A Kiss in Winter

by Susan Crandall

  Caleb slowed, turned off his headlights, and pulled into the lane. He put the car in park but left the engine running. “Tell me about it.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a farm. Fields. Pastures. Brick house. Barn. Silo.”

  He touched her shoulder. “No. I mean tell me about it like I tell you about surfing.”

  Macie looked through the windshield. It had been a long time. She’d tried so hard not to think about it at first that it had quickly become habit. Now she had to stretch to recover specific things about her old home. “Well, the house is really old, two stories, a narrow, curvy stairway, chimneys at both ends—”

  He made a sound like a buzzer. “Try again. Something real.”

  She looked at him. “A house is real.”

  “I want to hear about your home. I want to be able to close my eyes and see you in it.” He closed his eyes. “Okay.”

  She tried to think of the way he’d explained the beach and the ocean so vividly that she could almost smell the briny breeze, could feel the mist on her skin.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “My bedroom window looked out on the backyard—which was really dark at night. Mom got me this Aladdin night-light, with Aladdin and Jasmine on a flying carpet. I used to lie in bed and count the pink roses on the wallpaper until I fell asleep.” As she spoke, the memories shed some of the mist that shrouded them. “I never liked the window open at night in the summer, no matter how hot it was. The crickets and tree frogs and everything made so much noise, and it got louder when I closed my eyes. Mom used to try to sneak in and open it after I fell asleep—but I always caught her.”

  She looked at Caleb. She didn’t think she was doing a very good job—certainly nothing like he did when he painted pictures with words—but he sat with his eyes closed and a half-smile on his lips. She went on, “I remember smelling coffee every morning when I woke up. I remember listening to my mom and dad talking downstairs as I’d fall asleep at night, their voices muffled, making me feel safe. I loved that—hearing them talk; it’s one of the things I’ve missed most.”

  Suddenly, she remembered the day she and her mother chased that raccoon. “There used to be a raccoon that would get inside the house,” Macie said with a smile on her face. “Caroline figured out a way to lure him back outside with animal crackers.” Funny, Macie thought, how could she have forgotten something like that?

  She told Caleb the whole raccoon story. By the time Sam and Caroline had gotten home from school, the house looked like a tornado had gone through it. At that point, the raccoon had been cornered in a downstairs closet. She and her mother sat with their backs pressed against the door, just in case the thing figured out how to unlatch it. Occasionally, they’d heard something fall from the shelf, or the tinny chorus as wire coat hangers had been set in motion, chiming against one another, or the ripping sound that had to be jackets being shredded.

  Caleb chuckled and opened his eyes. “Now that’s what I’m talking about, real stuff.” He kissed her forehead, then asked, “How about the farm part?”

  She grinned. “I don’t miss that! Well, except for the new calves in the spring; that was pretty cool. Caroline was the one who loved the farm part. She was always out with Dad in the barn or the fields.”

  “How old were you when you—you moved?”

  “You can say it: when my parents died. Eleven. I was eleven.”

  “And you never had parents… aunts or uncles acting like parents… since?”

  She’d never really thought about it in that way. She shook her head. “We had Caroline.”

  “So, you think it’s easier or harder than if you had parents?”

  She laughed softly. “Both. Depends on the day.”

  Caleb reached across the narrow console and put his hand behind her neck. He pulled her close and kissed her—seriously kissed her.

  Immediately, her head started spinning. Parts of her felt like they belonged to another person. And parts of her came alive, parts she didn’t know had existed before Caleb.

  Sometimes, like now, she wanted to go farther, to stop being so afraid. She didn’t know where those thoughts came from, the wanting. Maybe there was something really wrong with her, like some sexual short circuit that made her want things even more than Caleb. Boys were supposed to be the ones who wanted it, weren’t they?

  But Caleb hadn’t asked for more, or tried to get her to do the kinds of things other girls said their boyfriends wanted. He’d never put his hands under her clothes. Her hands burned to touch his bare chest, his stomach, to caress forbidden parts of him. But she was too afraid to make the first move.

  He stopped kissing her and held her face in his hands. For a second she was afraid he could see what she was thinking. She started to look away, but he said, “Don’t. Look at me.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his. He looked so serious. Suddenly, she felt as if she had electricity running beneath her skin. “What?”

  “When I first came here, I thought I was going to die… away from California, from my friends, my brother… the ocean. But then I met this girl at registration…”

  She smiled and held his hand against her cheek. “Funny, I met this guy at registration…”

  He shook his head, his gaze growing more intense. “No. It’s different for me. You don’t know…” Instead of finishing what he was saying he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, burying his face in her hair. “I love you, Macie.”

  Her heart nearly stopped. She knew that was a cliché, but that’s exactly what it felt like; her heart gave a final spasm and simply shut down. He was holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.

  After a moment, he asked quietly, his words muffled into her neck, “Are you going to say anything?”

  “Maybe, when my heart starts beating again.” She couldn’t believe she’d said something so stupid. Heat shot across her cheeks.

  He pulled back and looked at her again. He was grinning. “That’s why I love you. You’re not like any girl I’ve ever met.”

