The Winters

by Lisa Gabriele

  The next day, after Adele drove off, Dani swanned back into the dining room, making her slow promenade around the table while the kitten chased a feathered string she held in her hand. I’d begun to look forward to seeing her, if only to note what she wore that day or what she did with her hair. That day’s outfit was black yoga pants and a white poplin shirt. She had on pink lip gloss, her hair piled in a bun. The dark roots on the back of her head grew in a little faster than the front, or maybe she just touched up the front more often, but she was due for a hair appointment. She collapsed in a chair opposite me, picked up a magazine, and began flipping through the pages.

  “Where were you planning to shop for your dress?”

  “I’m sure I can find something nice at a department store. Barneys or someplace like that.”

  She was silent.

  “I mean,” I went on, “the wedding’s in a month. Buying a dress at a high-end bridal shop would take too long.”

  “I know a place that can do quick turnarounds if you’re off-the-rack,” she said. “And I think you are. I mean, you don’t have any boobs. Claire’s mother got her wedding dress there a few years ago. Only took three weeks. She bought a sample.”

  “I don’t want to spend a fortune.”

  “Like you have a budget.”

  Maggie climbed up her yoga pants and nestled under her chin. She was doing a good job of taking care of the kitten but not of socializing her. She played too aggressively, climbed curtains, and scratched couches. I decided not to make a fuss about it, grateful she at least kept the name.

  She gathered up Maggie and stood. “I’ll make an appointment. If you want. Unless you just want to go alone, or with Aunt Louisa, which is totally fine, I really don’t care.”

  Was she serious? I worried that if I showed too much eagerness, she’d take it back. She’d say she was just kidding.

  Still I replied, a little too brightly, “That would be great, Dani. Thank you!”

  “Cool. I’m heading to Claire’s. Tell Dad I won’t be home for dinner.”

  “You can leave Maggie here if you want. I’ll cat sit.”

  She hesitated, eyeing me for a second. “Fine, but don’t get too attached. She knows I’m her real mother.”

  Ten steps forward, five back.

  She handed over the kitten. I looked down at sweet, dumb Maggie squirming in my lap. Her teeth were all in now. And though she couldn’t quite break my skin with her tiny fangs, she started swatting angrily at my fingers and pulling them towards her mouth, testing, as kittens do, how hard she’d have to bite before she drew blood.

  * * *

  • • •

  That night, in our bedroom, while I smoothed moisturizer on my elbows, I told Max about Dani’s offer to go dress shopping with me.

  “Dani? You mean Dani Winter?”

  I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal.

  He came up behind me at the dressing table, kissed the top of my head, and regarded me in the mirror. “I’m going to call you the stepdaughter whisperer. How did I get so fucking lucky?”

  The way he looked at me just then—marveled at me, really—sent a rush of pride through my body.

  “Incidentally, where do you want to go for the honeymoon?” he asked. “April anywhere in Europe is ideal. Fewer grubby tourists.”

  “Won’t we be grubby tourists?”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “I don’t know. I sort of hoped we could bring Dani. If she wants to come with us. You were just in the Caymans, after all. I feel like we’d be abandoning her again. I thought we could make it a family trip.”

  He tensed up. “That’s a nice idea. But she’s got school until June. That’s part of our homeschooling agreement.”

  “Then we’ll wait,” I said. “It’ll give me time to think of a great place. We don’t have to rush off, do we?”

  “We don’t, no,” he said, removing his cuff links and placing them in a dish in front of me. “But campaigning begins in the summer.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  He looked at me with concern. “Look, I love how much of an effort you’re making with her. I do. But I wonder if you should ease up a bit.”

  “Well, I am going to give her a wedding gift.”

  He weighed his next words carefully.

  “Listen to me. Dani can be very hot and cold. I just don’t want to see you get disappointed if she suddenly pulls away. You’re going shopping with her. That’s great. Taking her on a honeymoon—maybe. But it’s your wedding day. You’re the bride. You’re the one who receives gifts. Not Dani. She is quite literally a girl who has everything.”

