What Holds Us Together

by Sandi Ward

  Sam clenches his jaw. “I’m fine. Just—don’t bring up Peter again, okay? If she married him after I left, it’s none of my business. I’m actually glad. That guy deserved all the happiness in the world. And Annika’s right. I disappeared, and that’s my fault.”

  Danny looks at his little brother with pity. “It happened a long time ago, buddy. You were young. Anyone could’ve done the same thing. You’ve gotta stop blaming yourself.”

  I pad my way over to jump up and sit on the love seat overlooking the front yard. I think Sam has killed the truck. Its carcass sits outside, silent and half-buried under the deep snow. I can’t imagine how they will get it out now.

  Annika comes down the stairs in a few minutes, as promised. She’s dressed in an orange sweater, leggings, and fuzzy socks. She’s woven her hair into two braids. The men follow her lead and start to get on their own gear as Annika pulls black snow pants out of a box on the floor of the front closet.

  “So,” Danny asks, clearing his throat, “do you have a shovel in that closet?”

  Annika hesitates. “No, my dad didn’t keep shovels in here.”

  “So your shovels are . . .” Danny lifts his head. “Ah.” He begins to smile. “So Rich’s shovels are in the stand-alone garage, way the hell over there on the other side of the yard?” He pulls up the zipper of his winter coat, transforming into a strange puffy creature. “Whoops,” he chuckles.

  Annika bites her lip. “Yes.”

  “That might have been good to know last night. But no worries. We can trudge through the snow.” He pauses. “Can I get inside that garage, though, to grab a shovel and see if there’s anything else I could use, like a brush?”

  Danny and Sam exchange a quick look.

  “Sure.” Annika puts her hands on her hips. “Where are your shovels, by the way?”

  Sam raises his eyebrows. He’s sitting on the floor, pulling on a boot. “We left them in our truck. So don’t worry about it. We’re no better. We weren’t thinking straight last night.”

  “Yeah,” Danny says, kicking his brother’s leg gently. “Too busy chatting up a cute old girlfriend, right?”

  Sam starts tying up his shoelaces a little faster. He grunts an incomprehensible reply and doesn’t look up at his brother.

  “So . . . the garage is unlocked?” Danny asks, putting on his hat and not looking at Annika. “Maybe your dad also has some sand, salt, ice melt, or whatever.”

  Annika shrugs. “Yes, just go in the back door.”

  “Great.” Danny clasps Sam on the shoulder. “You ready?”

  “We’ll be out in a minute,” Sam grumbles, having trouble with a boot.

  ROWR! Hey!

  I leap forward and pat Danny’s leg with my paw. I want to tell him to stay inside and let Sam do the heavy lifting. Danny still trails the scent of intense stress. Going out in the freezing cold to shovel deep snow seems like a bad idea.

  Sam agrees with me. I know it from the way his brow furrows as he watches his brother reach down and touch my head.

  “I’ll miss you, too, loudmouth. Maybe I’ll be back, if the truck won’t budge.”

  He’s not listening to me. I look up into his green eyes. WOWWWR-ROWR. Don’t be crazy. Stay inside.

  “Yeah, I know it’s cold. Nothin’ I can do about that. You’re lucky you’ve got a fur coat.”

  Danny swings open the front door, and frozen air pours in. But at least it’s fresh; the indoor air is starting to feel stale and uncomfortable. The house is too quiet without the whoosh of the furnace.

  Danny laughs and curses as he forces himself to step into and through the deep snow, which the wind has blasted up against the door. It is up to his waist at first and then midway up his thigh after he takes a few halting steps. Annika shuts the door behind him.

  “You have a lot of layers?” Sam asks Annika, his voice kind and concerned. “Hat, hood, mittens?”

  “Yeah, of course. It’s freezing. I grew up here the same as you, remember?” Annika kneels next to him on the tile and shakes little orange packets at him. “I’ve even got hand warmers.”

  His mouth hangs open. “Ooooh. Nice. You’re prepared.”

