In From the Cold (15 page)

“Sharon.” She searched for words, considered. “Take care of her.”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure how, but I would try.

Officer Stanton left, and Jason and I drove to the hospital. Sharon was alive, but still in the OR. She had a broken arm, collarbone, jaw and femur, but the worst injury was her spine.

“Her drunkenness might have saved her,” one intern said. “Her relaxed muscles absorbed some of the impact. It’s too early to tell and she’s pretty smashed up, but there’s always hope.”

After another hour, they rolled her into a recovery room, one police guard stationed by the window and another by the door. It would be hours yet before she awakened, if she awakened, so I decided to head back home. I gave the doctor and night nurse my cell number, and it hit me that I might be the closest thing to a relative in Sharon’s life, other than Yvette. Her parents had died soon after she and Miles had married, and she too had been an only child. She’d never made close girlfriends in college that I knew of, always too absorbed in Miles. If she had made good friends since then, I didn’t know them, and they would probably be like Sharon and not into kids.

I wasn’t much, but I was all she had.

Jason drove me back to the guesthouse. I checked on the girls, both quietly sleeping, Yvette’s face relaxed and peaceful. I ached to protect her from the giant fissure about to crack beneath her feet, to stave off her new reality. But I was helpless. All I could do was be here for her as much as I could. I couldn’t control the events in her life, but I could control my part. And I vowed to be there for her.

I found Claire in my bed, clutching my pillow as if she’d fallen asleep with my scent. I smiled as I watched her, not touching her, but drinking her in.

Stripping off my clothes, I slipped beneath the covers, spooning around her warmth, her soul, her heart—now my heart. I felt another wave of sadness for Sharon, how alone she had been. I buried my face in Claire’s hair and held her closer, felt her warmth soothe and comfort me. I could have become like Sharon so easily—bitter and cold—but my love for Suzie, and now Claire, had saved me. I could still love others and myself.

And with that comfort my lullaby, I fell into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter Fifteen

Claire

I woke up in the morning with Drake wrapped around me, one hand on my breast, his leg over mine. I breathed him in, luxuriating in the closeness—his skin, his scent, his weight around me. I knew our time was drawing to an end, and Sharon’s suicide attempt might bring it to a close even sooner.

And Miles. Poor Miles.

Poor Miles, nothing!

A vision of my sister, hands on hips, yelled at me.

Remember Ski-Slime? Remember the hallway?

I winced. Of course I remembered, but that didn’t mean I wanted him dead.

Drake needed to sleep, so I eased out of his hold, took a shower, dressed, then tiptoed into the kitchen where I put a pot of coffee on and made blueberry muffins from a mix in the pantry. While they baked, I scrambled some eggs and cut up some grapefruit, and sure enough, I soon heard two little girls giggling in their bedroom. It was Christmas morning. All they knew was that Santa had come, and presents and loving adults awaited them. They were warm and well fed and protected. Life was as it should be, and I resolved to keep it that way. Yvette did not need the memory of losing her parents on Christmas Day for the rest of her life.

I had filled their stockings last night while Drake had been at the hospital, so when I heard them up, I went to their room, got them dressed and brought them out to the great room. It was still early, so we ate first, letting Drake have a few more minutes of sleep. Just as we were finishing, he walked into the room.

Our eyes met. His face was lined with exhaustion this morning, his beard shadowing his face, but he still made me shiver.

“Merry Christmas, everybody,” he said, wrapping first Suzie and then Yvette in bear hugs. He stroked Yvette’s hair an extra time and kissed the top of her head, his eyes closed. I brought him a mug of coffee, and he put it on the counter, wrapping me in a bear hug too.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmured in my ear. I squeezed him hard and kissed his chest, wishing his clothes weren’t between us. I leaned backward to look him in the face, and he ran his finger down my cheek.

“How are you?” I whispered.

“Okay. I’ll tell you about it later.” He sighed and kissed me on the nose.

I nodded and snuggled into him, his chin resting on the top of my head. Christmas indeed.

“Daddy?” Suzie was tugging at him. “Can we open presents now?”

“Of course, sweetie. Let’s go.”

Both girls jumped down from their stools and rushed to their stockings. Drake and I settled into a corner of the sofa with our coffee, watching as the girls upended their loot. Candies, some special chocolates, oranges, little stuffed animals—each was fascinated by her haul. Then we turned to the tree and Drake played Santa, handing a gift to Suzie and Yvette at the same time. They had more toys, of course, and some more clothes for their new dolls—who had also been brought in and sat in chairs holding Meow and Ontidi in pride of place—plus more books and Play-Doh toys. We had tried to keep the gifts small and travel friendly, since all of this would need to go home with them. The thought made me instantly depressed, but I couldn’t let myself think about that now.