  “I just want everyone to be as happy as me,” I said. “Especially Dani.”

  He sighed and put his arms around me, kissed my neck. When I reached up to caress his thick hair, he took my hand to examine it.

  “You keep taking off your ring. Do you hate it that much?”

  “Oh no, I love it. But I’m still working on the boat,” I said, getting a good look at my fingers. My nails were a wreck. The wrinkles in my knuckles were stained brown from the varnish. I pried my hand away. “I have one more coat to go.”

  Far from being deterred by his warning, I was excited about my gift to Dani. I planned to name the Aquarama Dani’s Luck, a play on Daneluk, her ancestral name. I had already ordered the stencil online; it would take me two days to paint on the letters. Then I’d drape the boat until the big day. If we were closer by then, I would unveil it after the ceremony. I’d ask Max to bring her down to the boathouse, where I’d be waiting. He’d cover her eyes with his hands. Dani would be impatient, as always. “For God’s sake, what is going on?” Then they would come in and he’d remove his hands. Dani would slowly take in the gleaming boat that I’d sweated over, varnished, and now named after her. Her eyes would go from me to the boat and back again. “For me?” she’d say, smiling, while Max’s eyes brimmed with tears. How did I get so fucking lucky?

  “Where did you go just now?”

  I shook off the daydream.

  “Do we have enough?” he asked.

  I looked at him dumbly. I had missed the first part of the question.

  “Enough tables and chairs. Or should we rent more?”

  “I’m sorry, Max. For the reception. Yes, rent, definitely.”

  He still looked concerned. “All right, then. I’ll get Gus to call around. Forty people. Maybe eight round tables. Some for food, the cake.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “Rebekah fit twenty tables in the great hall for our wedding with room to spare.”

  Of course she did. The room probably magically expanded to accommodate her needs—straight out of a Disney movie. The coffee poured itself. Plates floated so guests wouldn’t have to carry them and a drink.

  I knew it was stupid of me to ask, but I did it anyway. “Max, I have an interesting idea for our reception.”

  He closed his eyes and threw his head back. He already knew what I was going to ask.

  “Before you say no, I want you to think about it.” Like a trial lawyer, I had prepped responses to his arguments. “You said yourself that the great hall might be too big for such a small event.”

  “Well, then, the dining room.”

  “There’s no access to outdoors for smokers, and the powder rooms are too far.”

  “Why not a tent?”

  “It’ll still be early spring. The weather will be unpredictable. What if it’s a chilly, rainy day?”

  “What about the barn? The horses are moving soon.”

  “It smells. Plus there’s only one bathroom and it’s too far. The guests will have to walk over muck if it rains.”

  “The boathouse, then.” He moved over to the bed, opened a book and pretended to read, indicating the discussion was over.

  “The
boathouse is too small, Max. And it’ll take weeks to air out the varnish.”

  He slapped the book shut. “The greenhouse is not safe.”

  “We have time to do repairs. Gus can help.”

  “It’s filthy.”

  “I know how to wash windows.”

  “Look. I love you. I want to give you everything you want, so I hate saying no to you. But that’s my final answer. The greenhouse is closed and it’s staying that way.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Louisa was on her second martini when I told her about Dani’s offer to come dress shopping with me. We were sealing the last of the invitations while enjoying an early dinner in town.

  “Told you she’s full of surprises,” she said. That’s when I realized, with some disappointment, that she’d put Dani up to it.

  “How much did you pay her?” I asked.

  She smiled, patting my hand. “Look, all that matters is Dani’s going with you. It’ll be a great opportunity to get to know each other. To finally bond.”

  “I was hoping you’d come, too. You have such good taste.”

  And you can protect me from her, in case she plans something nefarious.

  “So does Dani. No, this will be good, just the two of you. Seven . . . eight . . . ,” she said, counting the small pile of gold envelopes.

