The Edge of Winter

by Luanne Rice

  “Hurry up,” Neve said, opening the refrigerator door to hand Mickey her lunch—leftover chicken, fresh cranberry sauce, and sprouts on seven-grain bread, one of Mickey’s favorites.

  “Thanks,” Mickey said, stuffing the brown bag into her lightweight backpack—not her regular school bag. Still, she wasn’t moving fast, didn’t make any moves to pull on her coat, kiss Neve, run for the door.

  “What’s going on?” Neve asked.

  “I’m waiting for Shane,” she said.

  “Shane? Why is he coming over now? Mickey, go get on the bus and tell him you’ll meet him at school!”

  Mickey shook her head, rummaging in the closet, coming out with her bike helmet. “We have a plan,” she said.

  The words stopped Neve dead in her tracks. When Mickey had a plan, nothing could deter her. Just then the school bus came around the corner; Neve heard its brakes as it slowed down, paused for Mickey, then took off again without her.

  “Don’t worry,” Mickey said. “I have two free periods first thing this morning. I won’t miss anything, and I’ll be there in time for English.”

  Shane came wheeling into the driveway, kicked his bike over, and ran up the kitchen steps. Mickey had the door open even before he could knock, and even though he was sweaty and out of breath from riding, he looked so relaxed and relieved to be in her presence. Neve watched them standing there, six inches apart, each glowing at the sight of the other.

  “Sorry if I’m late,” he said. “I had to put air in my tires—”

  “That’s okay,” Mickey said, smiling as if he’d just said he’d planted her a secret garden.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Halloran,” he said, spotting her.

  “Hi, Shane. You rode your bike all the way here from your house—before school?”

  “I’m going to get my car back on the road,” he said. “It’s just that it never runs right in the winter—the battery keeps going dead. So I thought I’d wait till spring, then get it fixed once and for all. The surf shop reopens then, and that’s where I work, so…”

  “Great plan,” Mickey said, pulling her coat on, handing Shane a corn muffin, hurrying over to kiss Neve goodbye.

  “Where are you going?” Neve asked.

  “We have an important errand,” Mickey said. “It can’t wait, which is why we’re doing it before school. But don’t worry—we’ll get there in time for class….”

  “I asked you where you’re going,” Neve said, knowing she was being railroaded. Knowing Mickey the way she did, she had the feeling this had to do with the owl. Did they plan to visit the rehab barn? “You can’t ride up to Kingston. For one thing, it will take too long, and for another, those back roads are too dangerous—with all the sand and salt, your bikes could skid, or…”

  Mickey’s eyes looked desperate, as if she really thought her mother was going to stop her from what mattered most in the world. Neve watched her start to turn away. She had heard Mickey on the phone last night, leaving another message for Richard. Neve had even called Alyssa, seeing if she could track him down, but he was still missing in action.

  “We’re not going to see the owl, Mrs. Halloran,” Shane said. “Tell her, Mickey.”

  “We have something for Mr. O’Casey.”

  “Honey, I just said I don’t want you going to the barn.”

  “Not that Mr. O’Casey! His son—at the beach. The ranger…”

  “What do you have for him?” Neve asked, feeling surprised. Why hadn’t Mickey mentioned anything to her about this? Her last sight of Tim O’Casey had been of his back, running away from the driftwood log.

  “Something about the beach, and the U-boat,” she said. “That he needs to know, to stop the Landrys.”

  “Mickey,” Neve said gently, knowing that her ghost dreams had continued. “I know it’s all been so upsetting. But honey, the deal is done; Cole Landry is bringing the crane here to take the U-boat away.”

  “No,” Mickey said stubbornly. “We’re going to stop it.”

  “Mickey—”

  “With Mr. O’Casey.”

  “Well, he’s the park ranger—he’s taking care of things the best he can.”

  “He needs our help,” Mickey said. “And we need his. If we don’t leave right now, we will end up being late for class….”

