Deep Winter (7 page)

S
torm clouds choked out the moon and stars, leaving the countryside in a cover of darkness, black as a cup of coffee. The woods pressed close to the sides of Tokach Road, maple and pine trees moaning and swaying, limbs bare of any leaves. A creek—not yet frozen—ran along the side of the road, ice-cold water racing past rocks the size of garbage cans and over trees that finally toppled after their roots turned to rot. Turkeys, deer, raccoon, possums—all animals of the forest—kept hidden away, nestled somewhere warm, out of the wind and snow.

No signs of life except for the hunched lone figure tromping through the snow, leaning into the biting wind. Danny plodded forward, slow and steady. The wind suddenly changed direction and swept across the road, carrying with it large flakes of snow. They stuck to Danny's face like pieces of wet newspaper. His cheeks and nose were numb, but the cold didn't bother him none. He always
liked wintertime and the cold it brought with it. The cold always made him feel a little different—not like the heat and humidity summer invited. He could think better and thought that the cold made him a bit smarter somehow. It probably didn't, but he liked to think that maybe it did. Being smart would sure be nice.

Since he'd been hiking up Tokach Road, not a single car had passed him by. It was pretty late, and most folks were probably already in bed. There were only a handful of houses out this way. Most were dark. Porch lights off. He passed by a house where two miniature snowmen stood in the front yard with carrot noses and knit caps perched on top of their heads. One of the snowmen was missing a coal eye.

Danny smiled with the memory of building his first snowman with his mama and papa. He was probably around five. Before the accident. He could remember a lot of things before the accident. The snow had been powdery dry and too light. It wouldn't pack right, and the snow fell apart in Danny's little mittened hands every time he tried to make a snowball. Frustrated tears ran down his small, chubby cheeks, and his papa had smiled down at him.

“Now, Danny-Boy, tears aren't going to help us none. We're not going to let a snowman get the best of us, are we?” Danny shook his head up at his father. “Your old man's got a few tricks up his sleeve.”

He watched his father unspool the garden hose and spray down an area of snow on the driveway. His father winked at him. “Your tears won't be near enough. Need a little H
₂
0 magic.” He turned off the hose and bent down in the wet snow. He scooped a pile of snow into his lap and began to pack and shape a large ball. Tears slowed as Danny sat beside his father and watched his snowman start to take form. His father handed him a snowball about the size of a basketball. “There. We got us one snowman's head. Got to start somewhere.”

Snow spit into Danny's eyes and shook him out of the memory of his first snowman. Up ahead, fifty yards or so, he saw Mindy's trailer. The porch light burned bright, so maybe she was still awake. A rusted blue Volkswagen Rabbit was parked out front of the trailer with a few inches of snow on the hood and roof. Parked behind it, blocking in the VW, a black pickup truck seemed to stand guard.

Danny noticed that there wasn't any snow on top of the big black truck. The truck looked like a lot of trucks around this area, but Danny knew whose it was. He kept walking anyway.

I
t had been another long day on her feet—twelve hours that crawled by and seemed like days—and the shower felt invigorating. Hot water ran over her smooth body until her white skin had started to turn a light salmon pink. Mindy knew she wouldn't get out of the shower until the water heater ran cold. The shower seemed to be the only place she could escape everything for a while. All the disappointments, all the second-guessing, all the hopelessness she felt every day. She looked down at her paunch and pinched the extra flesh between her fingers. Could definitely pinch more than an inch. She made a promise to herself to start exercising again. Jogging, maybe. It was too cold right now, but maybe in the spring when the weather warmed up. When she turned thirty-five, she had made the same promise to take better care of herself. Exercise, better diet, better choice in men, the whole nine yards. That lasted a few days before she was back to the same old bad habits. The cigarettes, the
drinking, the crap fried food, even assholes like Mike. Maybe this year would be different. Birthdays were always a good place to try to start. At the very least, she knew she should quit drinking so much beer. Stick to wine for a while.

