by Kris Calvert
It had been a little over two weeks since Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor. Our nation was at war and my parents and their friends were gathering for what they feared may be the last Christmas celebration for some time.
Their generation had already lived through a World War and understood how it ravaged not only countries, but families. None of us knew what the future would hold, but one thing was certain, I’d never seen my country knit itself together as tightly as in the days following the attack in Hawaii. We were a nation determined not to play the victim. As President Roosevelt had said in his radio address when asking Congress to declare war, with the unbending determination of our people—we will gain the inevitable triumph—so help us God.
Daddy had already mailed me an article citing the book of Revelation. He was positive it was the end of days. I wasn’t as convinced, although I was certain it might well be the end for many of my friends now shipping out.
Bringing my thoughts straight as I took a curve too fast, I was all at once convinced I was lost on the mountain top before reminding myself the winding road led to only one place—Winter Lodge. Being in North Carolina would only keep me from going to Alabama for so long. The problem was I really didn’t want to be in Asheville either, but for the moment it was as good a place as any to hide out.
Spying the ancient mailbox in the distance, I let out a relieved breath and made the last turn onto the long lane leading to the grand log home.
Three stories of river rock fireplaces, timber walls and more stuffed, dead animals hanging on walls and lurking in corners than in the whole of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
As I neared the familiar site of the monstrous log home, I noticed there was only one other car parked in front of the lodge and it wasn’t a car I knew.
“What the hell is this? Am I here on the wrong day?” I parked and turned off the ignition, leaning across the seat to get a better angle of sight into the front window of the house. Who was here? I saw nothing and no one.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I checked my lipstick and noticed one of the pin-curls in my hair beginning to unwind. No doubt from the start of my trip when the weather was a balmy, sixty-five degrees and I had the top down.
I bit down on the bobby pin, spreading it just enough to fix the lame curl before exiting the car and slamming the door. I left my suitcase in the back seat. I’d retrieve it later and not in front of my mother. I was of course, fully capable, but Mother would not think it ladylike if I schlepped my own bag to the front door of the Winterbournes like a bellhop. I picked my battles concerning her with care these days. This wasn’t one of them.
The red double doors opened before I had a chance to ring the bell and standing in front of me dressed in his Army best was none other than Cecil Winterbourne.
I bit my lip, not wanting the obvious pleasure I got from seeing him in uniform to shine through my usual exasperated smirk.
“Merry Christmas, Mimi.”
Mimi. Cecil was the only person in the world who called me Mimi. I would ask him not to, but no matter what, no matter how many times we met on happenstance or for occasion, he’d insist upon it. “Marilyn,” I replied. “And a Merry Christmas to you too, Cecil.”
“Won’t you come in?”
I peeked into the home before crossing the threshold as if someone was waiting to jump me on the other side of the door.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I said straightening my collar. “I was…well. I suppose I thought there would be more, you know, people here. Where’s the party? What happened to all the eligible bachelors on their annual betrothal hunt?”
Cecil laughed and it was good to see him smile for the first time since he’d opened the door. Peering past his broad shoulders, I looked for the usual men and women drinking bourbon and champagne. There was no one in sight.
I looked to him with an inquisitive stare and an air of distrust, silently asking for an explanation. Cecil blinked his eyes with the kind of lethargy found in confident men who seemed to know things about life I had yet to discover. When he focused his gaze upon me a second time, I felt his stare burn a hole in me. With a sigh he answered me, gesturing me to come farther into the house. “It was the forecast.”
I took a couple of steps before turning to face him. “Forecast of what?”
“Didn’t you hear? There’s a snowstorm on its way. No one made the trip tonight for fear they’ll be stuck in the mountains for Christmas, even my parents are home in Kentucky.”
“So what are you doing here?”
He shook his head. “I got word your parents couldn’t reach you so I volunteered to come so you’d not arrive only to be alone. Besides, I wanted a few days of quiet. I have some things to … well, to get in order.”
I nodded, but didn’t question him, my mind already spinning with ideas on how to avoid going home to Shadeland.
“So….” I paused to remove my gloves and coat. “This is it? You and me?”
Cecil nodded. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Bourbon?”
“Of course.”
“That would be…swell. It’s been a long day—a long trip.”
Cecil walked away to step behind the bar and I could tell he wasn’t himself. It was if he had more news to deliver, but didn’t know how to begin. I recognized the face. I’d seen it once before, a few years ago when I fancied a young man more than he fancied me. One night, over a glass of wine, he gently, as he so eloquently put it, let me go. His reasoning? He didn’t want to put fool thoughts in my head. He wanted a wife, not a woman with her own dreams and ideas.
I kneed the cretin right in the beef whistle, praying he’d never father a child. The world didn’t need two assholes cut from the same cloth.
This time it was the paleness of Cecil’s usually sun-kissed face that reminded me of my former asshole’s current expression. He was sick, but with a case of nerves.