  “If you have any dress ideas or suggestions, feel free to pass them on.” I had stopped asking for details about Rebekah’s wedding after Louisa told me, jokingly, that I seemed more fixated on Max’s first wedding than my own.

  “. . . Thirteen . . . fourteen . . . Surprise us, dear. I’m sure you’ll look terrific in anything you put on as long as it’s not too fancy. You’d get swallowed up in a ball gown. Just wear something that looks like you. A month is enough notice for invitations, don’t you think? It’s not high season or anything. And we are holding it on a Friday.”

  That had been Louisa’s suggestion, so as not to compete with better-prepared couples that had long since booked their caterers and florists.

  I shrugged. “If people can’t make it, they can’t make it.”

  “Darling, everyone will make it. They’ll be very curious to see who the hell Max Winter’s marrying.”

  After Rebekah, I wanted to add, imagining guests stifling giggles as I made my way alone down the aisle of that cavernous room, holding a clutch of wilted wildflowers in my hand.

  “Oh and of course, Elias,” Louisa said, finding his name on the list, “and his husband, I can’t remember his name. Polo player, handsomer than Elias, if that’s possible. Max said you’re having the ceremony in the great hall.” She scrunched up her nose. “It might be too late to rent a tent.”

  “I had a much better location in mind, but Max shot it down.”

  “Oh?”

  “The greenhouse.”

  Her eyes flashed wide open. “Oh my God, yes!”

  “Max said absolutely not.”

  I didn’t mean to relitigate the issue, nor inspire Louisa to action. But she was adamant.

  “Don’t worry. You shall have your greenhouse reception. Just let me deal with Max.” Her eyes drifted to my hair. “Now what did you do to your lovely curls?”

  I touched it, embarrassed. I forgot that I’d parted it to the side and straightened it, the result, admittedly, of looking at too many photos of Rebekah, who often wore her hair this way.

  “Well, I like your hair just as it is. I’m sure Max does, too.”

  “He’s never really commented on my hair,” I said, uncertain if that was a good or bad thing. “Anyway, I was just experimenting for the wedding.”

  On the way to our cars we passed a clothing store with headless mannequins in the window, dressed in every conceivable style of white linen shirt, their balletic feet pinioned to the floor. Louisa pulled me inside. A brief stop turned into an hour-long spree, pushing back the poor saleswoman’s closing time. At one point, Louisa took over for her, tossing item after item over the top of my dressing stall, commanding me to step out so she could see, vetoing some of the things I liked and insisting on some of the things I didn’t. It was fun, in a way, to be regarded so intently by someone who was so decisive, who held maternal sway over me. She scanned each outfit, a finger to her mouth, adding a scarf, a sweater, a belt to a dress. When it came time to choose what to buy, she laughed out loud. She meant for me to have all of what passed her muster, an obscene pile she scooped up like a human backhoe and deposited on the counter.

  “I can’t possibly go home with all this, this . . . stuff. It’s ridiculous. I don’t need all these clothes. Where would I wear them?”

  “Dani tells me you do need new clothes,” she said, “and that you’ve been wandering Asherley for weeks in the same four things. We can’t have that. If you’re going to be a Winter, you have to start dressing like one,” she said, with a joking flare.

  “I have clothes,” I mumbled. In truth I had only two pairs of jeans, but quite a number of tops and T-shirts that I hoped had camouflaged that scarcity. It didn’t bother me that Dani noticed what I wore, but it stung that it distressed her enough to tell Louisa.

  When I placed Max’s credit card down on the counter, Louisa flicked it away.

  “Consider this your trousseau—a wedding gift from Jonah and me,” she said, and gave instructions for the packages to be delivered to Asherley the next morning. There was no arguing with her. What could I say except thank you? Before we parted ways, my phone rang. It was the bridal shop. Dani must have given them my number. They had a cancellation the next afternoon. I took it.

  “Perfect,” Louisa said. “While you’re in the city, I’ll talk to Max about the greenhouse.”

