Snowflakes and Coffee Cakes (6 page)

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes. They lost their carriage house in a fire last year, remember? So they need storage space until they rebuild. But that won’t be until the spring, maybe even next summer.”

“Wow, this comes at such a good time.”

“Can I see it? I told Lillian I’d take a look to see how much space there is.”

“Sure.” Vera presses the back of her hand to the kitchen window near the doorway.

“What are you doing?” her mother asks.

“This?” Vera returns her hand to the glass. “Come here, I’ll show you.” Her mother steps close and Vera takes her fingers and holds them to the window. “Feel that?”

“Yes! It’s very drafty. I feel cold air.”

“Right.” Vera lifts her scarf and bomber jacket from a Windsor chair back. “That’s how I check which coat to wear.”

“Are you serious?” her mother asks, feeling the window temperature again.

Vera shrugs. “Come on, I’ll show you the barn now, before we serve dessert. A couple lights work in there, so you’ll get a good idea anyway. How soon do they want it?”

“Right away, as soon as you get it cleaned up.” Her mother slips into her jacket, pulling gloves from the pockets as she goes. “According to your window, I need to wear these.”

Vera flips on the outside light at the side door and heads quickly down the steps, excited to show her mother the space. Dried leaves crunch beneath her feet in the chill air. “I think it’ll be perfect for them,” she is saying when she hears a loud crack of wood and her mother calling out in surprise. “Mom?”

“Oh Vera, what the hell? I’m stuck, for God’s sake.”

Vera hurries back to her mother kneeling awkwardly on the steps. “What happened?”

“My foot went right through the wood! Shoot, I think I broke it.”

“Can you move it?” Vera takes her mother’s hand to help her straighten up.

“I don’t think so. Ow, ow, ow! It hurts like the dickens. Maybe you should get Dad.”

“Really?”

Her mother nods in the dark. “He can help me up. I’m not sure I can walk on it.”

“Oh God, hang on then,” Vera tells her as she rushes inside for her father.

And all she thinks as her father helps her mother to her feet and hobbles with her to the car, telling her “It’s all right Judy, we’ll get you checked out,” and as Brooke and Brett send the other party guests on their way into the frosty night with wrapped-up birthday cake slices they’d never served, and as she rushes through the rooms turning off lights and picking up dirty dishes and half-empty drink glasses and dropping them into the soapy dishwater to soak, and as Brett drives her and Brooke along the dark roads to the hospital emergency room to check on their mother, and as they stop at the railroad crossing while a freight train passes by and Brooke tells her from the front seat that she should flip that dumpy house and be done with it, well, she thinks this one thought: Why oh why didn’t she listen to Derek and have him repair that gosh darn step?

*  *  *

The pickup truck’s tires crunch over leaves and twigs from the big maple tree when he turns into Vera’s driveway. Derek drags his hand back through his still-damp hair. After waxing the sleigh and tuning up the carriage all afternoon, he’d taken a quick shower before leaving for Vera’s party.

But something’s off. The house is dark, no cars are in the driveway, and only a couple dim lights shine in the windows. Unless he’s somehow mistaken, the house is empty: the curtains are still, no television light flickers in any window, the doors are all closed up, the stoop light off. There’s not a sign of life. His eyes rise to the rooftop. Except for that widow’s walk, with the thin railing and every white spindle twinkling in hundreds of little white lights. So is someone up there?

He shuts off the engine and glances at the large, flat box wrapped in bright gift paper on the passenger seat beside him. Then his eyes return to the big old Dutch Colonial, looking for any sign of movement, of someone at home, of Vera. A cornstalk is tied to her lamppost with two pumpkins set at its base, but even the lamppost is off. Finally he gets out and goes to her front door, stepping around a potted mum and ringing the bell only once before heading around to the side door, walking between the shadowed barn and the house. The wind from earlier in the day had stopped with the sun setting, and so it’s calm and cold outside. He’s aware of the dark cove off in the distance even though he can’t see it in the black night. But just knowing it’s there, unseen, draws him closer.

