The Stroke of Winter(5)
Jim shook his head. “If anyone in town needs anything, they know to call me or Mavis,” he said, referring to his store manager. “That’s basically how it works in the winter. Bad weather hits, we close up, but not before making sure folks have what they need to ride it out. If they find themselves short of something necessary, Mavis or I can always zip down to the store to open it up for them.”
As Jim happily returned to his snow blowing, Tess trudged her way back to her front porch. Inside, she pulled off her boots and left them, and her parka, in the entryway. As she walked through the house, she caught a chill. She touched the big radiator in the living room—ice cold.
Tess sighed but figured it wasn’t surprising. This house hadn’t been used in the winter very often during her lifetime, and who knew how long before that. And Wharton was famous for its unusually temperate winter months, so the heating system in La Belle Vie wasn’t exactly top of mind for anyone. The boiler and radiators could probably use a tune-up. She made a mental note to call her parents to ask who, if anyone, had serviced it in recent years. Otherwise, Jim would know of someone who could come and take a look at it. Tess hoped it wouldn’t need a complete overhaul or, worse yet, a new boiler. She hadn’t been counting on that expense.
She lit fires in both the living and dining rooms and then headed back to the study—her study, she had to keep telling herself—and opened a notebook on the heavy antique desk. She had been keeping a running list of things she needed to take care of before the house was ready to open for guests.
Everything having to do with the main part of the house had been crossed off: Antique furniture, check. New linens, check. Oriental rugs, check. Fireplaces inspected, check. Plumbing inspected, check. She wrote heat and animals at the bottom of the list. There was a second list, “Owner’s Suite.” But it didn’t have any items on it yet. Tess still didn’t know what she’d find when she broke through the locked and, it seemed, heavily bolted door that led from one part of the house to the other.
She closed her notebook and was heading toward the kitchen to start her stew when the phone rang.
“Mom!” It was her son, Eli. Her heart jumped into her throat when she heard his voice.
“Hi, honey!” she said, as brightly as she could muster.
“I heard about the storm,” he said. “Are you okay? Do you have heat? Lights? Is there a shovel there, at least? I hope you have wine, because if not, this will truly be a disaster of epic proportions.”
Tess chuckled. “Yep, sweetie, I’m okay. Jim from next door is snow blowing the driveway, and some kids from town are going to come and shovel out the steps and porch. The heat’s a little iffy, but I do have fireplaces in every room, so I’m not too worried about that right now.”
“Make sure to start one in the kitchen right away,” Eli advised, a serious tone in his voice. “You don’t want the pipes to freeze or, worse, burst.”
“Good idea,” she said, not having thought of it herself. Ever the sensible kid. “I just came in from talking to Jim outside, so I’m making my way around to the fireplaces to get things blazing. Did you get any of this weather down in Minneapolis?”
“Just a dusting,” Eli said. “And not any of the cold you’re dealing with, either. What’s going on? It’s never that cold in Wharton.”
“Tell me about it! This is really odd. Of course, it’s the best day of Jim’s life. I think he’s going to blow out the entire town.”
Eli chuckled. “Well. Okay. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t frozen in a snowbank somewhere. Have you started the renovations in the back half of the house?”
Tess’s stomach did a quick flip. Why did a sense of unease wash over her every time she thought about that project? “Not yet, honey. I’ve got the front half set. You should see all of the furniture Simon helped me find. It’s really gorgeous.”
“Well, when it’s time to break open that door, let me know. I’ll bring some friends up for a long weekend, and we can help with whatever you need. Painting. Plumbing. Demolition. Disposing of bodies. Whatever.”
Tess laughed. “That sounds great. You know, I want this to be a family business, so you’ve got a stake in this, too.”
“I know, Mom,” Eli said, his voice softening. “I’m here for whatever you need. Be careful.”
As they said their goodbyes, Tess hung up the handset and brushed tears from her eyes. But it was too late. The grief overtook her, the sadness she was still dealing with after almost losing the love of her life. Her son.
She had gotten the call at 4:17 p.m. on a Friday. That detail, for some reason, was seared into her mind. But she couldn’t remember driving to the hospital, parking, or finding her way to his room in the ICU. The only thing she could remember was sitting at his bedside, holding his hand.
Her precious son had been hit by a car—a drunk driver, it turned out—as he crossed the street on his way home from work. Had he stayed talking with his coworkers for just a few moments longer, or left a split second earlier, or walked a bit slower or faster, he would not have been in that intersection at just the time the driver was careening through it. Had the driver gotten behind the wheel a moment later, or earlier, or not at all, he would not have driven through the intersection as Eli was walking through it. As it was, the driver was set on his course, Eli was set on his, and they collided with perfect, horrifying timing.