She shut the door, giggling.
Nothing could’ve stopped Walter then. He leaned towards Maddie, took her gently by the back of her head, and brought her lips to his. She did not in any way resist.
Chapter 13 – Winter’s Embrace
Preceded by the longest and most brilliantly contrasted week he would ever care know, that following winter was—all things considered—the happiest time of Walter Boyd’s life.
For those who think about things too deeply, this type of statement can drag along bittersweet undertones, because the flipside asserts that Walter will never be so happy ever again—it puts a ceiling on his happiness for the rest of his life. The truth is, though, Walter would not have been bothered if he could’ve known this fact, for the ceiling was set so high that there was still bountiful room in which anyone could lead a long, happy life.
Walter had never been opposed to the notion of fate. No, he had just never experienced any good evidence of it. How perfectly his relationship with Maddie Wendell blossomed that winter was the first. He knew that if they’d gotten together in high school or his first few years in college—and he couldn’t figure what had stopped them, besides his monumental bone-headedness keeping him blind to her interest in him—he would’ve spoiled everything by acting his age and doing something juvenile: settling down with someone had been the last thing on his mind back in those days. Then, if they’d gotten together in his darker days—spanning the end of college to only two days before he had asked her out—he certainly would’ve found a way rot apart any chances of long-term happiness together.
Yes, their getting together when they did seemed perfect. Walter was finally ready for her, while Maddie—for reasons that made sense to her alone—had been waiting stubbornly for him the whole time. It was a wondrous thing which straddled the line—in Walter’s mind, at any rate—between happy coincidence and maybe something a little more.
The typical dating phase, when they looked back over it, struck them both as more socially mandatory than necessary. After their first brunch at the Silver Tap Sugar Shack, the two probably could’ve moved in together that very night and everything would’ve worked out fine. Not to imply that it was at all burdensome for either party, dressing nice and heading into town to eat at classy restaurants, or to go bowling, or going to the theaters. No, those nights would become some of the brightest, best memories for both Walter and Maddie, if only because that was how it all began. But, after just a week and a half in which they strictly saw each other during cookie-cutter dates, Maddie was the first to act on what they’d both been feeling.
She called Walter around four-thirty one evening, when she knew he’d be home from work.
“I know we were supposed to go out tomorrow,” she said after their happy hellos, “but . . . do you wanna just come over and . . . hang out?”
And of course Walter did.
That night, as it turned out, was the first snowfall of the young winter, and the winter that year started strong. Walter, later, would accuse Maddie of planning everything to happen the way it did, though he never got her to admit to any of it.
As with most of the rooms in the Wendell’s huge three-story farmhouse (four, if you count the large, musky attic), the second-level living room was spacious, yet still cozy in its own way. The walls and the tall ceiling were pieced together with old, roughly cut boards harvested a hundred years back when the forest land had been cleared and transformed into grazing land. The furniture was just as old—some of it appeared to be every bit a fixture of the house as the stone foundation itself—and all of it carried a pleasant coating of many seasons of dust.
Maddie and Walter were cuddling on the big, shaggy couch in this second-level living room when Grant Wendell—Maddie’s father—plodded up the stairs, having just come from outside. He swatted white powder off of one shoulder and asked in a low voice, “So are you spending the night tonight, Walter?”
Walter raised an eyebrow, “No, no sir . . . I was gonna be out of your hair before dinner . . .”
“You’re not going anywhere if you don’t get scooting real fast.”
“What are you talking about, Dad?” Maddie made a face at him.
“It’s a blizzard out there, Maddie. Don’t either of you watch the news?”
Walter’s face flushed. That day, everyone at work had been talking about the big storm sweeping up the east coast. He jumped to his feet, answering honestly, “I didn’t know it was supposed to start so early.”
Maddie, however, kept quiet. And while Walter scrambled downstairs, herded along by Grant, Maddie, looking out of the windows, was the only one to protest. She said it was already too deep for his tiny car. She said, in addition, that he could just walk to Kall’s tomorrow from the farmhouse, whereas he wouldn’t make it there until, at best, midday if he had to wait for the plows to clear the route from his place.
Walter internally agreed, but externally disagreed and carried through the deliberate motions of getting himself together to leave.
“Dad, don’t let him go. He won’t get anywhere with his little baby car.”
“Hey.”
A deep sigh. “You’re right. Walter, stay for dinner. You can sleep on the couch.”
“Wow, thank you so much, Mister Wendell.”
“Stop calling him ‘Mister Wendell,’” Maddie laughed. There was that light in her eyes again.
“No, no, I enjoy it,” Grant said with a grin that creased his face up to his eyes. His old skin showed the effects of a life under the sun. Walter envied him. “Between you and your mom, it’s nice to get a little respect once in a while . . .”
Dinner was lovely. Donna Wendell, Maddie’s Mom, was a fine cook, and she and Grant were gracious, humble hosts. There were a handful of instances throughout the warm, social meal when Walter’s chest filled with joy at the thought of one day marrying into this family.
It was a very nice evening.
One simple act, however, catapulted that night to the absolute peak of what would be the best winter—and best time—of Walter’s life.