  While I don’t think Sam’s brown eyes are as spectacular as Danny’s green ones, I’m warming up to him. I watch as Annika offers to help him with his boot. He watches her hands work and smiles when she looks up at him.

  I wonder, could Sam be someone Annika might care for, in the same way she loved Peter? Maybe Sam could cure her loneliness, which seems to be like a chronic disease that she can’t manage. If that happened, would we have a lovely, bustling, fun house once again? Full of talking and eating and laughing and all of the activity humans engage in when they’re happy?

  But perhaps Sam and his brother are up to no good. Can we trust them? I know nothing about Sam, other than the fact that Annika knows him from the past. He may have changed over the years.

  And anyway, I heard what Annika told Sam last night: We’re not staying in Manchester.

  I just want Annika to be at peace, above all. That’s what Peter would want, too.

  And that’s when I feel it. Peter stands behind me. When I turn my head, he’s by the front window looking at the wood-burning stove, as if trying to decide if Annika has brought in enough wood or not. The stove still stands empty and cold, but she will need it later to get through the night.

  When I make eye contact with him, he nods. You’ll be okay, he assures me. There’s plenty of firewood.

  My whiskers spread as I drink him in. Peter, is she thinking of you right now?

  Peter turns to look at Annika and Sam as they prepare to go out. He watches them with interest, his eyes bright and taking everything in.

  Peter nods. She worries too much. About the kids. About the future. Sam reminds her of me sometimes. She’s thinking about our past.

  She seems to like Sam. You’re not jealous that he’s here?

  He thinks about it. No. She married me, not him. I had a lifetime with her. And it was everything I wanted it to be. Peter pauses. I want her to be happy again. But she doesn’t think she deserves it.

  The kids come jogging down the stairs and pull on their big, shiny, waterproof snow pants, zip up their padded jackets, and hunt in the bottom of the closet for boots. With a swift yank, the door is opened, and they all plunge out into the bright white front yard.

  I’m left alone in the house with Peter. He stands facing the closed front door. I still can’t get used to him being able to stand on one leg without his crutch. His soul flickers as he lingers between this world and the next, simmering, waiting for something. He looks at me, and I stare back.

  What are you trying to do?

  I’m not trying to do anything, he explains. Annika won’t let me go. Her guilt anchors me here. She needs to understand that I forgive her. That, actually, there’s nothing to forgive. I can’t leave until she does.

  Oh! Forgive her for what?

  But he has no answer for me.

  Peter, do you want to go?

  I have to go at some point. And I want her to know that I was happy. She needs to really know that, in her heart. He studies me closely. Do you think you could help?

  Me? Of course. Tell me what to do.

  He tells me what he has in mind. And then as Annika gets farther from the house, he fades away once again.

  Everything About You

  ANNIKA

  We trudge across the front yard, snow pouring down around us like confetti at a New Year’s Eve ball. The kids bound ahead, while Sam and I lag behind. Trying to stomp through the snow is harder than I expected. It’s heavy, like wading through a strong current of water.

  After crossing the unplowed street, we glance up. The house Lisa is renting is at the top of a steep hill. We decide to go straight up rather than walk around to the curving driveway, and it’s going to be a tough climb.

  “Hey, wait,” Danny yells. We stop as he drags over a long, red plastic sled. “I found this in the gar
age.” He’s out of breath by the time he reaches us. “Maybe the kids want to slide down the back side of the hill.”

  I nod, appreciative. “Thanks. That looks like fun.” I try to sound enthusiastic, despite how tired I am. The sled is exactly the sort of thing that might distract the twins while I look for the journal later.

  Because Danny grew up here, he knows as well as I do that behind Lisa’s house is a sharp drop into a field. My neighbors keep two horses there, but I’m sure the animals will be in their stable. Delilah takes the yellow cord from Danny’s hand and pulls the sled behind her.

