The Body in the Snowdrift (19 page)

“Don't worry. You got gypped out of your vacation. I want you to enjoy the rest of your time here and stay out of the kitchen. Wendell knows what he's doing.”

That's what Faith was afraid of.

 

It was one thing to say how important it was to be one of the first people on a chairlift that you had seen send its passengers crashing down the mountain only a few hours earlier, but quite another to do it. As Tom and she followed Fred and Craig, Faith had a sudden impulse to wait and take a later chair—the way some couples insist on taking separate planes. But she pasted a smile securely in place and sat back, the tips of her skis pointed toward heaven, and said a quick prayer. She wondered if Tom was doing the same. His lips seemed to be moving slightly. At least the weather had improved. It was another picture postcard–perfect blue sky, a sunny day in the Green Mountain state.

Tom took her hand and squeezed it.

“Okay, honey?”

“Okay.”

“You didn't have to come, you know.”

Not exactly the best time to tell her this, swaying from side to side, moving farther aloft. Faith had known she didn't have to come, but she'd wanted to. Or rather, she felt she had to stand up—or sit down, in this case—and be counted. And she told Tom so.

She concentrated on the scenery surrounding her. The emergence of the sun's rays had been benevolent, a good omen, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw that the lift was filling up. We have such faith in technology, she thought. Here in the Estados Unidos. Americans believe everything can be fixed—especially if the sun is shining.

She'd filled Tom in on Craig while they were changing into their ski clothes, and he had been even more dismayed than Faith. She'd also given him a somewhat abbreviated account of her conversation with Glenda. She was two for two with her sisters-in-law at the moment. She felt a sudden longing for her own sister, Hope, or Niki or Pix. For a female who liked her.

“Should we offer to help Craig out?” she asked. They were high above the treetops now and she was swallowing any panic that dared make its way from the pit of her stomach to the bottom of her throat.

“We don't know anything's wrong, remember? And anyway, I'm not sure that's the right thing to do. Glenda should go back to work. And if she does, that will cover their mortgage, especially if Freddy and
Simon come up with some money. I think we'd better leave this one alone for now.”

“And if Glenda doesn't get a job?”

“Oh Faith, I don't know. Can we forget about them, forget about my whole family for a couple of hours and just be the two of us?”

“Sounds like a fine idea to me,” his wife said, although in practice it might be difficult. Just as Craig, Faith, and Tom had turned out in support of Pine Slopes this afternoon, the rest of the family had been right in line behind them. Faith looked back: Marian and Dick, Betsey and Dennis, Robert, Scott and Andy. Only Glenda was missing, still on the lower slopes. Faith thought about those collective nouns: an exaltation of larks, a pride of lions, a parliament of owls. They were a phalanx of Fairchilds.

Stepping off at the top, she heard a raucous birdcall from the top of one of the tall pines that lined the slope and remembered another term—a murder of crows.

 

Energized by the afternoon's skiing—it had been glorious—Faith left Tom reluctantly to go shower and change before picking the kids up. He had been right: They needed time together, and he'd been happy to stay with her, tailoring his style and pace to hers. He loved to ski on the woodland trails, as did she. Looking off into the backcountry, Faith was sorry she hadn't had her father-in-law's foresight and packed one of those space blankets inside her parka. At the end of their last run together, they'd met up with Dick and Marian. Marian was ready to call it a day, but Dick wanted to stay out with his sons.

“The day I can't keep up with these brats is the day I take up knitting,” Dick said.

“Knitting is very relaxing, but perhaps you're not quite ready for it yet,” his wife said before she and Faith walked off toward the condos.

“Pix has a great-uncle who knits his own socks,” Faith said as she and Marian walked along. She didn't remember how this had come up in conversation with Pix and Ursula, but what had surprised her more than the unusual activity for a male was the matter-of-fact way the two women had accepted it.

“Odd, but not all that odd for that generation of New Englanders,” Marian commented. “But let's get away from knitting. While we have a moment, I want to talk to you about Craig and Glenda.” She paused, slowing her usually rapid stride.

