A Late Hard Frost

by Stephanie Joyce Cole

  From the window, he watched them wander down the road, Cindy in a straight line, Kevin roaming from side to side, kicking rocks and jumping over ruts.

  He sighed and turned back to the room. He added a couple of logs to the fire, then folded the newspaper that was strewn over the kitchen table. Should he take them out to dinner? Maybe to The Twins? He frowned, pausing. Should he ask Cass to join them?

  He picked Cindy’s purse off the floor, intending to move it to the nightstand next to the bed. As he lifted it, the strap caught on the back of a chair and everything inside scattered out across the floor. Damn. He grabbed for the cheap pink wallet, the crushed tissues, the lipstick and the loose change and shoved them back inside. A balled up fat sheaf of papers skidded under the table, and he pushed them out with his foot before scooping them up. He held them by one corner, hesitating, and then he shook them open.

  Court papers. That was clear from the caption at the top of the first page. He scanned the document. There was a lot of legal language, and he certainly wasn’t a lawyer, but the title at the top gave him a pretty good idea what they were for. He was holding a domestic violence protective order, with Cindy’s name listed at the top and another name, Malcolm Waconbush, listed as the defendant.

  His hand was shaking and he swore under his breath. Was this why she was here? And the story she had told him, was there even a shred of truth it?

  ***

  He’d wanted to confront her as soon as she and Kevin returned from their walk, but he didn’t. Too much was at stake. She’d softened a bit in the short time that she’d been there, but there was a big chip on her shoulder, and a lot of resentment still directed at him for his past failures. If she blew up, she could take Kevin and they might leave right then, and maybe he’d lose them again. He hadn’t been snooping, but she might well think that he had. He’d shoved the crumpled papers down deep into his jacket pocket, buying some time while he thought out what he should do or say now.

  They came back windblown, their cheeks whipped ruddy, their hair wound into tangled haloes around their bright faces. While they were gone, Nick had warmed some tomato soup, which they both eagerly devoured along with slices of buttered toast. As soon as they finished eating, while Nick was clearing away the plates, Cindy led Kevin to the bed for a nap, curling up beside him. In minutes, they were both asleep, transformed into two soft mounds under the puffy comforter.

  Nick closed the cabin door behind him quietly and stood on the threshold, looking out to the bay. It was turning into a fine day, the brisk wind scudding the clouds across the bright sky, the glaciers in the distance glistening a brilliant white in the afternoon sun. As gusts blew through, the winter’s debris of loose, dead grass and leaves tapped and chittered over the hard surface of the dirt road. He took a slow, deep breath. When he’d first moved here, the impossible beauty and the staggering immensity of this land had slapped him in the face, astounding him that this place in the world could exist. He knew he sometimes didn’t even see it these days, as the press of daily life demanded his attention, but then the moment would turn, as it had now, and he’d see the wonder in this world anew.

  Cindy didn’t see it yet, or at least she hadn’t acknowledged it, but already Kevin was opening to life here. Maybe Cindy would come around. Nick shrugged, still staring at the bay, half listening to a dog barking frantically in the distance. Alaska wasn’t for everyone, after all. It was a long way from everywhere else and damn cold a lot of the time. But Alaska at the very least could give Cindy and Kevin a place of rest, a place of safety, for a while, even if they didn’t put down roots here. And if they stayed, even for a bit, he might be able to be a real grandfather to Kevin.

  But dammit, he needed to know what was really going on with them, what they were hiding. He put his hand in his pocket and the edges of the papers bristled against his fingertips. He pulled out his keys and headed for his truck.

  He sat in the truck for several minutes outside the police station before he pushed through the front door. He didn’t like what he was about to do.

  He almost growled at the clerk half-hidden behind the glass window in the waiting room.

  “I’ve got some legal papers. I need some help figuring out what they are.”

  The clerk hesitated before answering, her voice rendered tinny by her microphone. “We don’t really do that here. If you need some help with a legal problem, you should find yourself a lawyer to help you.”

