Winter Loon(98)

I’d been away more than a month. It would be months and months before I could go back to Loma. The words I was forming while Mona found Jolene sounded false and dangerous, like the ones my father had said to me. “Just you wait. Come spring.” I swore to myself when I heard her voice that I would not make promises I couldn’t keep.

“I knew you weren’t coming back.” She didn’t sound hurt or angry. Only sure.

“I’d regret it if I didn’t stay. I at least have to try. I wish I could be in both places.”

“If wishes were horses . . .”

Beggars would ride. I was done begging.

“So I’m going back to school. You and Lester will graduate. I’ll come visit when school’s out. Or you’ll come here.”

“Yeah.”

“And we can write to each other. I’ll give you the address. We can talk on the phone once in a while.”

“That sounds good.”

What more was there to say? I closed my eyes, listened to the distance, static on the line. The void reminded me of the closet in the corner of the upstairs bedroom.

“Jo, remember the séance?”

“Sure.”

“I was afraid of what I’d find in there. Ghosts. My own shadow. But I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not afraid because you made it okay when I was. Does that make sense?”

Her voice was choked. “Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t cry, Jo.”

“This is too hard,” she said.

“We’ll get through this winter. See how things go. Then I’ll see you in the summertime. Promise.”



I’D NEVER HAD A CHRISTMAS morning like that. Snow was falling, cars were off the street so it piled up like we lived in the woods. Annaclaire pulled me out of bed at sunup, declaring it time for presents. She could hardly contain herself but was forced by her mother to wait until at least the coffee was made. The moment we gathered in the living room, she was pulling wrapping paper off her gifts. Aveline got her a swimming pool for Barbie and my dad gave her a doll with hair that could be pulled straight out of her head to make it long instead of short. Mrs. Blue knit her a sweater with matching mittens. And I gave her the most exotic thing I could find and afford in that mountain town—a stuffed octopus.

“What on earth?” she said, pulling it out of the box. “Look at all those legs!” She jumped up and wrapped her two arms around me. “That’s the best octopus anyone has ever given me.”

“Tell the truth. It’s the only one.”

“Still the best.”

I got Aveline a hat and scarf set. She gave me a striped wool blanket that reminded me of the one on Jolene’s bed. I gave Mrs. Blue a kaleidoscope with an open lens to form patterns from things outside the scope. “You hold it up like this,” I said, pointing it to the lit tree. “Everything gets jumbled around. It’s pretty.”

She looked through it, spun it around a few times. “Oh, I like that. I’ll keep it.” She slipped it into the pocket of her red housecoat.

My father gave me a pair of lined leather work gloves. I gave him a diary and a pen.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“I thought maybe you’d want to write down some things. You read and all. Maybe you have a story to tell.”

He nodded like maybe he did. “Thank you.”



HE STARTED DRINKING AT NOON, well ahead of dinner. Aveline didn’t have whiskey in the house, only beer and the pink jug wine she kept in the refrigerator. She’d sent him out on Christmas Eve for something bubbly to go with dinner. My guess is he got a little something extra for himself. From Mrs. Blue’s plush rocker, he sipped whiskey and watched Annaclaire play with her toys. I filled her doll’s swimming pool with water so Barbie could have a Christmas pool party. She and I tried to get my father on the floor with us, but he waved us off with a loaded smile. “Swimming dolls? Sinking dolls, more like it. She’s got nice legs, though.”

The table was set with ham and sliced potatoes, green bean casserole, and Jell-O salad. My father uncorked the cheap champagne and poured it for the four of us into Mrs. Blue’s special flutes. Aveline stood, smoothed her dress nervously, then clinked her bubbling glass with her spoon. “I want to say how special it is to have the Ballot men here together. This is your home, both of you,” she said. “To family.” We all touched glasses, my father and I last.

Dishes were passed and the conversation was easy, focused mostly on Annaclaire. I misread my father’s quiet for contentment. Leave it to Mrs. Blue. She stuck her fork into a piece of ham on the platter. “So which of you two takes off again?”

“Mama. Please.”

“What?” she said. She held her hand out to Annaclaire. “Pass the potatoes, would you?” Then to Aveline, she said, “I get confused, is all. Don’t you?”

The rest of us kept our heads down, spooning dinner into our mouths, chewing to cover the silence.

“It’s me,” my father said. “I’m the one who leaves, Geneva. I’m the one.”

“There,” said Mrs. Blue. “Now everyone’s clear. See how easy that was?”

“Nobody’s going anywhere anymore, Mama. Isn’t that right?”