Sunk deep into the couch, Walter had been lying awake for over an hour, peering thoughtfully into the dark of the sleeping house. He was impressed by the variety of creaking tones a large house can make as it gets buffeted by a blowing snowstorm outside.
From having gone to the bathroom just before settling down for the night, Walter knew how loud the floorboards could be. She must’ve been timing her movements with the bursts of wind outside, then, because wide-awake and alert as he was, Walter never heard her approach, not before she spoke.
“Hi,” was all Maddie ever said, before settling down and cozying up beside Walter.
Walter, his mind kicked up into a warm daze, rolled to his side to make room. He lifted his blanket over her and pulled her back against his front. His senses flamed with excitement.
Her skin was much colder than his. How slowly had she been creeping through the house’s long, chilly hallways?
Walter began stroking her shoulders.
“You’re cold,” he whispered.
She made an agreeable noise and took Walter’s hand and brought it to her hips, where she wasn’t as cold, and moved it in a slow circle. She was only wearing a nightshirt, nothing more. Walter suddenly felt like he was floating many miles up in the sky, twisting through wispy clouds. Maddie brought his hand to her waist, and from there gradually up her soft body, all the way to her large, warm breasts.
“You’re not so cold here,” Walter said thickly. Why was he talking? He felt wonderfully, blissfully stupid as he grouped her chest.
Maddie now began moving her midsection, pressing against Walter’s own.
Then he felt her hand reaching behind her, pushing down the waist-strap of his boxers . . .
It would be the first of many such highlights that winter.
• • •
After that night, the restrictions built into the typical dating phase of a budding couple were shattered. Both
Walter and Maddie took to calling each other whenever they liked, with no plans or pretense expected, and took to hanging out with each other whenever they liked, too—which ended up being far more often than not.
After Maddie had spent the better part of two weeks sleeping over at Walter’s place, Donna pulled Walter aside on what would be just the third night over at the Wendell farmhouse.
Making sure her husband couldn’t hear, she said, “Just sleep in her bed tonight, for goodness sake. You two are full-grown adults.”
His face turning red, Walter replied in a wavering voice, “Oh. Okay, thanks.”
• • •
Nigel and Henry, all the while, couldn’t have been happier for Walter.
It didn’t diminish their endorsement of the relationship at all when Maddie fast became a fixture in their tight circle of friends. They had known her since high school, and though they hadn’t spent much time with her in smaller groups previously, both men had always held positive opinions of Maddie. Helped along by their predispositions, soon this became just another faucet of Walter’s and Maddie’s relationship that fit itself together perfectly—so perfectly, in fact, that it became hard for everyone, after just a few short weeks, to remember how things had been before Maddie had entered the picture.
Walter, personally, had changed his world so completely that stray memories of his mindset and outlook from the summer before were so far from where he now stood that it was hard to fathom any of it. As far as he cared, his old life had just been a long, sour dream.
He was awake now.
• • •
In mid-January, Walter, Nigel, Henry, and their three girlfriends were out on an informal triple-date at a family-style barbeque restaurant. They were motoring through an opening course of steaming beans and hot cornbread when Henry casually broke the news that would alter the shape of the remaining winter for all of them.
Until that conversation, Walter couldn’t have imagined any way to make things better than they already were.
“So, Greg was talking to Doris Hanes’s son yesterday,” he said, finishing a mouthful of buttered cornbread. “Apparently she’s looking at places in Burlington.”
Walter’s face, for the first time in quite a while, dropped.
“Really? That really sucks. Poor woman . . .”
“Yeah. They’re looking into renting out the place here. She still can’t bring herself to sell it.”
“Really?” Walter’s face lit right back up, though he tried to temper the enthusiasm in his voice. “How much would they want?”
Nigel gave Walter a quizzical look, “You would want to live there?”
“Sure. It’s a beautiful house; great view. I’d just have to deal with a weird neighbor, that’s all.”
Nigel chuckled an obligatory chuckle, “No, but . . . you were there, too. You think you’d be okay?”
“Definitely. I’ve got thicker skin than some old lady, don’t I? Plus, think of where I live now. Anything’s an upgrade over that.” Walter looked about his company, “Wouldn’t you guys love to hang out up there? Have game nights on the covered porch with the view of the valley?”
“It is a really cool place,” agreed Nigel.
Henry shrugged, “Well, I’m guessing it’d be affordable. As I heard it, Doris actually first suggested finding a long-term house sitter. It was her son who said they should at least try to get someone to agree to cover the bills, and maybe a little extra.”
“Awesome. Who do I talk to to swoop in on this?”
“I’ll talk to Greg tomorrow.”
Walter slapped Henry affectionately on the back and turned to Maddie, seated—as always—next to him, “You ever been to Doris’s place?”
“No . . . I think I’ve seen it . . . on the hill, up there?”
“Yeah. You would love it. Way closer to your family’s farm, too.”
She smiled, “Cool. Every time I’m at your place, I keep looking around for the mini-golf clubs . . .”