Forty years old. I'm officially an old maid.

Mindy hated spending birthdays alone. She had a few girlfriends who offered to take her out, but she wasn't really in the mood. Shelly and Rhonda had invited her to go with them to the Cork and Bottle up in Towanda, but she'd declined. Too far to drive and she had to work in the morning, she told them. She enjoyed the company of men better than women anyway—Shelly and Rhonda usually ended up talking about their kids or their lousy marriages or the jobs that they hated.
Bitch, bitch, bitch.
Mindy just wanted to have a little fun and forget about her troubles and not worry about all that was missing in her life. Men were just more fun to hang with. Funnier and laid back and didn't get all petty when they went out drinking. But she wasn't in the mood to hang out with men tonight either. She'd had about enough of Wyalusing men for a while.

Mindy's mother had invited her over for dinner, but she knew that it would only lead to her mother's favorite—and Mindy's least favorite—conversation topic. Settling down and getting married. It's not that she didn't want to find someone to spend her life with, but it was slim pickings in Wyalusing. Mike definitely wasn't the answer. It had been fun at the beginning. The partying, the sex. He was wild and unpredictable. That might be fine in your twenties, but she wasn't getting younger, and what did she have to show for herself? A trailer her folks had bought her, a car that broke down more often than not, and a job slinging eggs and hash browns.

Great. Sounding like my girlfriends now.

Part of her couldn't deny that she was still drawn to Mike, but
the smarter and more sensible part of her was scared of him. He had a short fuse and drank too much. Besides that, he didn't respect women. That much was clear.

God, I hate this town. Should've moved out of here after high school, when I had the chance. Maybe when Mom's gone.

She squeezed some cream rinse into her palm and ran it through her long hair. Maybe she should cut her hair real short. A little change would do her good. Any kind of change would do her good.

Mindy knew that she'd probably never leave Wyalusing. Where would she go anyway? And what would she do to make ends meet? All she knew how to do was wait tables. Been doing it ever since graduating high school. She had given the Friedenshutten twenty years of her life and would probably end up giving it twenty more. She thought about poor old Dotty—almost sixty now—hustling plates of food for maybe twenty dollars in tips on a good day. Dotty would probably be waiting tables at the diner until her hips gave out. Mindy shaved one of her legs and wondered if that was what she had to look forward to.

Maybe Prince Charming would roll into town one day and sweep her off her feet.

And maybe pigs will fly.

She started to shave the other leg and thought about putting in an application over at Taylor's. Half the town punched the clock over there, but the thought of working the kill floor, shooting a steel rod through the heads of beef cattle, or working the processing line for eight-hour shifts and coming home smelling like blood and cow shit didn't really seem like something she wanted to do. Mindy figured that waiting tables beat that kind of nonsense. Besides, with all the kids in town graduating high school and willing to work for minimum wage, Mindy knew she'd be hard-pressed to even get a job.

The water started to run cold, so Mindy turned off the shower and stepped onto the thinning bathroom mat that she'd had since forever. She wrapped herself in her favorite lavender robe and began drying her hair when the pounding on the door nearly made her jump out of her skin.

“Jesus Christ. Who the hell?”

She tightened her robe belt and walked out into the living room. She peeked through the curtain and saw Sokowski and Carl standing outside. Mindy could tell that they were both shit-faced.

“Goddamn it, Mike.” She stomped over to the front door and swung it open. She was about sick and tired of this bullshit.

W
hat the hell are you doing here? Said I didn't want to see you tonight.” Mindy's hands were propped on the sides of her hips.

Sokowski grinned up at her, eyes gawking at her clean pink skin visible under the robe. “Good. You're all showered.” He pushed past her, stinking of booze, weed, and a few days of not bathing. His eyes were glazed over, and his face had that slack effect he got when he was wasted—an expression Mindy had seen too many times to count.