  She couldn’t believe he’d said that. She was the most ordinary of girls. But for the moment she enjoyed his illusion, for it couldn’t last much longer.

  Chapter 13

  After getting shut down by Caroline at the football field, Mick was reluctant to go home and face the silence. He was so desperate that he actually drove to Little Italy and considered horning in on her date. He’d love to see the fiery look in her eye when he waltzed in the door and took a seat at their table, as if they hadn’t specifically told him he was not invited. The very idea of her enjoying pizza and a beer with Slick McCool rubbed him the wrong way.

  Mick was sure they were there; the snazzy little BMW that her date had been driving was parked right in front, in a spot reserved for carryouts. But they weren’t carrying out; Mick circled the block six times and the car was still there. He should be glad they were eating in public and not carrying out to some private, romantically lit hideaway. Slick probably had the ultimate bachelor pad, a place geared solely toward seduction.

  Maybe he’d call and have the guy’s car towed. That would be entertaining.

  “I am in so much trouble,” he muttered to himself. He’d first realized it when the scoreboard exploded. The only thing in his mind had been getting to Caroline. He’d seen her on the field, moving toward the floats just before an old classmate had come up and started a conversation with him. When the explosion sounded, he jerked his gaze back toward where he’d last seen her, but couldn’t locate her. Without a word to his friend, he’d bolted down the bleachers, edging stunned spectators out of his way. He then vaulted over the three-foot-high fence that separated the stands from the field.

  There was mass movement away from the scoreboard. But he’d spotted Caroline moving against the crowd. Then she’d disappeared, as if knocked off her feet. He’d sprinted faster than he’d ever moved in his life.

  The way she’d handled the injured girl reinforced his growing admiration for her. When she
’d outthought him with the boy stuck in the float, he’d wanted to pick her up and kiss her. And, although he’d never been the jealous type, his hackles had immediately risen when he’d realized she was with a guy. Now here he was nearly stalking her. Yep, he was in big trouble.

  He drove away from the pizza place—without calling the police to tow Slick’s Beemer.

  He tooled aimlessly around town for a while. If he went home, he’d just be reminded of Caroline’s absence. Since the night she’d given over the secrets of the Rogers farm, everything about the place made him think of her. He saw her everywhere. He constantly wondered things like: As a child, had she used the shelf of the lower cabinets as a step to reach for a water glass? Had little Caroline slid down the banister that curved so invitingly for just such activity? Had her first date kissed her good night on the front porch? Every time he looked at his back steps, he recalled their conversation, the connection he’d felt… their kiss.

  And now she was out on a date with Slick McCool.

  He felt as if he had ants crawling under his skin. He was so far gone, he might never get Caroline Rogers out of his system.

  Driving down Chestnut, he saw the bridge club ladies leaving his parents’ house. He circled around back and parked behind the garage. He felt sure he wouldn’t have to deal with his dad, who was always in bed by ten o’clock, especially on bridge night.

  He slipped silently in the back door. When his mother walked back into the kitchen with a stack of dirty dessert plates, he was sitting at the table.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Debra nearly dropped the dishes. “Mick! You scared the living daylights out of me.”

  He grinned. Growing up in this house, he used to sneak up on her on a regular basis, always getting the same breathless “Sweet Jesus!”

  He asked, “How was bridge?”

  She pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “The usual. Marcy wants to fix you up with her niece. They’re on a campaign to increase my fold of grandchildren.”

  If only his mother knew how much he’d love to do just that. But what had been a vague dream before he’d met Caroline had suddenly settled into a specific desire—and the only woman he wanted had closed the door on the possibility of a relationship. “You didn’t throw me to the wolves, did you?” he asked lightly.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you. Unless of course you’re interested…” She lifted her brows and patted his hand. Then her forehead creased. She picked his hand up, turning it over in hers. “What happened to you?”

  He’d forgotten about his cut fingers and palms. “I was at homecoming. Somebody blew up the scoreboard. A couple of kids were stuck in a float; I helped get them out.”

  “Do you want me to wake your father and have him take a look at your hands?”

  That was all he needed, a dose of his dad on top of everything else. “I am a doctor, Mom. My hands are fine, just scraped up a little.”

  “I did hear sirens, but that was nearly two hours ago. Was anyone hurt?”

  “Lots of scratches and bruises. One girl had a shard of wood in her neck, but she’ll be all right. They called the game.”

  “Who on earth would blow up the scoreboard?” Then her eyes narrowed. “One of those pranksters from Springdale, I bet.”

  “Could be.”

  “It’s good you were there to help.” She looked around. “Where’s your coat?”

  “On the injured girl,” he said dismissively.

  “You must be freezing. I could make you some hot chocolate.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “How about a glass of wine?” She got up and headed toward the refrigerator.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “But you go ahead.”

  “I think I just might. I’ve been having trouble getting to sleep; a little wine seems to help.”

  She poured herself what Mick considered more than “a little.” Then she sat down with him and took a delicate sip. “Kerstin called; she’ll be home for Thanksgiving. Now we’ll all be here except Johanna.”