I got up and searched under the tree for Drake’s present. He was nursing his coffee, watching the girls as they tried new clothes on their dolls. They had decided to give each other the one that looked like them, so they’d always have the other with them. They were so sweet together, and I thought of my sister, my fierce, protective sister, and made a note to myself to call her today. I forced a smile and held out my package to Drake.

“What’s this?” He grinned up at me, putting his coffee down. He pulled me down on his lap, and I glanced nervously at the girls.

“They don’t care, Claire,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “And it’s not like I’m going to unwrap you while we’re sitting in front of them.” He nipped me under my ear. “Tempting as the thought might be.”

I smacked at his hand. “Behave, Santa, and open your present.” I settled into his arms. “It’s just a little something to remind you of our time here.”

He unwrapped the present in my lap, wickedly stroking my thighs when he could and playing innocent. Soon he had me so uncomfortable I slipped off and sat beside him instead. “Santa! Down!”

He waggled his eyebrows at me, then opened the box and held up a miniature ski hut ornament, much like the one we had made love in when we cross-country skied. He grinned and pulled me in for a kiss.

“As if I could ever forget that afternoon,” he whispered against my lips. “I’m tempted to build one in my backyard when we get home.”

My heart thrilled a little at the “we”, but I came down to earth quickly. It wouldn’t be me he’d be sharing a ski hut with again. I thought of his life, the women he would return to, the parties and events, and I felt myself stiffen, my armor slowly creeping back like a second layer of bark.

“I have something for you too.” He set me off his lap, then climbed down on his hands and knees, searching under the tree. He climbed off the floor and snuggled in beside me again.

“You’ve already given me a Christmas present,” I protested. “That beautiful outfit last night was already too much.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He thrust a small package into my hands, almost like a nervous schoolboy. “I saw this and wanted you to have it, to remember me by too.” He stroked the back of my neck as I unwrapped the box. It was a gold necklace with a pendant, a small bird surrounded in flames of different shades of gold. It was simple, but exquisite.

“Oh, Drake,” I breathed. “How lovely.”

“It’s a phoenix rising from the ashes.” He stroked my arm, then covered my hand and squeezed. “That’s how you make me feel, Claire, like I’m rising from the ashes.”

He took the necklace and clasped it around my neck, kissing the curve when he was done. My eyes grew moist.

“Miss Claire?” Suzie and Yvette had stopped playing and were watching me, concern etched on their faces. “You all right?”

“I’m fine, girls. I’m just really, really happy.”

Both of them looked at each other and shrugged. I reached up and kissed Drake’s cheek, then twined my fingers with his.

“I will cherish this, Drake, just like I’ll cherish this time.” I couldn’t trust myself to say more, but he didn’t seem to need words either. We sat together by the fire and watched the girls play on a quiet Christmas morning. And for this window of time, everything felt right.

We spent the day together, just the four of us, determined to have a happy day. After the girls had played inside for a while, we all dressed in snow clothes and went outside for a snowball battle. We built rude forts and paired up—Drake and Yvette versus Suzie and me. He was gentle, making piles of snowballs for Yvette, holding her up so her throws could go farther. The girls rarely hit anything, but squealed in delight when one of us would hit the other. Finally, Drake and Yvette stormed our battlements and we ended in one big pileup in the snow. We all laughed and shrieked and giggled. It was glorious.

Then we went inside for a cozy lunch of tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches and cocoa, then a parade of Christmas movies—
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
,
Frosty the Snowman
and
Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.
The girls fell asleep during the last one, and after tucking them in for an afternoon nap, Drake and I went to his room for an afternoon of slow, sweet lovemaking, followed by a nap of our own. I felt cocooned in peace, and as I lay there in Drake’s arms, his heat soothing me, I wished desperately that we could stay this way, that we could keep the world out of this precious retreat. But all I could do was savor the moment.

The girls were soon up, and while Drake supervised a session of Play-Doh sculpting, I worked on dinner. I had requested some basics from Jason’s PA, and she had filled our fridge with all the fixings—a turkey breast, stuffing, mashed potatoes, peas and cranberry sauce, even some sparkling cider for the girls and champagne for us. Soon, we were eating and laughing, like a family without a care in the world. After dinner, the girls lay on their bellies in front of the fire, drawing in their new coloring books, while Drake and I snuggled, sipping our champagne. But the problem of Sharon and Miles and all our futures could not be ignored forever.

Drake left the house early the next day, first to visit Sharon at the hospital, then to meet Miles’s father at the airport. The girls and I stayed inside; the temperature had dipped below zero the night before, making even a short stay outside unbearable. I was on edge, knowing Yvette must be told soon, so I tried to keep myself too busy to think. After playing with dolls and Duplo blocks in the morning, we had just sat down to lunch when Drake walked in with Miles’s father.