“Jesus. You smell like hell. Your hot water not working?”

Sokowski chuckled a little. “Thought you liked the smell of a real man.”

“Just what the hell you want?”

“Well, shit. We were just in the neighborhood and in the mood for a little nightcap.” He helped himself to the refrigerator and grabbed a couple bottles of beer.

“Christ. Löwenbräu? This all the shit you got?” He popped the caps off on the edge of the kitchen counter and sucked one half empty.

Mindy turned to Carl, who was still standing in the doorframe, and shook her head. “Take his ass home, Carl.”

Carl shook his head as well. “Tried to. He's in a mood.” He stepped inside and stomped the snow from his boots onto the doormat.

“Well, I ain't in the mood for this shit tonight.” A cold breeze blew into the trailer and sent a chill up Mindy's robe. She closed the front door and wrapped her arms around her chest.

Sokowski smirked over his bottle of beer. “You ain't gonna turn away an old friend, are you?”

Dirty, snowy footprints started melting onto her linoleum kitchen floor.

“You're tracking a mess in. I just cleaned. Jesus. What the hell do you want?” She grabbed a handful of paper towels and mopped up the slush on her floor.

Sokowski bent over and took her by the wrist. Pulled her up toward him. “Come on, baby. Want to wish you a happy birthday.”

She pushed him away. Grimaced from the stench of his breath. “You're drunk.”

“Yeah? So what of it?”

“I'm tired and want to go to bed.”

“So who's stopping you? I'll join you.”

She shook her head again, opened the refrigerator, and took out a cold beer. Sokowski removed it from her hands, popped off the cap, and returned the bottle to her. She took a sip of beer, then another. She had forgotten to eat dinner, and the beer sure tasted good.

Sokowski put his hand on her cheek, but she swatted it away. “I miss you. Lonely without you.”

“Yeah? Got a funny way of showing it. Go on home, and we'll talk when you ain't so wasted.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Got a little buzz, is all.”

Behind them Carl searched the kitchen cabinets for something to eat. Mainly cans of soup and instant noodles. He kept searching until he found a loaf of white bread and a jar of peanut butter. “You got any jelly? Strawberry or something?”

“No, Carl, I don't have any damn jelly. You two are unbelievable. I swear.” Mindy bent down and resumed wiping up the floor, revealing a full view of her heavy breasts. Sokowski smiled and put a few dirty fingers between the lapels of her robe.

“Whatcha got hiding in there for me?”

She stood upright and gave him a good shove. “I ain't doing this anymore, Mike. It ain't worth it. You're sweet for a while, then you go back to your same old bullshit. We're through this time. I mean it.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. I want no part of you anymore. You got to get your shit together.”

“I got my shit together.”

“Jesus, Mike.”

“What? You fucking somebody?”

She laughed. “Yeah. I'm fucking somebody.”

Sokowski's shit-eating grin melted away, and his eyes narrowed into tiny slits. He sucked down the rest of his beer and gripped the bottle in his fist good and tight.

“Who is it? You fucking Pat?”

“Pat?”

“Yeah. Pat from the fucking diner.”

Mindy glared right back at him. “You're pathetic, you know that?”

She turned away from him, and he grabbed her wrist again. Harder this time. His fingers dug into her soft skin and pulled her up against him. He kissed her on the mouth as she tried to push him away.

“Stop it.”

He kept on, kissing her cheek and neck. His beard scratched at her skin as she tried to wriggle free.

“Said to stop. Your beard. It's disgusting. Like a damn Brillo pad.”

He didn't stop. Held her tighter and shoved his whiskers harder against her skin, rubbing and scraping at it like sandpaper.

Mindy shoved at him, then finally brought up her knee and popped him a good one right in the balls.

An explosion of wind dislodged from his lungs. He bent over, cupped his balls, and tried to catch his breath.

“Told you to stop, Mike. Wouldn't listen, would you?”