“Oh dear,” Faith said for the second time in only a few hours. Again the words were inadequate, but the others that sprang to her lips would have been inappropriate. She'd heard Marian say “Darn” once when she'd knocked a pitcher of lemonade over, and then again when she'd discovered the snowplow had uprooted an azalea.

Darn. It had been such a lovely afternoon. She'd almost managed to forget about the new chef, and she
had
managed to shove Craig and Glenda into a file drawer extremely far back in a dusty corner of her mind.

“Exactly my sentiment. I'm afraid they got married before they really knew each other well enough to make that kind of commitment, and now that they are getting to know each other, they may not be so thrilled with what they're finding out.”

“It was a pretty hasty marriage. They'd only met a month before, right? Sometimes those things work out—that bolt from the blue, head over heels kind of love….” Faith was thinking about the first time she saw Tom, standing by the buffet at a wedding reception she was catering at the Campbell Apartment in Grand Central Station, one of the city's hidden treasures. In the 1920s, John Campbell had transformed a huge space off the west balcony into a Florentine palazzo/office, adding a pipe organ and grand piano for the nights when he and his wife entertained. Restored with many of its original furnishings, including a Persian rug thirty feet wide and sixty feet long, it was a wonderful place for a party. Tom had been intensely interested in her miniature saucisson en brioche, then intensely interested in her. By the time the horse-drawn carriage in Central Park had reached its stop opposite the Plaza Hotel later that night, they'd known they were meant to be together for the rest of their lives, although it was more than a year before they actually tied the knot.

“And sometimes they don't,” said Marian, finishing for her. “Craig's current money problems have brought things to a head sooner, perhaps, than they would have otherwise.”

Faith wasn't surprised that Marian knew about Craig's investments.

“I think Glenda is pretty upset that he didn't tell her what he was doing,” Faith said. She didn't consider the conversation she'd had with Glenda one of a confidential nature. Besides, Marian probably knew all about it, too. Did she know about Betsey's behavior, as well?
Faith hoped this little talk wasn't going to lead to a thorough examination of her relations with her sisters-in-law, although Marian was not a “let your hair down,” “put your cards on the table” type of person. Faith was somewhat startled that Marian was bringing Craig and Glenda up at all. Alongside the Fairchild motto “Live Actively or Die” was its corollary, “Let Sleeping Dogs Lie.”

“And she has a right to be upset. A marriage where the spouses don't tell each other important things like this—you notice I didn't say
everything,
Faith, because that's important, too—is resting on a pretty shaky foundation.”

Marian must be extremely worried to be talking this way, Faith thought. Her mother-in-law never gave, or took, advice. It was one of the things Faith adored about her. Faith could only remember a few times when Marian had spoken so categorically.

“Umm.” Faith nodded. It was the only response she could think of. What's happening to my brain? she wondered. She seemed to be having trouble starting the engine, forget getting out of first gear.

“I'm mentioning all this because we have to keep an eye on Craig. She's going to leave him. It's just a question of when, and we'll have to be ready to pick up the pieces.”

Before her conversation with Glenda—and before Roy Hansen—Faith would have been stunned at her mother-in-law's words. Words Marian repeated with emphasis as they reached the condos and went their separate ways.

“She married him for better, not worse, and she'll be taking off one of these days, unless by some miracle Craig manages to get back everything he's put into Pine Slopes, or wins the lottery. Such a waste of money, but you can't convince him of that. Or his father, either. ‘Think of the likelihood,' I tell Dick, and he only says, ‘Somebody's got to win, why not me?'” Marian sighed.

Faith had bought a lottery ticket once, didn't win, and never bought another one, so Marian was preaching to the choir.

“See you at dinner,” Faith said, giving Marian a hug. “Maybe things aren't as bad as we think.”

Marian hugged her back. “You know they are, sweetheart. And by the way, don't say a word to Dick. He doesn't suspect a thing, and I'd hate to spoil his birthday fun.”