Sometimes he takes a ride at night, parking near the water to say the few words of comfort he never had a chance to say. Not often, but three or four times since Abby died he’s been drawn to do so. He looks over at Vera’s apparently empty house, annoyed at her invitation that fell through, and instead of trying the side door, takes a few steps toward the dark cove then, his boots stepping on dried fallen leaves. As it gets closer, he can hear the soft, gentle lapping of its water shifting along the shore and he stops.

“It’s okay,” he whispers after a long moment, then waits, still listening to the water. Knowing his daughter’s last moments were spent beneath it makes it hard for him to hate it. He used to, but he’s gradually come to feel that the water gives life to some part of her, to her spirit. “You didn’t know the ice would break. I’m not mad at you, so don’t be crying now.” He glances over his shoulder at the twinkling lights on Vera’s widow’s walk rising to the night sky, then smiles in the dark. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he whispers, flipping up his jacket collar against the cold air. “Little stars, Abby, twinkling happy, just for you.”

Chapter Seven

WHATEVER HAPPENED, IT’S BAD. VERA can see that clearly beneath the harsh glare of the hospital lighting. The man sits leaning forward in the waiting room, his elbows on his knees, his face cupped in his hands. He is completely in the moment, completely distraught at whatever diagnosis an emergency room physician delivered to him about someone he loves.

She looks over at Brooke, tipping her head toward the distraught man and feeling just as worried, ready to hurry to the nurse station until she spots her father returning. “All’s good,” he tells them quietly as he scoots a chair close to her, Brooke and Brett.

“She’s okay?” Brett asks, tucking away the cell phone he’d been checking for football scores.

Her father nods. “A very serious sprain, but nothing’s broken.” He looks back toward the busy examining rooms. “The doctor’s almost done, she’ll be out in a sec. It’ll be a day or two before the swelling goes down, but she’ll be fine.”

Vera can’t help but glance over at the other fellow in the waiting room, the one who hasn’t moved at all, his face and worry still covered in his cupped hands. It’s one of those moments when twists of fate separate some from others and it always breaks your heart, regardless.

“Rest, ice and elevation,” she hears then, and turns to see her mother being pushed out in a wheelchair by a tall, fair doctor with blue eyes she remembers and an awfully familiar face. He gives orders while walking along in pale green scrubs.

“Greg?” Vera stands quickly. “You’re Mom’s doctor?”

“How are you, Vera?” he asks back, nodding. “Judy’s been a good patient. No worries.”

“You work
here
?”

“When I’m not dancing at weddings with beautiful women.” He pauses, then looks from her mother then back to her. “Sometimes I cover a shift in the ER.”

“And he’s the best orthopedic surgeon the hospital could have, I’ll tell you that,” Vera’s mother says from the wheelchair. “I’m feeling better already.”

“Well then. Orthopedic surgeon, you say?” Vera repeats as she lifts her bomber jacket from the chair back. “I guess you weren’t kidding at the wedding.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, smiling lightly at her.

“When you said you fix things all day?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got a good memory.”

“Mom?” Brooke stands and pulls her car keys from her purse. “You’re all set to go home?”

“She is,” Greg tells them. “But stay off that foot for a few days, Judy, and definitely keep it iced and elevated.”

“Doctor’s orders, I know,” her mother assures him.

“I hear a celebration was going on when all this happened,” Greg says to Vera.

“I told him it was your birthday,” her mother lets on as her father helps her out of the wheelchair. Brett and her father each take an arm and begin slowly walking her toward the Exit.

“And I’d like to toast your day, Vera,” Greg suggests. “I’m just finishing up here for the night and would love to take you out for a birthday drink.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Vera begins, ready to decline until she sees it all: Brooke not missing a trick and raising a discreet eyebrow, Brett checking his watch to gauge how much more of the football game he’s missing, her father taking a step or two toward the door anxious to get home, clasping her mother’s arm, and her mother smiling at Vera. After all, it
is
her birthday.

“Mom? You’ll be okay without me?”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got her covered,” Brooke insists. “We’ll get her settled at home. You go, have a good time.”

“Okay then.” She turns to Greg. Gregory Davis, orthopedic surgeon, apparently. “I’ll wait here for you?” And like that, the night shifts. Her family leaves, the doctor promises he’ll shed the scrubs and be back shortly, and the waiting room gentleman leaning into his hands is rushing down the hallway beside a nurse, his demeanor changed somehow with whatever she says, his step quick and hopeful.

