Winter Loon(91)

Aveline sank into the seat next to me. “Ah,” she said. “I’m exhausted. That was fun, though, wasn’t it? They sure love having you here.”

“What are you going to do if he comes home tomorrow?”

She shrugged, then rested her head against the cushion. “I want to give him a chance to explain. But I don’t understand. I’m not much of a fighter. And I don’t want to hurt Annaclaire.”

“He’ll keep leaving you. Even if he comes back, he’ll leave you again.”

“I know that.”

“So why? Why do you let him do this?”

“I do love him. And he gives me all he has when he’s here. I thought it would be enough. I thought I could put up with anything for my daughter. This is a small town, Wes. A girl like me. I mean, I’ve got a kid. A mom who needs me. I’m not exactly a catch.” She was on the verge of tears. “I don’t think I deserve to be lied to, though. Not like this.”

“You don’t. I’m sorry he’s done this to us. I’m sorry for my part in it.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. And who knows? Maybe things will change with you here. We should get some sleep. Could be a long day tomorrow.” She pushed to standing, touched my shoulder in a way that made me think she was on my side, whatever that might mean.



I DREAMED ABOUT HOLDING HANDS with Aveline on the Shooting Star. I dreamed about her waiting tables at the Cozy Cup diner. I dreamed about the softness of her bedsheets and her underthings and her skin. I dreamed about her as a girl, I dreamed about swimming with her in the river. Her heart-shaped face replaced Jolene’s and I replaced my father, and there was no one on earth but her and me and Annaclaire between us. In my dreams I fell asleep with her resting in my arms. I woke up in the dark house to the smell of brewing coffee. Mrs. Blue stared at me from her rocking recliner.

“Put a shirt on, Moss,” she said. “We need to stuff the turkey.”

Aveline’s voice came from the kitchen. “Mama!”

“What?” Mrs. Blue said, still staring at me.

“Wes, Mama. Wes. Good God.”

“Whatever you say!” she replied, giving me a wink. “Come on when you’re dressed.”

I smiled at her and pulled my clothes on once her back was turned. I padded to the bathroom barefooted, feeling strange and fresh from that dream, like the man of the house.



AVELINE WAS AT THE STOVE, squeezing a tube of sausage into a frying pan. I imagined walking up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, burying my face in the white flesh of her neck. It felt like possession, ripe and sinful. What was my place in this house?

“Have a seat. I’ll throw some breakfast together after we get the stuffing made. Could you tear that loaf up into bits? Mama will help. You want coffee?”

I nodded and sat down. There was a loaf of Wonder Bread on the table next to a shallow stainless steel bowl. Mrs. Blue plucked soft pieces off each slice, dropped them in the bowl. “Like this. Not too big, not too small.”

Annaclaire came in, hair mussed, nightgown twisted, slippers scuffing along the cold floor. Soon, the three of us were tearing bread. Aveline let the sausage cool, sautéed celery and onions, which she added to the bread along with sage and pepper and raw eggs. Mrs. Blue stuck her long fingers in to the knuckles, squishing egg into bread. The sausage was last, crisp and greasy.

“This is my favorite part,” Annaclaire said, dipping her fingers into the raw stuffing.

Aveline’s eyes flashed, her dimple deepened. “Mine, too.”

In unison, the four of us sat back, sighed together at the job well done. The rising sun lit the morning sky sapphire and streaked our little kitchen with Thanksgiving gold.





CHAPTER 27

AVELINE WAS SCRAPING stuffing from the turkey’s cavity when Annaclaire, all dolled up in a corduroy jumper, ran down the hallway and bolted out the front door. Her voice, high and happy, came into the house clear. “Daddy!”

“You,” Aveline said, pressing my arm. “You go sit in the living room with Mama. Do not go outside, you hear me?”

I nodded weakly and did as I was told.

She wiped her arm and hands on her apron and untied it in one motion, then followed Annaclaire outside. The little girl came back in holding a stuffed bear and a chocolate bar, her eyes bugged wide. “I’m to go to my room for a bit. Mama said to tell you two to stay put, so stay put.”

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Blue asked.

“Moss is here, I think.”

“About time. Supper’s almost ready,” she said, then went back to her knitting.

From my seat on the couch, with my hands on my thighs, I measured distance. Me to the door, the door to the front steps. The sofa to the curtain, the curtain to the window. The shoreline to the hole in the ice, the body to the front of the cabin. Bright Lake to Loma, Loma to Burden Falls. Jolene to me. Me to my father. I stood and walked to the door. In the five strides it took to get there, I stuffed my hands in my pockets, remembered, and pulled them back out. Through the lace curtain on the door, through the tiny squares in the screen inches away, I saw Aveline sitting on her front steps next to a man hunched over. Her hand was on his back, rubbing gently, her head cocked in a careful way so she could see up into his face. He was much taller than her, even sitting down. The back of his neck was bared to me because his head was buried in his folded arms, his hands on top of his head, his fingers pointing backward toward me. Aveline wiped her cheek, put a hand on his thigh. He pushed her hand away. I felt betrayed by her kindness toward him. Their voices hummed through the glass, the notes low and minor. I refocused my eyes on the swirling lace, like cotton ice crystals, then the black cells of screen mesh, blurring Aveline and this man into a watercolor of flannel and wool, of gray branches and gray sky.