  Neve glanced at her desk, in a corner of the kitchen. She was worried about the catalogue. It would contain many beautiful images of Berkeley’s work, but so little biographical information on the artist himself. She had to accept that—spending a few extra minutes right now wouldn’t make his life story suddenly appear. Bundling what she had into her briefcase, she grabbed her coat from the closet.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you,” she said.

  “You don’t have to,” Mickey said.

  “I want to,” Neve said.

  The kids climbed into the station wagon, Mickey in front, next to her mother, and Shane in the back. Neve waited for Shane to load his bike into the way-back; when he didn’t, she realized that he wanted to come back for it later. She hesitated. That meant Shane would come back with Mickey on the bus, be here with her alone while Neve was at work.

  “Your bike, Shane,” she said, staring into the rearview mirror, meeting his eyes.

  “Mom, he’ll pick it up after school!” Mickey said, sounding outraged.

  “That’s okay,” Shane said, climbing out of the back seat, going around to get his bike. In the two seconds Neve had looked into his eyes, she knew that she and Shane had come to an understanding. She had put him on notice, and he had accepted the terms.

  Mickey was furious, and she really had no idea of what had just gone on. Neve sat there, the car idling, while Mickey shook her head angrily.

  “I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” she said to Neve.

  “No boys at the house while I’m not home,” Neve said, knowing they were at a milestone: the first time they’d had this conversation. It wouldn’t be the last, she thought, glancing over at her daughter.

  “Nothing’s going to happen!” Mickey said.

  “That’s right,” Neve said mildly as Mickey exhaled with frustration. She waited for Shane to climb back in before putting the car in gear, driving toward the beach.

  They headed south on the winding country road, past bare tree branches tossing in the wind. Morning sun shone through them, throwing patches of light on the road. Neve mentally reviewed the papers she’d thrown into her briefcase, hoping there was enough material for a good catalogue. She wanted Dominic di Tibor to be impressed enough to give her a raise; it had been over a year since her last, and without Richard’s child support, she was getting worried about bills.

  The kids were passing papers back and forth to each other, obviously getting a sheaf together. It reminded her of what she’d been trying to do with the catalogue.

  “What do you have there?” Neve asked.

  “Just something we found for Mr. O’Casey,” Mickey said enigmatically, her cool tone suggesting payback for Neve’s being strict about Shane.

  “I know, you mentioned that it’s to help him with the beach and the U-boat. What’s it for, though?” Neve asked.

  “I told you—we’re going to stop Mr. Landry.”

  “We want the U-boat to stay where it is,” Shane said from the back seat.

  “And we think this will help Mr. O’Casey persuade the state that it should,” Mickey said.

  Neve gave Mickey a look, letting her know that her patience was wearing out, and was rewarded with an excited smile; Mickey had never been able to hold things inside for very long.

  “Okay, it’s names of the U-823 crew,” Mickey said. “We figured that if we could make everyone realize that they were real people, with real families, that it would make everyone think twice.”

  Neve glanced over, catching her daughter’s emotion. “What do you think that knowing their names will do?” she asked.

  “It will make people think,” Mickey said quietly, staring at the pape
rs in her lap, “that real lives were lost.”

  Neve felt a rush of pride for her sensitive daughter. She drove across Route 1, down the shore road that led to Refuge Beach, past all the closed-up summer houses. The kids talked quietly with each other, leaving Neve out. She didn’t really mind; she was always touched by the way her daughter’s heart and mind worked. Especially now, with how worried she was about Richard, Mickey’s thoughts were for others.

  She pulled into the parking lot and had barely stopped the car before the kids jumped out, ran up the steps to knock on the ranger station door. She kept the car running, the heat on. Her hands were on the wheel, and she watched the door with as much anticipation as she imagined the kids felt. In spite of Tim O’Casey’s unpredictable demeanor toward Neve, he’d been completely kind and attentive to Mickey. But it was early—would he be up? Would he mind being disturbed without a call first?