  “No, it’s not that kind of thing…” His fists opened and closed in frustration. “They’re court papers. About some sort of a protective order. Not from Alaska. I just need to know what they mean. Someone here should be able to tell me, right?” He glared at his own looming reflection in the glass. “I don’t want legal advice. I just want someone to tell me what these papers mean.”

  He swallowed, trying to dial it back. “Is there someone I can talk to…please?”

  “Just a minute.” The clerk snapped a cover down over the inside of the glass window. Nick rocked back and forth on his feet, fervently wishing he were somewhere else.

  The door next to the glass window swung open. Nick turned to face a tall gangly man in a business suit who leaned on a cane and limped slightly as he walked into the waiting room.

  The man paused and stared into Nick’s face for a moment before holding out his hand.

  “I’m Assistant DA Ryan Anderson. I understand you have a protective order against you?”

  Nick bit back a curse and reached out to shake the man’s hand. “No, it’s not against me. I just have some papers. I need to find out what they mean.” Nick pulled the bundle of papers from his pocket, shaking them open before handing them to Anderson. “They involve…someone else.”

  Anderson stared at the first page of the sheaf of papers, then glanced back at Nick. “Why don’t you come inside?”

  Anderson led him into a small, windowless office just off the waiting room, painted a sickly green, with just space enough for two rickety metal chairs to face each other across a small, dented metal table. The chair creaked under Nick’s weight as he sat, and he hoped it wouldn’t collapse under him. He took a moment to look at Anderson more carefully.

  “Do I know you? Have we met before?”

  “I think so. I was here as a part of the investigation of the Michael Benton case last year, about his attempted murder of his wife Meredith. I believe I interviewed you.”

  Damn, it always came back to Merry. The utterance of her name inflicted its usual sharp painful stab into his chest.

  “Yes, well, this has nothing to do with that.” Nick pointed to the wrinkled papers Anderson spread across the table. “I want to know what these mean.”

  “What’s your interest in this?” Anderson leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Damn. Well, no way around it. “That’s my daughter,” Nick pointed again, this time to Cindy’s name. “She’s staying with me. I want to know what kind of trouble she’s in.”

  “Can’t you just ask her?” Anderson’s voice was low and level, but Nick heard the authority in it.

  “Under normal circumstances, maybe I could. But she’s in some sort of pickle and I don’t want her to shy away. I want to help her. I want to know what she’s—what we’re—up against. And she has a young one, my grandson, and I need to make sure he’s kept safe too.”

  Anderson didn’t respond right away. Nick’s chair groaned in protest as he crossed his legs and waited.

  “It’s a matter of public record.” Anderson’s expression didn’t change, but he abandoned his cool official voice and sounded friendlier. “It’s not an Alaskan order, and the laws are different depending on the state where the acts occur, but basically your daughter got herself in a situation with a boyfriend, a husband. Or maybe a family member?” Anderson glanced at Nick, but Nick just shook his head. Anderson continued, “The situation would have been with a person involved somehow with your daughter, not a stranger, and the court found
that your daughter has been harmed.”

  Nick felt his neck start to get hot. Someone had hurt her again, again when he hadn’t been there to protect her.

  “It might not have been physical abuse. This order doesn’t say. The order’s written in standard language. Some sort of abuse was substantiated in court, probably through your daughter’s testimony, and the judge issued an order that this person—Waconbush—had to stay away from your daughter for a period of time.”

  Nick took a deep breath, pulling together his thoughts for his next question, when a sharp rap on the door behind him startled him. The door opened halfway, and a uniformed cop stuck his head into the room.

  “Mr. Anderson, your appointment is here.”

  “Fine, thanks, just give me a minute.” When the door closed again, Anderson leaned forward.