Henry laughed the kind of deep, powerful laugh that all men with black beards should have, “I’ve always thought that, too! Fucking Steve pulled that carpeting straight off an old mini-golf course, I swear.”
“He might’ve,” said Walter, nodding grimly. “He’s an industrious bastard.”
• • •
By the end of that week, Walter had moved into Doris Hanes’s house on the hill.
The agreement, all made verbally between Walter and Doris’s son Hank, was for four-hundred a month flat, with Hank acting as the landlord and covering any general maintenance expenses that might arise. This came with the two-way assurance that Walter would live there for at least three months: giving Doris time to choose to either move back in or put the house on the market, and giving Walter a small sense of security.
One particular question was soundly avoided throughout the easy negotiations.
Walter, therefore, was immensely relieved when—on the blustery Saturday afternoon when he and his friends piled his boxed belongings into the house—he peeked into the kitchen and saw that the floor had been newly retiled. Someone had chosen a checkerboard pattern of faded green and blue. Walter couldn’t help but think it had been a deliberate choice, selecting the two colors on opposite ends of the color spectrum from dark red.
• • •
For the remainder of the winter and into the early spring, the house—with its cozy, natural charms and the relative air of freshness and newness shared by all of them—became the favored hangout place for Walter’s friends: for their games nights, their movie nights, or for assembling together and carpooling to more ambitions destinations, such as the ski slopes or the bowling lanes.
To say the same for Maddie, to say it was a favored hangout place, would have been a gross understatement. Practically, she lived there with Walter.
It became Walter’s second favorite near-daily routine, when he and Maddie would cuddle together on the bright covered porch after work, wrapped in a goose-feather quilt that Donna Wendell had made many winters ago. They would gaze through the large windows as the sun went down over the frosty valley, lending a deep purple hue to the white snow blanketing the forest below. More than once, in fact, this second favorite near-daily routine got wonderfully muddled together with Walter’s first favorite . . .
Yes, it was a beautiful winter.
The happiest time of Walter Boyd’s life.
There was only one blemish: They never found Timothy Glass.
Not even a fruitless trace of the madman was reported. And the seed of regret that had been planted the day of Walter and Maddie’s first date grew to be an ugly weed of a plant, which he pushed, for the time being, far into the corner of his consciousness. It was barely alive in the shadows of so many good things, but it was alive all the same, rooted deep, ready to flourish and spread through the remainder of his consciousness, if Timothy ever chose to throw some fertilizer over it.
And why wouldn’t he? He had run off with such a large stock of his Blue Stew. Could something about the encounter with Walter have shaken Timothy’s life outlook, too? Could one cold season be full of such amazing fortune?
Chapter 14 – Final Words
Jeremy Baker was abnormally focused on the sides of his neck.
Was it feeling sore or swollen? At all? He found that the more he squeezed and poked at it with his small fingers, the funnier it felt, which was immensely promising. His older brother, Steven, his first time there two years ago had come home early with something their parents called “strep throat.” They had poked at his neck frequently and had commented on the swelling. He remembered that.
After last night, the thought had transformed into Jeremy’s one desperate hope.
He couldn’t make it through another night. Last night had been his first night, and it had been everything he’d been dreading for the past month. It had been so dark in the small two-person tent. His brother had been in a sleeping bag next to him, but he had fallen sound asleep within mi
nutes of settling down, and Jeremy couldn’t see him anyways, so it made no difference. He had been alone and utterly vulnerable.
The camp counselors had talked about the dangers of bringing foods or snacks into their tents all day—too frequently, in fact—but Steven just wouldn’t listen. He had insisted that if the Snickers wrapper was still sealed, no animal could smell it. Jeremy hadn’t believed him for a second, and all night long he regretted having been too much of a coward to rat his brother out when he had had the chance. He knew that if a wolf, or—god forbid—a bear had smelled it in their tent and had decided to tear through the weak fabric, the wild animal would’ve found a tasty eleven-year-old kid to go as an entrée to the chocolate bar appetizer. There would’ve been no way his brother could’ve fought it off, nor would their scoutmaster possibly have come fast enough to save him as he got eaten alive . . .
For every sound he had heard that night, Jeremy conceived an accompanying image of a stalking predator—always with razor sharp teeth and bright, narrow eyes—slinking towards their tent. Unfortunately for him and his grim imagination, the forests of Western Massachusetts can have a lot to say at night, if you’re quiet and you listen closely.
“What the hell are you doing, Jeremy?”
His brother, Steven Baker, came up behind him as he sat at their troop’s assigned table.
Jeremy looked up. He had been digging into the sides of his neck with his fingers.
“I . . . I think I might have strep throat.”
Steven set his tray of scrambled eggs, sausage, and milk down. Scoffing, he jostled his little brother’s hair roughly, “You’re such a faker. Come up with something original, you baby.”
“I’m serious,” Jeremy protested weakly. He realized now, though, how his parents would never believe him anyways. He had been whining about coming to this spring camp for weeks, and now for him to come down with the exact same illness that had brought his brother home early two years ago . . . It wouldn’t matter if he even did have strep throat. Which, on the hidden level beyond his stubborn childish denial, he knew he didn’t.
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