A grim looked masked his features and I knew I needed to drag it out of him. “What is it, Cecil? Out with it.”
Four perfect ice cubes clinked inside the crystal glass before he finally looked up from the bar. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mimi.”
“Don’t play with me, Cecil. I may not have been around you for a couple of years, but I still know you and I can tell when something is up.”
Pouring the bourbon, I watched his shoulders fall as the air left his lungs, stealing his perfect posture—his confident nature.
When he handed me the glass, his index finger stroked my pinky as the drink slid from his hand to mine. I shook it off and stared at the floor, hoping he couldn’t see my conspicuous reaction to his touch. It was hard to tell if it was a deliberate action, or merely a clumsy man filled with trepidation. Ignoring it as best I could, I prodded him again. “C’mon, Cecil, spill it.”
“I’m shipping out in four days. They gave me Christmas to come home and say my goodbyes.”
“Wait,” I said, now abruptly standing. “And you chose to come here? Why aren’t you with your parents?”
“Because this is where I wanted to be. Here. With you.”
Cecil’s anxiety was palpable and I easily fed off of the fear in his voice. There was so much I wanted to say—so much I probably should’ve said. Instead, I asked the most obvious question I could think of. “What did your parents say when you told them? How did your mother ever agree to a trip away from Winter Haven?”
He sat on the arm of the leather couch that faced the open fireplace in the main great room and looked high into the rafters of the three story home. There was nothing up there but empty space but still, he looked for an answer.
“How did you break the news?”
“Mimi,” he began. “I’d feel better if you’d sit down. I’m nervous enough as it is.”
I did as he asked, taking a gulp of bourbon in the process. The alcohol filled my throat, stinging my tongue. With one swallow, I could feel it warming my heart and slowing my breathing.
I knew there was nothing I could say or do to make the situation better under the impending set of circumstances. I only knew how to be myself. So, I stood, placing my bourbon on the table beside me and walked to him, taking his hands in mine one by one. “Look at me.”
Slowly Cecil brought his gaze from the floor to stare into my eyes. “I’m going to tell you the truth. Because that’s what friends do.”
He gave me a nod, now blinking with nervous energy.
“Know this, Cecil. No one will love you if you come home a broken man.”
A smile crept across his lips and I waited until he began laughing before joining him.
“Gee, thanks Mimi.”
I gave his hands a tight squeeze. “C’mon now,” I said taking a seat beside him. “Don’t worry so much. You have to believe you’re going to come home in one piece—the same man you were the day you left. Okay? Come home a hero.”
“I’m already your hero.”
“Says who?”
“You. We were young—well, I was particularly young,” he said rolling his eyes in embarrassment.
“I remember. The nasty I’m Gonna be a Doctor Marshall,” I said screwing my face into a tight expression of disgust. “Whatever became of him?”
Cecil shrugged. “You mean after he lied about why I coldcocked him with my mother’s favorite vase?”
I nodded. My mother had never believed me when I told her he’d attacked me. He’d given everyone some cock and bull story about checking in on me and unexpectedly waking me upon which I promptly began to scream. Cecil became the fall guy, unwarrantedly smashing the vase over the would-be rapists head. Cecil and I knew the truth regardless of the story Christopher Marshall told the crowd. “He played a wonderful victim don’t you think?” I asked.
Cecil nodded. “I guess he went on to be a doctor. Got married.”
“Jesus,” I sighed. “Poor girl.”
“Well, I hear he also likes boys, if that’s any consolation.”
“I stand corrected.” We broke into spontaneous laughter, our voices echoing off the walls of the empty lodge. With a trailing sigh of amusement, I stood, only to flop onto the leather couch that faced the fireplace, collecting my glass for another sip of bourbon.
Cecil took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his neck, unbuttoning the top of his Army dress shirt. “I hope I won’t offend you if I relax a little. These are my last few weeks of freedom for a while. Mimi,” he said with a sarcastic grin.
I smiled at his casual nature and found it odd how at ease I found myself around him. Cecil and I were old souls trapped in young bodies and minds. Comfortable around each other almost to a fault, he could do anything and I wouldn’t be offended or shocked. Well, almost anything.
“You know I don’t like being called Mimi.”
He let out a tiny scoff. “Too bad. I won the bet. I scored us bourbon and I might add, saved your virginity in one fell swoop. I think at the very least, I should have the right to my reward—which was—a new nickname for you. What did you want to be called anyway? It was something like Vladimir Lenin or something. I grew up thinking you might be a Russian Communist.”
Nearly choking on my drink, I held back my belly laugh and swallowed instead. “What? Noooo,” I droned. “I liked Lynnie—you know—short for Mari-lyn.”
“Yes, I understand. Like Mimi—you know—short for the same thing.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m impossible, but I’m right. And you know it.”
I smiled and looked to my glass. “You know Cecil, you’re the only man I’d ever say this to, and maybe it’s because you’re shipping out in a few days, but I concede. You’re right.”