*  *  *

After being in the harsh lighting of the hospital emergency room, this is nice. Walking into Cedar Ridge Tavern, Vera sees the amber pendant lights hanging over the dark walnut bar.
Breathe,
she thinks.
Mom’s fine
. Even though it was her fault for not fixing that darn step. She jumps when Greg takes her elbow to lead her through the room.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks.

“It’s really been a crazy night, I guess I’m a little on edge. Like, we started out playing Twister and ended up in the hospital, you know what I mean?”

“It happens,” he assures her. “I’m glad your mom is okay.”

“Me, too.” They approach the long, dark bar decorated with large illuminated twig pumpkins set on either end, and a berry and autumn leaf garland strung on the wall behind it, over the mirror. Only a few people sit at the bar; the real crowd is relaxing at the tables on the other side of a half-wall, closer to the roaring fire burning in the stone fireplace.

But something catches her attention and Vera’s gaze shifts from the fireplace back to the mirror behind the bar. And when she notices Derek’s reflection over on the side at the far end, she suddenly remembers her invitation. “Oh shit,” she whispers, tugging on Greg’s arm to slow him. “Greg, why don’t we grab a table? It’ll be nice by the fire.”

“Maybe later,” he answers, still walking. “It’s more festive over here. You know, for your celebration.” He leans on the curved end of the bar right beneath one of the amber lights, takes a look at the five or six people sitting at it and signals the bartender. “Drinks for everyone here at the bar,” he tells him, lifting his foot onto the brass foot rail. “Celebrating is in order for a special birthday,” he announces, backing up a step and motioning to Vera behind him.

Vera shifts her stance, pushing her hair behind an ear and giving a small wave to the people sitting at the bar turning to look at her. Some wish her
happy birthday
, some
the very best
, and one, the one at the far end, gives her a slow look if ever there was one. Oh, she feels every bit of its journey from the top of her leather bomber jacket right down her cuffed jeans to the silver-metallic oxfords she chose for her party. Yup, the party she
wasn’t
at when she just knows he arrived. She closes her eyes for a long second, one long enough to take that real deep breath that has a lot of explaining to do.

Derek lifts his glass in her direction, his gaze shifting from hers to the doctor and back to her.

“Greg,” she says quietly, her hand on his arm. “Excuse me for one second, there’s someone here I want to say hello to.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Greg answers while scanning the patrons for the familiar face.

She gives him a quick smile and hushed thanks and works her way around the people at the bar turning to toast her big day, finally reaching Derek.

“Happy birthday, Vera,” Derek says when she sits on the barstool beside him. He turns to face her, leaning an arm on the bar, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Derek.” She looks at him with a regretful breath. “Listen, I don’t suppose you stopped by my place.”

“I did.”

“I’m so sorry. We were there, honest. Everyone was there, we had food, some good times going on. I feel terrible that I missed you. It’s just that my mother, well, you know that step you told me to fix?”

He just looks at her silently.

So she laughs a small laugh, rolling her eyes as she does. “Wouldn’t you know it? Someone went right through it. My mom did and we had to rush her to the hospital. Her foot was hurt pretty bad. And it all happened so fast. I mean, I wrapped up the cake to-go and sent everyone on their way and closed up the house quick so we could get there, and the time … I guess it got away from me.”

“Sure, Vera.” Derek stands and lifts a brown leather jacket with a sherpa-lined collar from the stool back.

What she sees, from the rust-colored Henley sweater over a button-down shirt and the jacket and the dark denim jeans, well, she sees he’d headed out to a party tonight. Hers.

“You’re leaving?” she asks.

He only nods, slipping into the jacket easily and shifting it on his shoulders.

“Derek, really. It completely slipped my mind, I got so distracted at the hospital.”

“I’m sure you did,” he says, pulling his keys from his pocket.

“No, really, and then I was so glad my mom was okay, and Greg, well, I know him from high school, and he was her doctor there and well, he thought I shouldn’t end my birthday—”

“I understand, Vera, you don’t have to explain. It’s no problem. You have a good night now and enjoy that birthday of yours.” He pulls out his wallet and leaves a tip on the bar before walking off toward the door, nodding at Greg as he passes him along the way.