by Lucy Finn
No way.
I sighed. I sat up. I stared into the empty room. I saw, without needing a scintilla of light, the flaw in my well-thought-out, logical view of things: Life isn’t logical, predictable, or controllable. The dilemma over whether or not to tell Jake about Brady boiled down to one very simple reality. The alternative to disclosure was to lie to Brady about his father.
Another truism I learned from my time practicing law: Lies never turn out well. Never. No exceptions. The truth is a funny thing. It surfaces no matter how deeply it’s buried. If I didn’t take the initiative soon and talk with Jake on my terms, one day, whether I liked it or not, the truth would come knocking at my door when I was least prepared to deal with it.
The minutes ticked off one by one on the travel clock by my bed. As I lay there sleepless in the snow-hushed night, I realized another truth. I had to decide on a clear and certain course to take with Gene. I needed to begin by facing and accepting the fact that he was a genie in a bottle. If I truly did—and I couldn’t come up with an alternative explanation—I had to rethink my dismissal of all the other beliefs and myths that didn’t fit into my legal eagle mind, such as angels, ghosts, fairies, leprechauns—and love. By love I meant a Romeo and Juliet kind of love, the kind of love between flyboys and their war brides that Gene spoke about, the kind of love that needs neither words nor socially acceptable boundaries—not only to exist, but to make men and women move mountains in order to be together.
Obviously something profound and irrevocable had happened to me from the minute I opened that damned Diaper Genie. The appearance of Gene had shaken the very foundations of my beliefs—and more than that. It had shaken my heart. As Shakespeare asked, “Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” Was it possible that my wild, crazy desires for a genie in a bottle were really…love?
The silence of the snow enveloped me, and with that last, life-altering thought I fell asleep.
Snow crystals are diamonds that fall from heaven. The sun, striking them by the millions, makes a shining path across the fields. The wind tosses them into the pellucid air, where they sparkle with a blinding radiance. Hollows and crevasses glow with icy blue depths, and the very air, filled with reflections, shimmers and dazzles. Into this magical world of glitter and glory I awoke at sunrise on Sunday, the day after the storm.
It was a new world for me. I had made a decision. I was, by this time, rock-sure I had fallen in love with Gene. It was time for my flyboy to lose his heart in return—or to realize he already had, since I trusted that my mother knew love when she saw it. If this was a move-mountains love, then at the right moment, I would talk with Gene about how wish number three could keep him in this century, whole and human once more, with me. In the meantime, I intended to take the risk I hadn’t taken last night.
I left my bed with these thoughts running through my mind. Brady was still sleeping when I peeked into his room. I closed the curtains tightly to keep the sunlight from disturbing him. I blew him a silent kiss and tiptoed down the stairs.
Gene had gone to sleep on the living room floor. His eyes were closed, and his relaxed features made him look very young. My heartbeat speeded up. I could barely breathe. I knelt down next to him and kissed him softly on the lips. His eyes fluttered open and stared into mine. We didn’t say a word. We didn’t need to.
I took off the robe I was wearing and lay naked next to him. He held me in his arms. We kissed for a long time until he finally rolled on top of me. Then Gene found my nipple with his lips. He sucked hard, his teeth teasing and arousing me. My hands slipped into his hair. It was soft beneath my fingers. I lowered my face into it. It smelled clean and good. I pulled his head harder against my breasts. I became lost in my desire and unable to control the feelings that were washing over me.
From somewhere in the corner of the room came a soft ringing of tiny bells, and they sounded muffled to my ears as if I were wrapped in a fog. And in that second Gene’s clothes vanished and he was naked. I closed my eyes, but I knew once again, he had protected himself and me with a condom.
My breath caught in my throat when Gene’s fingers stroked the inside of my thighs. “Let me show you some magic that has nothing to do with being a genie.”
“Yes,” I said.