  “Sorry, I have to go. I suggest you talk with your daughter about this. Alaska is a long way from California, and it would be unusual—but not unheard of—for an abuser to follow her and your grandson here. But you never know, especially if it’s his child.”

  Nick shook his head. “She said the kid’s dad is dead. But I don’t know…”

  Anderson rose to his feet and leaned against his cane. “These situations can be very serious. And these orders…” He gestured at the pile of crumpled papers on the table. “These orders, they’re just paper. I don’t discourage people from getting them, but some abusers aren’t deterred. And you can see from the wording of the order that it expires a few days from now. After that, unless your daughter goes back to court to renew it, it’s no good anymore.”

  Anderson inched his way around the table towards the door, where he paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Domestic violence is complicated. Sometimes it continues from generation to generation in families, if the kids see it going on and come to believe that’s just how families behave. It kind of gets modeled for them by their parents.”

  Nick glared at him, bristling, balling his hands into fists. “She didn’t grow up with me, so you can forget any idea that I abused her.”

  Anderson nodded slowly, meeting Nick’s angry gaze. “I don’t know anything about you, sir, but you seem genuinely concerned, so I hope you can help them. Especially your grandson. Kids are vulnerable in these kinds of situations, and they deserve protection.”

  Nick shook Anderson’s outstretched hand, his thoughts awhirl. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but there was no question in his mind that he was going to do anything and everything to protect his daughter and grandson. No one was going to hurt them while he was on deck.

  ***

  Nick’s truck engine chugged and grumbled on the rough road back to the cabin. Though at least he was back to having four intact tires, the truck was long past its due date for a tune-up, and maybe it really was the time to take it in. He swore under his breath. Ever since that night with Cass, his life had been careening out of control. An engine failure would be just one more nail in the coffin. One more step into the heart of the total chaos that his life had become.

  He sat for a while in truck cab, arms crossed, staring through the windshield at the cabin door. The wind had picked up again, and short sudden gusts rocked the truck and sent cold fingers of air across his legs and feet. He shivered but didn’t move. He could smell the rain coming in the dark clouds creeping down over the hills.

  He puzzled about how to talk to Cindy. She was so damn defensive. He needed to know what was going on with her and Kevin, but he desperately didn’t want to scare her away. They had only been here for few days, but already they had unearthed deep feelings in him, feelings that he had put aside long ago. They were family. His family.

  He found them huddled next to the fireplace, the fire reduced to glowing red coals. Cindy was reading a book to Kevin, who nestled next to her with his head on her arm. Her face was soft and open when he walked in, but it settled into its customary hard lines as she looked up to see him. She snaked her arm around Kevin and pulled him close.

  “Are you cold?” He moved towards the wood stacked near the hearth. “You could have put more wood on the fire.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said in a tight stiff voice. “I didn’t know if there was some special way to do that.”

  He stood in front of them and layered some logs over the embers, blowing softly to coax up the flames. A special way to build up a fire? What kind of world did this girl—this woman—live in? He looked down at a soft touch on the side of his jeans. Kevin had crept forward and was leaning against his leg, fascinated by the flick of flames. He put his hand forward, tentatively, and Nick resisted the sudden urge to push it away. “Careful, Kev,” he said softly. “Fire is wonderful, but you have to be careful.” Kevin’s small open face tipped up to smile at him, and Nick’s breath caught in his throat. My grandson.

  “He needs to take his nap.” Cindy’s sharp voice cut into his thoughts. “Kev, come on now, it’s time.”

  Nick stood in front of the fire, warming the back of his legs, as Cindy snugged Kevin under the quilt in the middle of the huge bed. She wrapped her body around his for a minute, whispering in his ear, and Kevin giggled softly. She smoothed the cover over him as she stood back up, hesitating for a moment before she turned back to Nick. As he watched her, her face rearranged itself, the soft look she gave to Kevin gone. Chameleon girl, he thought.

