the vestibule floor.

“Yes, thanks a lot for the help,” I added.

“Any time.” He fingered the brim of his baseball cap, tipping it in my direction. “And I’ll see what I can do about getting you some more wood.”

“Could you? Could you do that?” A sense of anxious hope filled Aunt Minnie’s tone.

“Yes, just give me a call if they prove to be right with that forecast, and I’ll drop off a load.”

“Well, where can we reach you?” I asked.

“The store.”

Aunt Minnie exclaimed, “You mean, you’re working tomorrow?”

“We’re not open for business. But with my daughter spending the long weekend with her mom, I was planning to take the day to regroup and clean-up the shop.”

“But you shouldn’t work on a holiday,” Aunt Minnie said. “Why don’t have dinner with us?”

For a moment, I stood completely rooted. Sweat broke out on my neck and drenched my armpits. My eyes grew wide on my aunt while Jack looked at me as if seeking my approval.

I studied the lines around his eyes, his mouth. There was no denying that the sight of his face still pleased me. But my heart was beating so fast I was unsure if I was going to laugh or cry. I swallowed a gulp that squeezed past my tonsils and blurted, “Aunt Minnie, I’m sure Jack has already made plans—”

“As a matter of fact,” he said. “I was just going to open a can of soup at home after work and catch some of the football game.”

“Soup?” Aunt Minnie gasped. “Soup in a can is meant to stay in a can—especially on Thanksgiving. Dinner is at two o’clock. And you’re welcome to watch the game here, if you want.”

When Jack met my gaze, I offered him a limp smile then looked away. I felt uncomfortable engaging with him for long.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course, we’re sure,” Aunt Minnie told him before I had a chance to refute.

“Great. Then what can I bring?”

Without so much as a second thought, Aunt Minnie said, “Yourself and great big appetite.”

Aunt Minnie and I stood framed in the doorway of the vestibule, watching Jack descend the stairs. When he was well out of earshot, I barked, “How could you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Invite him, especially after what I told you.”

“What did you tell me?” Unflappable innocence blazed through my aunt’s face. “You mean, all that nonsense about your heart having Alzheimer’s?”

I shot her a scathing look.

“Listen, it’s Thanksgiving. No one should be alone on the holiday,” she said. “Besides, look at how he helped you out today.”

“He rescued a couple of water bottles. He didn’t save my life.”

“What’s with you, Anna Maria? What have you got against this guy?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me,” she said.

I inhaled a breath that squared my shoulders then I tossed up my hands.

Aunt Minnie snapped, “How much longer are going to go on like this?”

Irritation bubbled up inside of me. “Like what?”

“Living like a ghost.”

I crossed my arms against my chest and searched the cold sky for a break in the clouds.

“Granted, you’re very gifted and successful with your photography. That’s all well and good,” my aunt said. “And it’s wonderful how you flit all around the world, capturing other people’s lives. But what about your own life?”

“The places I go, the people I meet and photograph…they
are
my life.”

“But don’t you think you’ve played it safe long enough?”

“Safe? I’d hardly deem third world countries, war zones and natural disaster areas as places that are actually
safe
.”

“With your heart, I mean. It’s rather safe hiding behind that camera of yours.”

“I haven’t taken one picture since I got here.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She scowled, lines deepening around her jaw. “What’s it been now…two years?”

“Three,” I said.

She didn’t have to clarify what she meant. I knew she was referring to my broken engagement.

“Well, that’s three years too many. Ever since that wedding was called off, admit it—you’ve been afraid to reach out again. And I can understand that. I can. But your heart…God gave you one for a reason. Don’t you think it’s time you learn how use it again…?”

I didn’t say a word. I stared down at the ceramic tile floor.

“…I don’t know what happened between you and Giacomo when you were in college, but he seems like a nice fella. Why don’t you give him a chance?”

“A chance for what?”

“It might be nice to get to know him again.”

“Aunt Minnie, it’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“But college was way back when. Now is now. Why not bury the hatchet, whatever it was?”