And he did. I sighed and began to relax. Gene pushed rhythmically in and out of me, and as he did, I put my hands over my eyes and smiled. It was a sweet, smooth ride that I wanted to last and last. I burrowed my face into Gene’s shoulder until our movements together felt so good it almost scared me. The room tilted and spun. At last, I let go of any last vestige of self-control.
“Gene!” I cried. I held on to him with all my strength, gripping his back and biting his shoulder. My entire body tensed as I felt the most intense pleasure imaginable spread from my core outward, making me dizzy. I gave myself without holding anything back. I couldn’t tell where his flesh stopped and mine began, and we climaxed together in an act that fulfilled and sated me as none had ever done before.
Afterward, Gene lay next to me and gathered me in his arms. He looked at me with great tenderness and kissed me hard. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t make the promises I longed to hear. For me, it had been a union of two who became one. I hoped he felt that too, because I wanted him forever with all my heart and to lose him now would be more than I could bear.
I am a fool for love.
After our lovemaking, I went upstairs to bathe and dress myself, then do the same for Brady. Gene ventured outside to clean the walks and driveway. Whether he did it with a shovel or by magic, I never knew. The electric power still hadn’t been restored, but that didn’t deter Gene from fixing a breakfast of Belgian waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream for me and a mushy version of pancakes and peaches for Brady. Black coffee steamed in a carafe. We tarried over breakfast, our fingers touching across the table, my feet against his leg beneath it. I gazed at him with eyes aglow. We fed each other. We kissed a dozen times.
All was going splendidly until I said, “Gene, we need to make a road trip tomorrow. I’ll drop Brady off at my mother’s because I need to borrow her truck. The highways should be cleared by then.”
“Where are we going?”
“Up toward Binghamton, New York, to get Peggy Sue’s money back from her no-good husband John.”
Gene looked at me with an unreadable expression before he said, “Break that down for me, will you?”
I briefly explained Peggy Sue’s dilemma and how I proposed to handle it. Gene didn’t react to my ideas with much enthusiasm. Instead, he looked skeptical.
“Do you think this wanker John is going to hand over the money, assuming any is left?” he asked.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t under normal circumstances, but I have a secret weapon that is sure to convince him.”
“Tell me, but I think I can guess.” Gene’s mouth had become a tight line and his eyes went from open and friendly to narrowed and guarded.
“The secret weapon is you. I have this plan.” I proceeded to lay it out. Gene listened carefully.
Then he remained silent for a long, uncomfortable moment before he said in a voice loaded with disapproval, “You know I don’t have any choice when it comes to this crazy scheme of yours. As your genie, I have to obey your orders. However, you did suggest we behave as if we were in a partnership rather than in a master-slave relationship. Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t partners consult with each other before making decisions?”
“Yes, you’re right. Consider what I just said as if I’m consulting you. What do you think?”
“I think you’ve got a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock. You’re a barrister, not Nancy Drew, girl detective. This whole escapade could blow up in your face. Maybe this guy has a rifle same as Scabby did—only maybe this guy will be quicker to use it.”
“I think the chances of that happening are quite slim,” I said, straightening my shoulders and sitting up very tall in my chair.
“Slim?
It’s a dead cert.”
“I don’t agree. However, I hear you. Even with the element of danger, a rather minor danger in my opinion, will you do what I asked you to?”
“This is a real dog’s breakfast. What are my alternatives, to let you do this alone? You’re a girl. You’ll end up getting the bejeezus kicked out of you—if you’re lucky and nothing worse happens.”
“I really can’t handle your male chauvinism,” I said, getting huffy.
“My what? I don’t bloody know what you’re talking about. But you better get your head straight. If you mean that you aren’t a man and this guy is—that he will be double your size and weight—that you don’t know how to fight, and he has probably been in dozens of brawls—that you don’t know how to fire a weapon, and he without a doubt can and will, then hell yes, girl, I am a male chauvinist and what’s more, I’m right!”