He wiped the tears from his eyes and gave her a deadly look. “If you're fucking someone else, I'll find out who it is and cut their fucking throat.”

“Jesus, Mike. You're the one that fucks anything that moves.”

“And just who am I fucking?”

“Who ain't you fucking?”

“Watch your mouth now, bitch.”

“Come on, Mike. Let's go on home,” Carl managed. He had some peanut butter smeared on his weak chin, and he gnawed on the sandwich like a rat.

“Shut it, Carl. I'm talking to the little whore here.” He snatched Mindy by the arms and gave her a shake hard enough to snap her head back. “Gonna set her straight before we leave here tonight.”

“I fuck whoever I like. Now, get the hell out.” She snapped her arm free and slapped him hard across the face. The sound bounced off the trailer walls, and the smack left an angry red welt by his eye. “Fuck you, okay? Just fuck you.”

Sokowski glared at her. “Fine. Ain't worth fucking anyway. You're nothing but white trash.”

Mindy slapped him again and then spit right in his face. “You ain't no kind of man, Mike. You think you're all hot shit, but the truth is, folks think you're a joke. You walk around all tough. Mr. Big-Time Deputy. But you're nothing, Mike. Nothing.”

“You best stop, bitch.”

“I'm just getting started. You're just a mean, nasty little man, and nobody likes you. Why should they? You're a fucking waste.”

Sokowski's whole body tensed and trembled. Rage growing. Feeding itself. “Shut up, woman.”

Mindy laughed. Pointed a finger right into his face. “And you want to know something else? You're a shit lover.”

“Not one more word. Or I swear to God.”

“You can't fuck worth a damn. Not with that little pecker of yours.” She watched him wipe the spittle from his cheek, then turned and walked toward the front door.

“Told you not to fuck with me.” He raised the empty Löwenbräu bottle over his head and threw it hard. It zipped through the air and collided against the back of her skull. The bottle exploded into a dozen razor-sharp shards of green glass and rained down onto the floor.

Mindy slammed against the front door, and then her legs collapsed from under her. She didn't even bring her arms up as she fell face forward onto the hard linoleum floor with a sickening thump. Her front upper teeth shattered from the impact, and fragments shot
into the back of her mouth. She took a quick reflexive inhale, swallowing jagged bits of teeth until they lodged deep down her throat. Her arms and legs jerked a few times, quick at first, then slowing until she grew completely still. Foamy white bubbles dribbled from the corners of her mouth and leaked onto the floor around her head.

“You fucking bitch. How do you like that?” Sokowski breathed heavy, his lungs whistling and his heart pounding rapid-fire in his chest.

Carl stood frozen in the kitchen, mouth full of peanut-butter mush. “Christ o'mighty.” His tongue was thick and sticky. “What the fuck did you do, Mike?”

Sokowski stepped over the top of Mindy, staring down at her motionless form. A thick vein pulsated in the middle of his forehead. His head hurt, pulsating with rage. “Get up, bitch.”

Mindy didn't move. Didn't twitch.

Sokowski tapped the tip of his boot into her side, but still nothing. He bent down and rolled her over onto her back. Her robe fell open, exposing her breasts and the brown patch between her legs. Blood flowed from the gash in the back of her head and spread across the floor around her.

Behind him Carl paced like a cat at a dog pound, all the while staring at Mindy and the growing puddle of blood. “
Ahh,
Jesus. You killed her, Mike. She's dead. She's fucking dead.”

Sokowski whipped around and snarled, “Shut the fuck up. She ain't dead.”

When he looked back down at Mindy, her eye flickered open, pupils fully dilated. A blast of adrenaline shot through her, and she swung her hands at his face. Slapping and clawing, yanking on his beard. She was stronger than she looked.

Sokowski grabbed at her hands, but she got one loose, and he
took a violent smack to the face. Then she got fingers to each side of his head and ripped at his cauliflower ear. Her fingernails dug deep, leaving a trail of broken skin behind them.