  I keep my head down, trying to keep the snow out of my eyes. Sam has his face mask on, and I have a scarf up over my mouth. The wind has died down, but the cold and humidity sting my eyes. Once we get under the trees, the snowfall lightens, which is a relief. But moving up the incline is a challenge. There are rocks, bushes, and brush under the snow. We have to zigzag around obstacles. Sometimes my foot sinks deeper than I expect it to, or hardly drops at all as I step onto something buried below the snow. When Sam extends a hand, I gladly take it to help keep my balance.

  About halfway up the hill, Sam stops in front of a large rock, big enough to be a kitchen table. He leans back against it and motions for me to do the same.

  “You guys are out of shape,” Delilah calls down to us. She’s almost at the top of the hill. Donovan is right behind her.

  “Go take a few runs on the sled,” I yell up to them. “We’ll meet you up there.”

  Sam and I watch them go. They don’t look back.

  “Hey. I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry,” Sam says as soon as they disappear over the crest of the hill, yanking off his face mask. “I didn’t react as I should have last night when you told me you married Peter. I didn’t mean to get upset. I was just surprised. I had no idea.”

  “Sam, it’s okay.” I push my scarf down from my mouth. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

  “Yes, I do. I hadn’t heard anything about you in so long. It’s such a strange concept to me that you ended up with Peter, after all that happened.” He glances up toward Lisa’s house, but then turns back to me. “I’m sorry he passed away. Really sorry.”

  I swallow, and try to lighten the conversation with a breezy tone.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Look, Peter and I turned into good friends after you left. He asked me to drive him to his physical therapy sessions because his parents were driving him crazy. His mother is a piece of work sometimes. Judith is very demanding. And then we both went to school in Boston. Sometimes these things just happen.”

  Sometimes, you fall in love when you’re not looking.

  Sam nods in agreement.

  When he looks at me, something deep inside my chest heats up as my heart twists into knots. For a moment, I wonder why I didn’t let Sam kiss me last night.

  I mean, I have plenty of reasons. Number one, I’m planning to leave Manchester. But also, maybe it’s just too soon. Who’s to say if sixteen months is too soon or not? Who’s to say I’ll ever want another relationship again? And—what would the kids think? For that matter, what would Judith think? It would probably be one more thing she could add to her list of ways in which I’m a terrible single parent.

  The forest is incredibly still, other than the snow settling into the pine needles above our heads. It’s funny how snow is so incredibly quiet. While it falls, there’s never a peep from a bird or an insect. All of nature shuts up tight. But the stillness is a façade. Life waits right under the ice, ready to resume with the thaw.

  Sam reaches up and tugs at his ski hat, pulling it off, and looks me in the eye. “What . . . what was your marriage like? Good?”

  I take in a deep breath. I want to give him an honest answer. “Yes.”

  “I remember Peter loved music.” Sam’s lips are chapped from the cold, and his nose is turning pink. “Did he become a musician?”

  I reach up to pull a braid out from where it’s stuck under the collar of my ski jacket. “No, his parents were very unhappy with the thought of him trying to pursue music as a career. They steered him hard toward business. So he got about halfway through college and decided he agreed with them. He didn’t want to live a life of uncertainty, you know? He wanted to make money, like his dad did, and went into sales. Peter was great at it. He spoke two languages; he was charming. And it allowed him to work from home a lot, which was good because the truth is, he did have a little trouble getting around sometimes. I know he had some degree of pain, although he didn’t talk about it much.” I swallow. My chest feels hot in my ski jacket at the same time my cheeks sting from the cold. “So he didn’t pursue his passion. Instead, he provided for his family. I don’t know if you’ll think that’s a life wasted or one well-spent.”

  I’m not really sure myself what I think about it. I did receive the benefits of Peter’s decision. He made money so that he could spend and enjoy it. He chose the house overlooking the ocean, the nice cars, and most of the big-ticket items. I never cared much about those things, but they seemed to make Peter happy at the time.

  “His life wasn’t wasted,” Sam insists, with more passion than I expected. “Not at all. He did the right thing, taking care of his family.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I’m not as sure as you are. Maybe he died full of regret. Maybe his life was empty without music.”