After he had finished, Gene jumped up and pushed his chair back so hard that it banged against the wall. His face was red, his jaw was tight, and he stomped out of the kitchen.
I watched this male hissy fit from my place at the table, making sure I appeared unmoved and calm. I regally raised my chin and turned my head to look out the window. The man was being totally irrational. And what was with the chair banging? A woman wouldn’t do something like that. And what’s wrong with Nancy Drew? She was a positive role model for two generations of young women.
Once Gene had disappeared from sight, I got up and carried the breakfast dishes over to the sink. As I rinsed them off and stacked them in the drainer to dry, I kept thinking. So that’s how he is. I’m glad I got to see another side of Gene before I said anything about his staying around. The man has a temper. And he is definitely a chauvinist.
And I hadn’t even told him yet about going to see Queen Nefertitty the exotic dancer.
As disappointed as I was with Gene’s behavior, I felt it would be a waste to let him stew in anger all day. Brady had never seen snow before, and although he was too young to throw snowballs or build a fort, I wanted to take him outside for the experience. I wanted Gene to go too. In the daydreams I spun while getting dressed, I had envisioned that we would have a wonderful day together, and that Gene would immediately see how we fit as a family.
For that to happen I first had to coax him out of what was by now probably an exceptionally bad mood. I picked up Brady, and we went into the living room where Gene was watching Brady’s DVD of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.
“Gene?” I said in as sweet a voice as I could.
“What?” he said gruffly.
“I’m sorry if I upset you. I automatically assume you’ll be able to help me out, you know? After all, you can do anything. I didn’t mean to take you for granted. And I didn’t consider the danger because I don’t feel afraid in situations when I know you’ll be there.” I was watching his face carefully to see if my flattery was getting me anywhere. I hoped I wasn’t overacting.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “But you don’t think things through. You leap before you look. I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt sometime, after I’m gone.”
So he’s still planning on going, I thought. So much for mountain-moving love. Maybe he doesn’t realize how deeply I care about him. Should I say something? No, this is not a good time. I need to pick my moment carefully.
“And you are so right,” I practically simpered. I walked over and sat down next to him with Brady on my lap. I kissed Gene’s cheek. He turned his head and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Let’s not fight anymore,” I suggested.
He looked at me in surprise. “We weren’t fighting.”
“All right. I guess we were having a difference of opinion. Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, shoot.”
“This is Brady’s very first snow. Would you go outside with him and me? I have an old toboggan in the shed, and it might be fun for the three of us to go sledding.”
“Let me see if I understand what you’re really asking,” he answered with a straight face. “Since Brady is far too young to be going downhill at thirty miles an hour, I bet you and Brady are going to ride on the toboggan, and I’m going to pull you around.”
“Would you mind?”
“No, I’d like to. Let’s go.” He stood up, took Brady from me and tucked him into one arm, then, taking my hand, pulled me upright. Putting my arm behind my back, he pressed our bodies together. He kissed me. I kissed him back. For a chauvinist, he was a great kisser.
I sank into the snow past my knees. I had to wear sunglasses, the glare was so blinding. Gene immediately made snowballs and fired them off at trees. We all laughed a lot. Brady’s cheeks got very red, and he was so bundled up he couldn’t bend his legs very easily, but he was wonderstruck by the changes in the world he knew. He worked his hand out of one mitten, which hung by a string from his sleeve. He stuck his baby hand into the snow to touch it, splash it as if it were water, and squish it to make it melt in his fingers. I let him put snow in his mouth and taste it too, before I warmed up his cold hand and got his mitten back on.
After a few minutes, Gene went around the house and got the toboggan out of the shed. As I sat on it with Brady between my knees, Gene dragged us down the driveway and pulled us along where the snow had been packed hard by the snowplows. It had been pushed into piles as high as Gene’s head along both sides of the road, and we seemed to be in a roofless tunnel of white. I noticed Gene kept looking around with a big smile; he appeared to be as fascinated as Brady.