  The door opened, and she saw him standing there—in T-shirt and sweatpants, just like last time. His hair was tousled, as if he’d already been out in the wind. He broke into a grin at the sight of the kids, and Neve was shocked to see it getting even bigger as he gazed across the parking lot, spotting her. He waved.

  Neve waved back.

  He motioned her to come to the door, but she shook her head.

  She held on to the wheel, watching Mickey and Shane handing him the papers they’d put together, pointing enthusiastically at one sheet in particular, seeing him bend closer to read. He seemed completely absorbed in what he was looking at; Neve was mesmerized by his shoulders. They filled his navy blue T-shirt, were so lean and muscular, and the longer she stared at them, the more she forgot about the fact she was going to be late for the printer.

  Glancing up from the folder, Tim put his hand on Shane’s shoulder, said something to both him and Mickey, and started toward Neve’s car. She sat up straighter, met his eyes as he walked over. He moved slowly, almost laconically, which struck her as odd, considering he had bare feet and the temperature outside was hovering around thirty-eight degrees. She rolled down her window.

  “They missed the bus so they could deliver that to you,” Neve said.

  “I’m glad they did,” he said.

  “Mickey really wants to stop Landry.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance?”

  He shrugged, then shook his head. “How can there be? There’s not enough time. The crane is on its way already.”

  “Will you look at what they brought?”

  “Of course,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Mickey and Shane. Then, leaning on the door, he turned back to look at her through the open window.

  “Aren’t your feet freezing?” she asked. “Why did you walk over here barefoot?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  Why did those words hit her so hard? She felt a lump in her throat, blinked against the stinging wind. When she didn’t reply, he went on.

  “I dreamed about you last night,” he said.

  “You did?” she asked, surprised. “After our last time together, I thought you’d probably never want to speak to me again.”

  “Because you brought up Frank,” he said. “My dream…well, it sort of addressed that. I’m sorry for running off the other day.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. Then, because he wasn’t moving, and because the kids were still standing at his kitchen door, organizing their folder, not even looking over, she glanced up, stared right into his eyes—they were the color of the winter sea, and the expression was just as turbulent. “What was your dream?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you about it,” he said. “If you’ll have dinner with me.”

  “Dinner? I—”

  “Tonight?” he asked.

  “I…I have to finish a catalogue for work,” she said. “It has to get to the printer, and there’s a deadline….”

  He stared at her hard, with those stormy-sea eyes of his, and somehow she knew he knew she was lying—by tonight the catalogue would be put to bed, she’d have finished her work, there would be no better time to kick back and have dinner with a friend.

  “Maybe another time, then,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, blushing as he stared at her. He saw right through her, she was sure. His gaze softened, and his mouth turned up slightly. Was he amused by her nervousness? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just tell him she’d made a mistake, she could do it after all?

  “I should get the kids to school,” she said instead.

  “Okay then,” he said, waving Mickey and Shane over to the car. They tore across the lot, and Neve saw the way Mickey looked up at Tim, her eyes glowing.

  “Do you think it will help?” she asked, breathless.

  “I don’t know. I wish I could say yes, but the permits have already been granted, everything’s in motion, and the time is getting really short.”

  “Please just look at it?” she asked.

  He smiled gently, and Neve could see him not wanting to get Mickey’s hopes up. “I will,” he said, tucking the folder under his arm.

  “It was Mickey’s idea,” Shane said. “But if it works out, do you think we could count it toward my community service here at the refuge?” He broke into a grin.

  “We’ll discuss that later,” Tim said. He turned back to Neve. “I have a question—what’s your catalogue about?”

  “Berkeley,” she said. “The bird artist. He was…”

  But Tim just nodded, a slow smile tugging the corners of his mouth. While the kids were busy getting into the car, he said softly, “You sure you don’t want to reconsider dinner? I could tell you some things about his bird paintings you might not know….”

  “Really?” she asked, feeling excited. “Refuge Beach—this is where he did his blue heron and least sandpiper paintings, right?”

  “Maybe,” he said. But he smiled, and she knew she’d guessed correctly. Berkeley had painted right here.

