The Stroke of Winter(72)

As she stepped into the shower stream, she hoped not.



Twilight had fallen over Wharton, turning the sky into its familiar pinks and purples. The snow glistened in the soft light. Tess had brewed a pot of tea and was just pouring cups for herself and Wyatt when her house phone rang.

She crossed the room to answer it and put the handset to her ear. She heard a crackling sound, like what you’d hear on a recording of a radio broadcast from long ago. In the distance, Tess could hear talking, a frantic, intense conversation between a man and a woman. But she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Just snippets, words here and there.

Stop. It’s the right thing. And shriller: What are you doing? Who are you?

“Hello?” she said. “Who is this?”

More muffled conversation, more frantic-sounding voices. Sirens, then. Clear, clear, clear. And then, one booming male voice filled Tess’s ear, and her mind.

Let it go, Amethyst, the voice said. She recognized that voice. Or thought she did.

“Dad?” Tess asked, her own voice sounding very small. She and Wyatt shared a worried glance. “Dad? Where are you?”

Amethyst, you need to promise me you’re going to let it go. He sounded like he was talking from inside a tin can. Or a tunnel, as his voice reverberated and bounced off the sides.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

The line went dead.

Tess replaced the handset, the action feeling as though it occurred in slow motion. Or she was moving through water.

“What was that all about?” Wyatt said. “Was it your dad?”

Tess didn’t bother to answer. She turned back to the phone and dialed her parents. It rang once, twice, three times. Four.

“You’ve reached us. Sorry we’re not here to take your call. Please leave a message.”

“Mom, Dad, you need to call me right away,” she said, her voice wavering. “It’s not an emergency. I’m fine and Eli’s fine, the paintings are fine, but I need to hear from you just as soon as possible. It’s important.” She was about to hang up when she said, “I love you guys.”

Wyatt had gotten up from the table and was at Tess’s side. “What just happened?”

She turned to him and let him take her in his arms. She leaned her head on his chest.

“You’re shaking,” he said, rubbing her back.

Tears came, then. She tried to brush them away, but they were too strong. It was helplessness and frustration, too much for her to contain. She stood there and sobbed in Wyatt’s arms, as he held her and rubbed her back. He didn’t try to fix whatever was wrong. Didn’t even ask again. He just held her and gave her a safe space to let out the abject, primal fear that had formed into her tears.

She took a deep breath. “I think I need a tissue,” she said, her words swimming, no, drowning, in those tears.

No tissue in sight, Wyatt grabbed the roll of paper towels on the counter. This small gesture brought a chuckle to Tess’s lips. “Yeah, I might need all of these after that,” she said, peeling one off the roll and blowing her nose.

Tess sighed and sank down into her armchair. Only then did she realize her legs were shaking and might have buckled under her had Wyatt not held her up. He sat on the footstool in front of her.

“Can you tell me what happened? Is everything okay with your parents?” His face was a mask of concern and worry.

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve been trying to call them off and on today. It always goes to voice mail. I didn’t think anything of it, but this phone call just now . . .”

“Who was it?”

“That’s the thing,” she said. “It sounded like my dad. But it was so strange, like he was calling from another century or something. You know those old radio broadcasts you’ve heard of something like FDR announcing the only thing we have to fear is fear itself? Which”—she blew her nose again—“I’ve never understood because we were in the Depression, and people didn’t have food to eat or any means and were losing everything—”

Wyatt couldn’t stifle his grin at this.

“But, anyway, it sounded like that. Crackly. Thin. First, I heard voices. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. But it sounded sort of frantic. Tense. Like they were arguing. But then someone else got on the line. Someone louder. It sounded like my dad. He said, ‘Let it go, Amethyst.’” She could barely get the words out. “You need to promise me you’ll let it go.”

She buried her face in her paper towel and let out another sob.

Wyatt was shaking his head. “I don’t know what to tell you about that, Tess.”

“I do.” It was Jane, standing in the doorway. “I hope you don’t mind, but you didn’t hear me knocking,” she said. “I saw you were upset, and I just let myself in.”

Tess nodded, slightly dazed. “No, that’s perfectly okay. Please—” She motioned to the kitchen table. Jane peeled off the shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders and took a seat.

“I heard what you said about the call,” Jane said. “I think you should contact your son and see if he’s heard from your parents.”

A darkness overcame Tess, then. “Why?” she managed to say.