“Knock it the fuck off!” he screamed down at her.

Her mouth opened, revealing bloodied gums, and gargled something. Her eyes bulged in their sockets, wide with fear. She kept fighting him as he pressed his weight down on her chest.

“Christ. Grab hold of her hands!” he barked at Carl. But Carl stood still, unable to move his leaden feet.

Mindy screamed, but it came out sounding like a thick hacking cough as she choked on the shattered teeth that stuck in the back of her throat. She spit up blood, and some more white foam bubbled from the corners of her mouth.

“Goddamn it, Carl!” Sokowski yelled.

This finally jerked Carl out of his trance. He dropped to his knees behind Mindy's head and grabbed at her hands. His palms were slick with sweat, and it took a few tries before he managed to get a good grip on her.

“What you gonna do?” he whined as Mindy bucked and flailed under Sokowski's mass.

Mindy's eyes bulged out even further, face turning redder and redder, but she managed to choke out a few ragged words. “You bastard . . . gonna go to jail . . .”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck you, Mike. Fuck—”

“I said SHUT UP!” Sokowski wrapped both hands around her throat and started to squeeze. He didn't want to hear any more. Not one more word. He wanted to stop Mindy from saying anything more about him being nasty and mean. He squeezed harder, making sure that she couldn't spew more lies about him.

Mindy continued to fight him, gasping desperately for air as her windpipe was slowly crushed together. Her throat whistled and clicked. Her arms jerked, fingers trying to pry herself loose from Carl's grip, and her feet kicked against the linoleum floor, slipping in her own blood.

Sokowski's face twisted, darker and darker, as he used all his strength to squeeze the last of the air from her lungs. The fight in Mindy slowed a bit. Her jerky motions lost their strength until she finally stopped moving at all.

The trailer got quiet except for the labored gasps of both Sokowski and Carl. Their breaths catching in their throats. Chests rising and falling.

Carl stumbled backward and fell against the front door. He grabbed at his face, squeezed and pinched it together, then started to sob like a baby. He stared at Mindy and shook his head back and forth, crying and moaning. His blue jeans darkened at the crotch as his bladder vacated.

Sokowski finally loosened his grip on Mindy's neck, and her head lolled to the side. There was blood everywhere now. Smeared on the linoleum floor and soaking into the living-room carpet.

Blood from an open wound on his messed-up ear dripped down Sokowski's neck. He winced as he touched his cauliflower ear and took a look at the blood on his fingertips. Rage had sobered him up a little.

“Damn bitch.” He stood and went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands real good. Ran a paper towel over his face and neck and shoved it into his pocket.

Carl was still crying, his knees pulled up and into his chest. He stared over at Mindy, snot running from his nose and leaking all over.

“Get up.” The calm in Sokowski's voice wasn't natural.

Carl looked up at him like he didn't quite understand what he was saying.

Sokowski grabbed ahold of Carl's jacket collar and yanked him to his feet. “Stop your fucking crying, Carl. Christ.”

“What do we do?” Carl blubbered.

“We get the fuck out of here. What the hell you think?”

Carl watched as Sokowski grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped down the refrigerator door handle and the cabinet knobs that Carl had touched. Sokowski noticed the jagged beer neck on the floor and wiped that down, too. Carl's unfinished beer stood on the kitchen table. Sokowski drank it down in a few gulps and shoved the empty bottle into his jacket pocket.

He took a look around the trailer, making sure he took all traces of himself and Carl with him. Calm eyes stopped on the jar of peanut butter with a knife next to it. “Grab that shit and take it with you.”

Carl nodded and picked up the jar and knife and held them awkwardly in his hands.

When Sokowski swung the front door open, Danny stood out in the driveway, still as a statue. Carl moaned at the sight of the big man, but Sokowski stood in the doorframe and maintained his composure.