  “I’ll take a rain check,” Neve said, giving him one last look, then starting to back out of the lot. As tempted as she was to hear what he might say, her real deadline was in about thirty minutes. She had to have everything at Drummond Printers by nine, so they could get started and have the catalogue back in time for the show opening.

  “Did Mr. O’Casey just ask you out to dinner?” Mickey asked, sounding surprised and slightly disapproving.

  “Yes,” Neve said, giving Mickey a glance. She hadn’t dated since the divorce, so neither one of them had ever had to react to something like this. “But I’m not going.”

  “Mom, I just heard you give him a rain check,” Mickey said.

  “You should have dinner with him,” Shane said from the back seat.

  “I don’t think she should!” Mickey blurted out.

  “That’s because you don’t know the joys of Internet dating, the Marines, and having your mother tell you she’s moving to Camp Lejeune.”

  “Your mother’s moving to North Carolina?” Neve asked, looking at Shane in the rearview mirror.

  “Looks like she might,” he said.

  “Really?” Mickey asked.

  “Seems that way,” Shane said.

  Neve just drove faster, anxious to drop the kids off so she could get to Drummond in time, wondering all the while what Shane’s mother’s move would mean for him. Glancing at her daughter’s thoughtful face, she wondered whether Shane would go with his mother, and what that would mean for Mickey.

  14

  Neve made the deadline and opened the gallery right on time. Dominic di Tibor arrived several minutes later, bearing a small silver thermos and two porcelain demitasse cups. He pulled his black cape off with a flourish, left it draped on the back of a green leather armchair. But he left his beret on as he stood at Neve’s desk, pouring strong black coffee for them.

  “The Berkeley show will be a smash,” he said.

  “It will,” she agreed, amused because only her boss could make a relatively small art exh
ibit sound like a Broadway musical.

  “And we need it to be even more of a smash,” he said.

  “We do?”

  He nodded enigmatically. “I have a good feeling about this exhibit, Neve. Berkeley’s time is coming round,” he said. “People love birds and bird art; that is undeniable. Look at Audubon. Even clods who would never set foot in an art gallery love his paintings of…robins, eagles, and the like.”

  “That is true,” Neve said. “When ‘Audubon’s Aviary’—small segments of the watercolor collection—are shown at the New York Historical Society, our local nature groups sponsor bus tours down to the city.”

  “Bus tours,” Dominic said, gritting his teeth, as if she’d said “flogging.” Sipping his coffee, he recovered. “The point is, Berkeley inspires a cultlike devotion. From nature lovers, yes. But also from people who love miniatures, who revere delicacy, whose imaginations are captivated by flight…did you know Berkeley wore a cape because he thought it was the closest a human could get to having wings?”

  “I know that’s one theory,” Neve said, wanting to gently dissuade him.

  “Well, he was the local birdman,” Dominic said.

  “Yes, but he also spent time in New York and Paris. It’s thought he started wearing a cape there, that someone, maybe a lover, gave it to him…and he brought it home to Rhode Island, and wore it on his painting sojourns before returning to France—more as inspiration than anything else.”

  “Oh, you little know-it-all,” Dominic said with affection.

  “It’s in my essay…”

  “Darling, I can’t wait to read it. When will the printers have proofs?”

  “In a day or so,” Neve said.

  “Excellent. You know, and you must never tell a soul, not even after I’m dead and my biographer comes scratching on your door—but he’s the reason I wear a cape.”

  “Berkeley?”

  “Of course. I want people to think I adopted it during my years in Rome, but no—it started right here, in my home state. Growing up in a backwater is never easy,” Dominic said. “Trust me. Life in Central Falls was less than scintillating. Surrounded by mills and mill workers, all my aunts and uncles, when the biggest excitement was going to Federal Hill for Caserta’s pizza on a Friday night—I took comfort in knowing that Berkeley had lived in our little state before I. Sweeping down Thayer Street, buying his painting supplies, wearing that cape…”