  He made a quick decision. “Cindy, let’s go out to the truck. We won’t go anywhere. I just want to talk with you for a few minutes, while Kevin’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him up. Grab your coat. It’s getting chilly outside.”

  She lifted her chin and stared at him, and he thought she was going to refuse, but after a moment she offered up a curt nod, her eyes wary and cold. They climbed into the cab, and Nick turned on the engine, revving up the heater.

  “Look, I’m not sticking my head into your business,” he started, but then he shook his head, and began again. “Well, I guess I am, because I think what’s happening to you and Kevin is my business.” She bristled at that, hugging her coat more closely around her, but she didn’t say anything.

  He pulled the crinkled sheaf of papers out of his coat pocket and dropped them on the bench seat between them. “I found these.” He leaned against the steering wheel, pausing and staring through the windshield to give her a moment. “I wasn’t looking through your stuff. They fell out of your bag. But I read them. I don’t understand all of this, but I get the gist. I want to know what’s going on. What is this crap? Are you in some danger, Cindy?”

  Her face was molten with expressions, first anger, maybe fear, and then quite simply despair. Her eyes filled with tears. “Damn, damn.” She hissed under her breath, turning away from him to glare out the side window. Her hands curled into tight fists.

  “Cindy.” He spoke simply and quietly. “You are my daughter. Kevin is my grandson. We have a lot of bad history, you and I, but you’re here and I’m glad you’re here, and I want to help you. I want to do what I can. But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  She rubbed her coat sleeve over her face but didn’t turn toward him. He fished around in his pocket for a handkerchief but didn’t have one. He resisted the urge to reach over and pull her towards him. It was her turn now.

  When she did turn to him, her face was streaked with tears. All defiance had left her, and she looked beaten and defeated. His heart broke.

  “We got ourselves in some trouble.” Her voice trembled but she took a deep shuddering breath, and continued. “There was this guy… man, does every bad story start that way?” Her lips curled into a wry humorless smile. “This guy was a friend of Wesley’s, Kevin’s father. I told you the truth about that. Wesley is dead.”

  She stopped to take another breath. “I shouldn’t have done it, but Malcolm didn’t have any place to stay, so I told him he could stay with us, for a while. Maybe I was a bit lonely, though it wasn’t like that…we weren’t together or anything. And it was okay at first. He wasn’t around much
.” She shrugged but didn’t meet Nick’s eyes. “But then one day I came home, and he was shooting up. Kev wasn’t there, he was staying with a friend, but I freaked out and told Malcolm he had to get out.”

  She bit her lip and paused, “I told him he had to leave, and he threw a chair across the room and then he slapped me.” Nick held his breath, fire burning in his chest. Wait, wait, let her finish the story.

  Cindy was breathing heavily now, as though she had to fight to get the words out. “And he said he was staying, and I should just get used to it, and if I wasn’t afraid of him for myself, well, there was always Kevin.”

  Nick’s heart pounded heavy in his chest. He was white hot furious. If there had been a wall around to punch, he would have hammered his fist right through it.

  “And so I got the order.” She pointed to the pile of papers on the seat. “But I know Malcolm, and the papers weren’t going to stop him.” She was sobbing now, little hiccups of sobs that punctuated her words. “Things were bad, I really had gotten laid off and I didn’t have any money, and I didn’t know what to do, so I came here.” She leaned back against the seat, pressing her head against the headrest while tears dripped off her chin. “I couldn’t let him near Kevin. I couldn’t.”

  “Shh, Cindy, shh.” He reached over and folded her into his arms. Her rigid limbs slowly released against his chest. “We’re going to fix this. You’re safe now, with me.” He patted her gently on the back as her sobs subsided. “You’re both safe here with me.”

  ***

  His head whirled with the speed of it. Less than a week ago he’d had no idea where Cindy was, what she was doing. Hell, he didn’t even know he had a grandson. Now, a few days later, they were all making plans. Plans for Cindy and Kevin to stay in Homer. Plans that would make them a family.