“What’s the matter? Never seen snow before?” I called out.
“Matter of fact, no, I haven’t. We didn’t have snow in Melbourne, mate,” he explained. “In the worst of our winter, it’s around sixty degrees. This stuff is dead amazing. I’m knocked out by it, I really am.” His face looked like a kid’s; his eyes shone. He pulled us a good half mile, and we didn’t see any traffic at all because the highway had closed during the night and hadn’t reopened yet.
When we got to the next farm, my neighbor Jerry had hitched one of his ponies to an old-fashioned sleigh and was out on the road. The dun-colored coat of the Welsh pony contrasted with her bright red halter, and the hardy animal shook her head up and down as we approached.
Jerry, a man past his youth but not quite middle-aged, had hair cut so short he looked nearly bald and a redness of skin that told of days toiling outside. He always wore bib overalls even though he held down a day job at a paper box factory for a salary and farmed for the love of it. Since the 1960s, few farmers could earn a living wage; those who did more than break even had turned to the exotic crops of artisan farms and organic produce. Jerry raised sheep, selling the wool to local craftspeople. His twenty acres of pasture and white Victorian house with green shutters had belonged to his parents, and his mother still lived with him. The barn had long ago fallen into ruin, and Jerry made do with sheds for the sheep, chickens, and a couple of noisy peacocks.
Mucking out sheep sheds and hauling feed in frigid weather might not sound like fun, but Jerry loved every minute of it. He was like most of his generation of farmers: He couldn’t make money at farming, but he couldn’t give it up. And there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to hang on to his land.
I’d seen farmers forced to sell out. They looked around them with haunted eyes, and an air of sadness hung over them like a miasma. They had lost their land; the very soil under their feet had been taken from them. A person’s land was more than dirt and rocks, more than a livelihood. It was an anchor to the earth, and ripped away from it, most families grieved that loss for the rest of their lives. Knowing this and believing that somebody was out there scheming to force local folks off their land, I felt anger surge up from somewhere deep within me. Stealing a farm killed part of the owner’s soul; it wasn’t a far step from murder. I felt a new determination to dig out the truth about who chased out the Sikorskys, who wanted the Katos gone, and why.
As I waved to Jerry, Gene pulled the toboggan toward the sleigh. The pony whinnied and sta
mped her feet, shaking the rump strap of her brass sleigh bells and filling the air with music. Brady laughed, his eyes wide with wonder.
“Hiya!” Jerry yelled from atop the sleigh.
“How you doing, Jerry?” I called out from where I sat, and when the toboggan glided to a stop, I stood up with Brady. “Can he pet the pony?”
“Sure. Buttercup’s a gentle mare. She don’t bite.”
Brady leaned over and put his tiny hand on the pony’s neck.
“You can set him on Buttercup’s back long as you hang on to him,” Jerry suggested.
I did and Brady laughed in delight. “Oh!” I cried. “It’s too bad we don’t have a camera.”
“We do.” Gene winked, and bells that sounded remarkably similar to Buttercup’s made a merry sound. “And it’s a digital one,” he announced as he pulled a camera from his pocket.
Gene took pictures from every possible angle of Brady, Buttercup, and me. He ordered me to remove my sunglasses, and I argued I’d be squinting in every picture. We squabbled for a minute, and finally Jerry said, “Let me take one of you three.”
He jumped down from the sleigh. Gene handed over the camera and came to stand with us. Gene put his arm around me, we all grinned, and Jerry snapped away.
“You sure look like a happy family,” Jerry said as he took the photos.
If I had my way, we would soon be one.
The sun had disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and the wind had started blowing as the morning waned. We were chilled but still in high spirits when we tromped into the warm house and stamped the snow off our feet. Boots went onto newspaper to dry, and Brady’s snowsuit was hung in the kitchen to catch the heat from the coal stove. I shoveled nuggets of anthracite into it from the bucket on the floor.