  I texted Dani to tell her I took the cancellation, but she didn’t reply. I pulled up to Asherley and checked my phone again. Still no reply. The lights in the turret were on, which meant she was still up. I put on my nightshirt and washed my face. I thought of texting her again. It was a big house; that wouldn’t be weird. Hey, still haven’t heard back if you want to come dress shopping tomorrow. The appointment is in the afternoon. We should leave here by noon.

  No. I had to go to her. The more I shrunk from her, the more she sensed my fear and attacked. What was the big deal? She arranged the call. She had offered to come. I was merely knocking on the door to confirm our departure time.

  As I approached the third-floor landing, something was off. I thought perhaps I’d gone up the wrong way, that I’d stumbled upon a previously unseen level of Asherley, because though the gallery felt familiar, it was empty, cavernous, the walls scattered with dark red squares. Every single picture of Rebekah had been removed, every glamour shot, every sweetly posed close-up, every picture of her embracing Dani, their hair twining together, each was gone, leaving behind a shadow where the sun hadn’t hit the walls for years.

  My stomach turned. Had Dani finally obeyed Max’s request, one he’d made even before I arrived at Asherley? Why this change and why now? Did this bode well for us or not? I could hear music coming from behind the door that led to the turret, a sort of tinny synth with a bass like a heartbeat, not loud, just insistent, like a faraway nightclub. I placed my hand on the knob and turned it, giving the door a little shove. It opened easily. Now the music got louder, bouncing off the walls of the spiral staircase. I was also hit with the smell of pot, my memory flashing to my roommates’ parties, when I’d walk in to a wall of smoke after my shifts. I didn’t know what to expect with a stoned Dani; she was bad enough sober.

  My voice cracked when I called her name once, twice. I couldn’t quite muster the nerve to project my voice over the music, afraid of her still. I gently stomped my feet as I went up the first few steps, hoping this would announce my arrival.

  It worked. She poked her head out the door at the top, then flung it open, not remotely concerned that she held in her hand a lit joint.

  “Hey
, you! Wait, wait.” She aimed the remote in her other hand over her shoulder to turn down the music. She was wearing the same flimsy nightie she’d had on the first time she confronted me at the top of the stairs.

  “Come up.”

  My feet were frozen on the steps.

  “I don’t want to bother you, Dani. But I texted you to tell you tomorrow—”

  “Come on, seriously,” she said, beckoning me with an arm. I took a tentative step up. “You know you want to.”

  She was definitely stoned. I took a deep breath. I’d make it brief, then leave. As much as she was right about my curiosity, this wasn’t the time to take a tour.

  To cover up my nervousness, I spoke as I marched up the rest of the stairs with as much confidence as I could rally. “I just wanted to tell you the bridal shop called and there was a cancellation so I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon if you still want . . . to . . . come . . .”

  The room rendered me momentarily speechless, its majesty closing in around my shoulders. It was white and round, with curved, crisscrossed beams up above, as if we were suspended in a giant birdcage. The bed in the middle of the room was covered in clouds of white pillows, with a lamb’s-wool throw tossed across it, punctuated by a circle of peach fuzz curled in the center: Maggie sleeping. The bed was perched on a platform, as though just sleeping in here was an event. Around us were a dozen windows, each black with night, adding to the sense of disorientation, of not knowing which way was the sea, which the forest.

  “It’s . . . stunning.”

  It was, to be sure, the most beautiful room in the house. But why wouldn’t it be? Rebekah had designed it for herself, and of course for Max. Dani watched me as I walked over to the bed, my fingers moving slowly across the thick wool throw. Max once slept here. With her. They made love on this bed. She got ready at that dressing table with the blue satin skirt. He adjusted his ties behind her in that mirror.

  My handed drifted to Maggie.

  “Ack. Don’t wake the baby,” Dani said. Her face was garishly made up, her eyes weighed down by fake eyelashes. She took a final hit, struggling to focus.