I could see the resemblance. The eyes and hair were remarkably similar, except that Mr. Lofton’s hair was now snow white. He looked haggard and tired, worn by grief and travel. When he entered the room, he riveted his eyes on Yvette, but she seemed confused, as if she knew him but wasn’t sure how. I wondered briefly if she had ever spent much time with him or with her grandmother. Knowing Miles and Sharon, probably not.

“Claire,” Drake said, coming into the kitchen. “This is Paul Lofton, Yvette’s grandfather.” Then he turned to the girls. “This is my little girl, Suzie, and of course, Yvette you know.”

Paul Lofton walked over and shook my hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said quietly. I squeezed his hand and he grimaced in answer, understanding, I hoped, the comfort I tried to convey. Then he walked over to the girls, and in a very courtly manner, took Suzie’s hand and shook it. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Suzie.” Then he turned to Yvette.

They stood looking at each other for a long minute, neither sure what to do or how to proceed. Finally, he leaned over. Based on his stiffness, squatting to her eye level wasn’t an option.

“Yvette, do you remember me? I’m your grandfather.”

She solemnly shook her head, but said nothing.

“I’m your father’s father, Grandpa Paul.”

Yvette clutched Meow tightly to her chest. “Did Daddy come too?” she whispered.

Paul shook his head. “No, honey. Just me.”

“Why are you here?” Yvette asked.

I saw Paul glance toward Drake, clearly wondering what and how much he should say. Drake nodded, and I realized that Yvette’s world was about to crash.

“Maybe Suzie and I should go in the other room?” I moved toward Suzie, but Yvette reached over and gripped Suzie’s hand.

“Want Suzie,” she said. Suzie looked at her father, puzzled, but he nodded at her, and that seemed to put her at ease.

“Let’s go sit down then,” I said. “May I get you anything, Paul? Coffee? Tea?”

He shook his head. “Thank you, no. Maybe later.”

We moved to the sofas. Yvette sat on Drake’s lap while I sat beside them, Suzie curled up on mine. Paul sat across from us, watching Yvette intently. I couldn’t even imagine what this must feel like, for any of them, and I prayed he would find words that wouldn’t scar her forever. Drake felt tense and stiff beside me, his need to protect her quivering in the air around us. I felt his helplessness and frustration too, but some news in this world is simply too painful, no matter how it’s said.

Paul took a deep breath. “Yvette, I have some bad news, honey.”

Drake’s arms tightened around her. Suzie put her thumb in her mouth, a gesture I rarely saw her do. Yvette seemed to shrink inside herself, pushing back into Drake’s chest as if to ward off a blow.

“Your daddy’s gone, sweetheart.”

The words hung like smoke in the air. Yvette didn’t move, didn’t blink for several moments. Finally, she turned and looked up at Drake. “Where did he go?”

He hesitated. “He’s not alive anymore.”

Yvette seemed to think about this. “Will he come back?”

Drake shook his head. “He’s dead, sweetheart. He can’t come back.”

Yvette studied his face, still not sure what was happening. How did you explain death to a three-year-old? To Yvette, it must sound like her father had simply gone to another party.

“Did Mommy go too?”

“No, but she’s very sick, sweetheart. We don’t know how badly yet,” Drake said as calmly as he could, but he looked at me and shook his head. Sharon must not be doing well either.

“Will someone give her tea?”

“I’m sure they will if she wants some,” Drake said.

She sucked on her fingers for a few seconds, then twisted around to look at his face again.

“Will I stay with you now?”

Paul spoke up. “That’s why I’m here, Yvette. To help decide who you should live with.” He looked relieved that she’d taken the news so calmly.

“Oh.” She looked at her grandfather, then back up at Drake, then at Suzie and me. “Could I live with Suzie?”

Paul looked surprised, and Drake, uncomfortable. “We’d love to have you live with us, Yvette, but I’m not sure it’s allowed. We’d have to ask first.”

“Your grandmother and I would like you to come live with us, Yvette. Would you like that?”

Yvette studied the careworn face across the coffee table, then looked back up at Drake. She shook her head. “Want to stay with Uncle Drake.”

Paul frowned. “Now, Yvette—” he began, but Drake interrupted.

“We can work this out later, Paul. For now, Yvette, you’ll stay with us. Okay? But your mommy wants to see you.” Drake squeezed her gently. “Would you like to go see her?”

“Will she yell at me?” she whispered, and I saw Paul wince.

“No, sweetheart, she won’t yell. But she looks really bad. She’s very weak and badly bruised.”

“Can I bring her some tea?” Yvette stirred on Drake’s lap.

“What’s all this about tea?” Paul sounded slightly irritated.

“She always wants tea when she feels bad.”

Paul took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. He didn’t seem to know how bad Yvette’s home life had been.

“No, honey. The nice nurses in the hospital are taking care of her right now,” Drake said.

“Will you stay with me?” She gripped his arm.

“Of course, darling.” Drake took her little hand in his. “I won’t leave you.”