  Sam shakes his head. “No, I’m sure he still enjoyed music in his free time, right? And he died knowing he took care of you guys. I’m sure that’s what he cared about the most. I mean—not that you need anyone to take care of you. But I’m sure Peter did everything right. I can see now that you two were meant to be together. I think it was fate.”

  “You do? Listen, I really don’t think it was divine intervention that we ended up married.”

  “Maybe it was.” He raises an eyebrow. “He seems just right for you. He seems perfect.”

  “He was a beautiful person, but no one’s perfect, Sam.”

  Sam shakes his head. “Give me one way he wasn’t perfect then.” He folds his arms, waiting to see if I’ll meet this challenge.

  “Okay. Well—”

  “And I mean something real. Not something, like, he left his socks on the floor. Because every guy does that.”

  I bow my head and think. “This isn’t his fault, but there was a woman he worked with who was in love with him.”

  This gets Sam’s attention. “Really? How do you know?”

  I spread my hands out in front of me, starting to use my hands as I talk, an old habit I used to fall into when I was passionate about something, although I haven’t done it much lately. “Peter worked from home most days, but commuted into a corporate office in Boston twice a month. There was a team he worked with for years. And I found notes in a book he left on his desk. Nothing too personal, you know, just little notes and cards this woman left for him. Clearly she adored him. Honestly, I don’t blame her.”

  Sam chews the inside of his mouth. “Huh. Do you think anything happened between them?”

  “No.” I tip my head. “I don’t think so. Peter was very . . . I know this sounds old-fashioned, but he was honorable. And he wouldn’t have enjoyed the stress of something like that. He’d had enough drama in his life already. Like I said, he wanted to take care of his family, and he did.”

  Sam sighs, seemingly satisfied. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. He seemed like a good guy, from what I remember.”

  “I wouldn’t blame him, though.”

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s just that . . .” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t a very good listener. Donovan laid out all the ways I brushed Peter off when he tried to tell me the symptoms of his sleep apnea. Donovan has a fair point. Peter liked to talk and tell stories, and sometimes I didn’t listen as closely as I should have.” I shrug. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Peter sought out someone else to talk to. This is another reason I’m worried about tha
t journal. What if Peter was unhappy and wrote about it?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Sam. It’s possible he regretted not pursuing a career in music, and resented having a family to take care of. Maybe he was lonely when I was away traveling, and did think about that woman. And what if he was frustrated that I dismissed his health concerns and didn’t think I was such a great wife? I wasn’t even home the night he died. But he’d told me he wasn’t sleeping well. What if any of that—or all of it—is in the diary? Maybe if I’d been paying better attention, I’d have figured out that he had sleep apnea.”

  Sam taps me on the arm. “That’s crazy talk. Please don’t do that. I’m sure he was happy. Don’t turn everything around and make his death your fault. You didn’t know. There’s no way it was your fault.”

  “Okay.” I’d rather concede and change the subject than dwell on it right now. “What about you?”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you marry that girlfriend of yours?”

  Reflexively, Sam holds both hands up, as if to say stop right there. “It just wasn’t in the cards for me. I fell for the wrong girl. I picked the wrong company to work for. There was a lot of that going on in my life for a while. Bad decisions.” He gives me a weak smile.

  “Was it because of me? Because of us and our breakup?”

  “No, of course not. I was going out to UCLA anyway for a scholarship, remember?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “So I met the wrong people. That’s all on me. Los Angeles isn’t a great place for a New Englander to settle down anyway. Too many distractions. The weather’s too damn warm and sunny all the time. It smells like flowers. Everywhere. Ugh.”

  I can’t help but smile. “What about Danny? Is he married?”

  “Divorced. Three girls.” Sam scratches his head. “He’s not in good health. He just found out recently.”

  “Oh?”

  “He has cancer,” Sam says slowly, as if he’s saying the words for the first time and isn’t sure if he’s saying them correctly. “Lung cancer.”