Why am I not surprised? Faith said to herself when she opened the door and saw Glenda sitting on the couch in the living room with her jacket on and two suitcases on the floor next to her. The “when” of Mrs. Craig Fairchild's departure was being answered possibly sooner than Marian expected.

“Good, you're back. I hoped it would be you,” Glenda said, turning Oprah off with the remote control. What had the topic been, Faith wondered. “Women Who Marry in Haste and Don't Want to Repent at Leisure”? “She Doesn't Tell; He Doesn't Tell: Where's There's No Fire, There's Smoke”?

“What's going on, Glenda? Why are you all packed?” Faith asked. There was no way she was
going to get her shower, she realized dismally. It had been difficult all week to squeeze in time in the tub or shower. Just another aspect of her “vacation.”

Glenda's chin jutted forward. Her tight leather jacket and pants emphasized her breasts, elbows, and knees. She'd just done her nails. They were filed and painted a shiny crimson. The woman was a mass of sharp points.

“Roy is driving me to the bus station in Montpelier. I'm getting out of here, and I need someone to tell Craig.”

“Oh no, not me.” Faith backed toward the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools. Definitely not me, she said to herself. Glenda could do her own dirty work. A Dear John letter, a phone call from the bus station, or how about telling him face-to-face—a novel idea?

“I could leave him a note or call him later, but it's better if he hears it from someone in person.” Glenda had obviously given the matter some thought.

“And that can't be you, because…”

Glenda looked at her, seemingly puzzled that Faith would ask such a stupid question.

“I have no idea when he's going to be coming back from skiing, and I want to get the seven o'clock bus. As it is, it's going to be tight. We probably won't have time to stop for a bite to eat.”

“Glenda!” Faith couldn't help herself. “If what I'm hearing is correct, you're talking about leaving your husband, not just cutting out on this vacation, and all you're worried about is catching a particular bus and getting something to eat!”

“I told you we probably
wouldn't
have time to get something to eat,” Glenda explained patiently. “But, yes, this is good-bye. I thought I explained it all this morning. Craig has destroyed my trust in him. I can't live with always wondering what half-assed thing he's going to put our money into next. He's never had a real job and never will. I need someone dependable.”

And rich, Faith added to herself.

“I know you think I'm some kind of a heartless bitch to be going off like this, but I've thought the whole thing through. I called my friend Marcy, and she thinks I'm being very practical. Why drag things out when I know where this is going? And it's kinder to Craig not to have some big deal ‘I'm outta here' scene. This way, I leave, get my stuff from the house, file for a quickie no-fault divorce, and that's that.”

It was a pretty short “To Do” list, and Faith was sure Glenda would squeeze the health club in somewhere.

Not being able to reassure her soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law as to what she thought of her, Faith was determined to stick to her original refusal. Hadn't Glenda ever heard of killing the messenger?

“I'm not going to be the one to tell him. You either have to leave a note or tell him yourself and take a later bus. There must be one after seven going to Boston.”

“Tell who what?”

Both women had been so intent on their conversation that they hadn't noticed Dennis come in. Even if they had noticed him, they wouldn't have. He was that kind of person.

But Glenda seized upon him, literally grabbing his hand and upping the wattage on her strobe smile.

“Dennis. Perfect! Much better for a guy to tell him.”

“Nice to see you, too, Glenda,” Dennis said. Maybe he does have a sense of humor, Faith thought.

There was a knock on the door. Glenda hastily called out, “Come in,” and Roy Hansen stepped into the room. The condo was filling up rapidly.

Looking uncomfortable, the Viking prince kept close to the door and said, “Maybe this is not a good time?”

“No, it's perfect. I'll be with you in a second.” Glenda directed her beam toward him, then back at Dennis. “Look, Faith will explain everything. Roy is driving me to the bus. Things haven't exactly worked out for Craig and me, and I need you to tell him I've left.” She stood up and reached for her suitcases.

“Wait a minute!” Dennis said. “You want
me
to tell your husband you're leaving him? I mean, is this for good? You just got married!”