“Well those are two words I thought I’d never hear pass over those beautiful lips of yours.”
With a nervous laugh, I stood to walk to the opposite side of the room. I didn’t know why I did it. I didn’t know where I was going. It was as if I was trying to escape a room from which there was no exit. Cecil’s comment hung in the air.
“Are we truly the only two people here for the night?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, leaning back into the leather chair. “Technically I’m supposed to urge you to leave Asheville and drive as far as you can tonight to Alabama. You’ll stay ahead of the storm, sleep in a hotel and be home for Christmas.”
“Technically?”
Cecil nodded.
“And what if I arrived just when the snow was starting to get deep?”
“Then I’d be forced to advise you to stay here until the roads cleared enough for travel,” he explained, looking out the front window for what I assumed was a visual weather report. “But, Mimi. Don’t you want to go home for Christmas? As much as I’d love to entertain you, I’d feel horrible if you stayed here to take pity on a soldier instead of spending the holidays with your own family and maybe…a beau.”
I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “I don’t want to go home. I miss my father, but that’s about it. My mother is trying to introduce me to this man I have no interest in—a banker in Shadeland. He comes from the right family and all, but I don’t love him. I don’t much like him. Hell, I don’t even know him.”
The curse word tumbled out of my mouth before I had a chance to realize what I was saying. It was a problem I had around Cecil. I could be myself, say what I really felt—without judgment. He didn’t care if I cursed or didn’t act like a proper lady all the time. He seemed to genuinely care for me exactly how I was.
The fire popped, causing me to flinch and sending a glowing ember onto the hearth. Cecil slowly rose, sweeping it back into the ashes before stoking the logs. Like the rest of the house, the fire place was massive and I recalled standing inside it once as a child. Everything the Winterbournes did, they did big.
“Tell me again why you’re hiding out here, Cecil? I know your family and they couldn’t have been happy you were spending your Christmas up here alone, regardless of whether they knew you were heading off to war.”
He poked the fired like he was dueling with a sword—full of aggression and confidence. He placed the now red poker back with the other wrought iron tools and turned, hanging his hands on his hips—his chin to his chest.
“What?” I asked.
Bringing only his eyes to meet mine, he looked guilty as sin.
“Cecil? Cecil?” I asked again, changing my tone for effect. “Don’t they know?”
He said nothing, but slowly shook his head.
I gasped audibly, clasping my hand over my mouth. “You need to get in your car right now and head home. You can’t stay here. I can’t stay here. We can’t stay here.”
I stood abruptly, hurrying to the window to check the weather. The snow has started to fall. We only had a half hour or so to get off the mountain safely. “This is bad. This is so bad,” I said touching my finger to the cold window pane. “The snow’s already started to fall.”
Cecil sat back on the couch and took another sip of his bourbon. He didn’t seem to care. He’d ship off to God knows where, leaving me to explain to both families why we didn’t follow orders and go home—why he didn’t tell his own family he was heading off to war.
“Did you hear what I said?” My voice had reached a fevered pitch.
“Of course I can hear you. I’m pretty sure the coyotes one mountaintop over could hear you,” he said, sticking his pinky finger in his ear, rattling it about in protest.
“Pack your things. We have to get out of here. You need to go home and tell your parents what’s about to happen.”
I paced about the room. Cecil remained relaxed, seemingly melding into the old leather chair. He was as comfortable as I’d ever seen him.
>
“I’m not going anywhere and frankly, I’d advise against you leaving as well. The roads up here are hard enough to navigate in the dark, let alone in the snow. It would be a shame if you ran that pretty convertible of yours off a steep cliff. How would I explain that? I’d sooner die myself than be the negligent asshole who allowed you to drive.”
I stopped pacing and stared at him. “What are we going to do?” I asked. “Is there a phone you can call your parents from?”
He nodded. “At the general store at the bottom of the mountain. But again, I’m not taking that chance. They knew I was coming here to get you back on your way. When they hear of the snowstorm, they’ll know I’ve stayed.”
“And what about me?” I asked. “How am I to tell my parents I’m stuck here?”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a smirk. “I was under the impression you didn’t want to go home for Christmas. Something about a banker you don’t know, your mother and a marriage proposal you’d rather avoid.”
“Hush, Cecil,” I said, my voice riding on the edge of panic and laughter. “You’re not helping.”
“Mimi, sit down.” Cecil leaned forward in his chair, motioning to the couch beside him. “Let’s talk.”
Reluctantly, I took a seat across from him, the heat from the fire now even warmer against my already flushed cheeks.
“The way I see it, we’re both getting exactly what we want this holiday. You don’t have to go home to your mother and a possible sticky and embarrassing marriage proposal you’re obviously going to refuse. And I am saved from telling my family I’m shipping out to Europe. It’s no one’s fault. We, dear Mimi, cannot be held responsible for the snow, but we sure as hell can take advantage of it.”