  Mick nodded. “That’ll be nice.” He wondered if he and his father would be able to share a holiday meal together without a major blowup. Maybe it’d be best if Mick had “other plans.” He hated to ruin the holiday for his mother. It was bad enough that Johanna wasn’t bringing his mother’s only grandchild.

  They sat in quiet for a moment, nothing but the hum of the furnace breaking the silence.

  Mick said, “I met Caroline Rogers.”

  “Oh? How did that come about?” Debra set down her glass of wine and looked interested.

  He thought about the first moment he’d seen her, standing in the dining room doorway as he’d tried to coax that raccoon out of his house, and a smile came to his face.

  “Spill it,” his mother said.

  He decided to give his mother the shortened version; for some reason he wanted to keep that special moment to himself. “Saw her at the county fair. She came out to the farm and gave me the lowdown on all of the secrets to making the place run.” He left out the parts that might make his mother read more into it than there was; the dinner, the wine—the kiss.

  “That was helpful of her.”

  “Yeah.” He fiddled with the saltshaker that had been left on the table. “Do you know anything about her? I mean, I know she was adopted by the Rogerses after her mother committed suicide, but that’s about all.”

  Debra set down her wineglass and looked at him speculatively. Fortunately, she didn’t ask any of the questions he saw in her eyes. “Well, her mother—her birth mother, that is—worked as a manicurist in the salon where I’ve always gotten my hair cut.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “Occasionally, Caroline was there when I had an appointment. You children were just a little older than her. I remember how bad I felt for the poor little thing, entertaining herself in the corner while her mother worked, instead of being outside playing as a child should have been.

  “I hate to say it, but that girl was much better off with the Rogerses than she’d ever have been with that mother of hers. Jamie was a sweet enough girl, but her priorities were not in the right place. She always seemed so… desperate, I guess is the best word. She needed to be loved—I mean, really needed it. But she always hooked up with the sorriest of men. She and Caroline’s father were never married, you know.”

  Mick had never given thought to Caroline’s biological father. “Who is he?” He felt his hands curling into fists on the table. How could a man father a child, then act as if that child didn’t exist?

  Debra pressed her lips together in concentration. “Um, it seems to me that it was some boy from Western Kentucky University that Jamie met while she was going to beauty school in Bowling Green. I don’t think I ever knew his name.”

  “Did he know about Caroline?”

  “The way Jamie clung to men, I can’t imagine she kept a pregnancy secret from the father. But they were so young…”

  Mick ground his teeth together; youth was no excuse for abandoning a child you created. He wondered if the guy even knew Caroline’s mother had committed suicide. Would he have come for Caroline if he had?

  “It seems tragedy follows that poor girl like a lost puppy. It was just awful the way she lost her adoptive parents, too.”

  Mick nodded.

  “Cathy Rogers volunteered at the hospital with me. She was so proud of Caroline.” Debra looked at Mick. “She had a full-ride scholarship to Washington University, you know. Gave it up when her parents died, to take care of her brother and sister. She’s extraordinarily talented—who knows what she could have done if she’d been able to pursue her career.” Debra paused. “Did you know she had a calendar published? It has a couple of photos of your farm in it.”

  His farm. “I have one.”

  “Hmmm.” His mother had that look she got whenever she smelled the possibility of a wife for him.

  He waved a dismissive hand her way. “It’s just that I saw her tonight—made me curious.”
<
br />   “I bet you saw lots of people tonight that you haven’t seen for years.” She didn’t say more. But he could read her expression, And you didn’t ask me about any of them.

  He got up. “It’s not happening, Mom.” He kissed her cheek. “Good night.”

  “Night, son. Drive carefully.” His mother’s voice said she hadn’t given up hope, not yet.

  When Caroline came out of the darkroom, the answering machine was beeping. She pushed the Play button.

  “Hey, sis, it’s me,” Sam said. “Sorry to miss you again. Everything’s okay here. My chemistry class is a bitch. Um, I’m going out, so I’ll try to catch you on Sunday. Tell Macie I said hi.”

  The machine gave the time of the message as eleven-o-six. Caroline looked at her watch. Eleven-ten. She called Sam’s room. No answer. She tried his cell and got the same result.

  That was it; she’d had enough. Next week, she was making a trip to campus to pay her elusive brother a little visit. She’d go this weekend, but she had a wedding to shoot on Saturday and a senior picture appointment scheduled for Sunday.

  She went back into the darkroom to move the film to the fixer and set up her enlarger for making prints. Just after she put the film into the final rinse, she heard Macie come in the front door.

  “I’m home!” Her feet thudded up to her room and her bedroom door closed.

  Caroline hung the negatives to dry, then went upstairs and knocked on her sister’s door. “Macie?”

  “It’s open.”

  “Sorry your senior homecoming was ruined,” Caroline said as she entered.

  “At least it’ll be one nobody will forget.”

  “Were all of your friends okay… no one hurt?”

  Macie shook her head. “Only Laurel’s freshman cousin. She had to get stitches in her forehead.”

  “Something hit her from the explosion?”

  “No. The tuba player knocked her down and she hit her head on the corner of one of the floats. It wasn’t real bad or anything.”

  “Things sure could have turned out worse.”