“I buried it ages ago.”

“Oh no, you didn’t.” She swung her head. “The blade might be buried, but it’s very clear the handle is still sticking out.”

Aunt Minnie turned away from me and the front door. She hobbled out of the vestibule and left me standing in the cold doorway, pondering what she’d just said.

“C’mon,” she called from the kitchen a minute later. “We’ve got work to do. We have a storm and dinner to prepare for. You can thank me later for inviting Giacomo.”

“Thank you?” I was aghast, righteousness blazing heat through my body as I flung my neck toward the bleached gray sky, searching for more sprinkles of snow. But instead, a pack of flying gulls drew my sights down the block toward Jack. The wind whipped up, and he bowed his head, cowering into his jacket. The fierce gusts loosened leaves from the trees, shedding the odd shapes free and casting them adrift like a shimmering spray of confetti as he turned the corner.

Four

It didn’t matter where I was—the kitchen, the parlor, the bathroom—I kept drawing back the curtains and flipping my fingers through the slats of mini-blinds in Aunt Minnie’s house, peeking to see if the snow had started. But every time I stared out at the glow of streetlights beginning to pierce the gun-metal gray skies of Federal Hill, I found the street macadam dry and pitch black. A blizzard of snowflakes had yet to skitter down from the heavens, but the emotional storm brewing inside of me was already raging, ratcheting up my dread about being forced to spend a whole afternoon—breaking bread and making nice—with “the guy who broke my heart in college.” The painful past I’d shared with Jack, a part of my life I had spent ten years trying to quell and avoid, chattered through my mind with a wild, frenetic energy that only magnified my pending apprehension. What could I do? How could I possibly ransom myself from Thanksgiving Day?

A few hours later, I escaped to the bathroom, Smartphone in hand, and hammered out a text to my boss at the Associated Press.

Do u need help covering the Nor’easter? Would b willing 2 change my plans.

I re-read my words, again and again. Deep in contemplation, my finger vacillated between the send and delete buttons. I was well aware that by volunteering for this assignment, I was being blatantly self-serving. If my boss agreed to my offer, and I went on the road, there was no doubt that I’d disappoint Aunt Minnie and disrupt our Thanksgiving plans. But at that moment, my heart was much too fraught with panic and vulnerability.

I pressed send, instantly regretting my decision and feeling a sickness rise in my throat.

OMG! What kind of person am I that I’d cut and run, sacrifice time with Aunt Minnie, my last vestige of family, in order to make my own emotional life easier? What a coward!

Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet bowl, I berated myself until a wave of tears began to stream down my face. How could one person I hadn’t seen in ten years make me feel so weak and powerless?

The pity-party of my hysteria was interrupted when, minutes later, my boss responded with:
Thx 4 the offer. All covered. U haven’t taken time off in yrs. Forget work & b good 2 yrself. Enjoy turkey day!

But the reprieve was short-lived, and my fear returned only to galvanize my resistance. The mere thought of Jack dredged up feelings I struggled to put away a very long time ago, a past I was staunchly unwilling to unearth.

Something in my desperate, pride-filled heart kept hope alive that maybe, by the eleventh hour, we’d be clobbered, hit really hard by that blizzard, and Mother Nature might paralyze the whole city just enough to accommodate my needs.

* * *

Daylight weakened and darkness fell, but the predicted Nor’easter that was supposed to gather strength had yet to materialize.

“Don’t be fooled. We are still anticipating an inch an hour,” the local TV weather people persisted as Aunt Minnie and I worked well into the night, diligently prepping whatever we could ahead of time for dinner the next day.

We peeled potatoes, boiled them and set up the mashed potato casserole and the candied sweets. All the while, my undaunted curiosity was tempted to pick Aunt Minnie’s brain and ask details about Jack and the back-story of his life—at least what she knew of it. But I figured the best way to inoculate myself to the idea of spending time with Jack was to keep mum on the subject. I tamped down my feelings, zipped my lip and kept busy.