A Late Hard Frost

by Stephanie Joyce Cole

  ***

  They had been sitting at the kitchen table for a very long time, hours probably, she didn’t know. Ryan had gotten up twice to make more tea. Words bubbled out of Cass’ mouth, words that she had never said before, not even to Nick. Ryan knew the bare facts about the rape from the police report he’d found, but she talked about that night, for the very first time, the way it really happened. She, new to Chicago, so young and stupid and a bit lonely, flirting with a guy in a bar, having one or two drinks too many, blindly following him into the park at night. How they hurt her, so badly, how they used her, and how she wanted to die then, but she didn’t die. How they left her in an alley, unconscious, like a pile of garbage. The weeks in the hospital, the muffling blanket of the morphine drip the only way she could bear any of it. Her uncle was dead and her aunt was too sick to travel, so Nick came, Nick was by her side, every day, talking to her, holding her hand, bringing her back to the world, and then finally, back to Alaska.

  Ryan put his hand gently over hers on the table but he didn’t speak. He just listened, his eyes on her face, allowing the words to spew out of her as if they’d never stop. The years here, alone, but not really lonely because the clay, her art, was everything and when she was creating, she felt whole again. But she didn’t have any friends, not real ones, she didn’t know how to make friends, until Merry came. Merry was running from a past that was hell, too, and though their stories weren’t the same, they came to lean on one another, to really matter to one another. Her face flushed and tears flowed again when she talked about loving Nick all this time, waiting for Nick, the only person she trusted, only to see Merry and Nick fall in love. And she couldn’t be mad, not really, though her heart was broken, because they were the two most important people in the world to her, and they loved her too.

  And still Ryan listened. He made and poured more tea and he retrieved the box of tissues from the kitchen counter and he got up to shoo Cat out the front door. He listened but he didn’t talk, even when she paused to gasp for huge mouthfuls of air. He pulled a knitted throw over her shoulders when she started to shiver, and he rubbed the back of her hand on the tabletop, but he didn’t talk.

  When she got to the hardest part to talk about, the part about the night with Nick and the betrayal of Merry—but, oh, was it a betrayal? Because no one knew Merry was coming back at that point, no one even knew where she was or how to get hold of her—still, it was a betrayal and Cass knew it and Merry did come back and the friendship flamed away and now Nick, she knew it now, Nick didn’t love her that way and she didn’t know what she was going to do about that or the baby or if she even wanted to have this baby, but it was too late now.

  Finally she stopped. The story had flowed out of her on a filthy churning river of words and when it had run dry, she was an empty husk, exhausted and diminished, yet out of all of it, there came an element of peace. Someone knew the whole story now. The whole messy, screwed-up, impossible story.

  Ryan cleared his throat. She looked up from the tabletop at him, her eyes stinging and swollen and her vision blurred. Concern was etched into his face. She looked away quickly. She barely knew him and now he knew more about her life, her carefully guarded private life, than anyone else. Even Nick.

  “There is a lot of suffering in this world.” He spoke softly, resting his hand over hers. “And you’ve had more than your fair share. I’m so sorry you’ve had to bear so much of this alone. You’re not a bad person, Cassandra, because you’re confused about this baby. You got sent down a hard road by events that were beyond your control.” His voice was gentle but measured, but with an undercurrent of authority. “I’ve seen a lot of suffering, because of what I do. Some of it is brutal, and a lot of it is senseless. But the hardest thing for most people is bearing it alone. You may be strong and independent—in fact, I know you are—but you can’t handle all this by yourself.”

  He paused, and she looked up into his face. His professional facade had suddenly taken a back seat. Now he seemed very young and tentative and a little bashful, as if he didn’t know what he should say next. He cleared his throat again, “I don’t want to intrude, and I know you don’t know me very well, hardly at all, but, well, I’d like to be here for you. I’d like to help you. I mean, I hope we can be friends.” He blushed a deep crimson red.

  For the first time that afternoon, she smiled.

  ***

  He makes his way down Main Street, hands in his pockets, ducking his head and nodding when anyone says hello. Stupid jerks. They don’t know him, don’t know who he is and what he can do. They probably think he is stupid, but they’d know better soon. He doesn’t care about them. He just wants to have her. When he gets close enough to her, he can smell her, a faint, warm, ripe smell. It was like in the movies, a preview of coming attractions. He snickers. With her clothes gone, she probably reeked with that hot, rich, bitch smell that the bitches always had, rising up from between their legs. He might have to tie her up first, just to sit and watch her while she was scared, then that hot sex smell would mix with the sharp fear smell and it would fill up his nose. He starts to harden, thinking about it, and he makes his thoughts stop. He is so close now, so close to having her, taking her. It’s hard to hold back, but he’s strong, none of them knew how strong he was, and he can wait. He can wait, but she was going to pay for making him wait.

  ***

  The afternoon with Ryan had steadied and calmed her, but the next morning, her heart and mind felt scraped bare and exposed. She had never before let her story flow out like that, without reservation, without filtering. It wasn’t going to be easy to pull her thoughts together, to get back to business, but that is what she needed to do. She unloaded the glaze kiln she had fired two nights before. Opening a fired kiln was always like opening Christmas presents. She was careful and methodical with her work, but the nature of ceramics always made the final results a bit unpredictable. Glazes could pop and crawl where she hadn’t intended them to go, or pieces could crack or distort in the furious heat of the kiln. Today, though, the bowls she plucked out were smooth and intact, and the pitchers emerged without any cracks. Another finished collection, ready to be packed up and taken to the gallery.

  She frowned at the neat stacks, piled carefully into cardboard boxes, wondering if she’d see Moira today. For weeks, Moira had been avoiding her. When they did encounter each other, usually at the gallery when Cass dropped off new pieces, Moira hardly made eye contact and was always on her way somewhere, or busy with something else.

  She’d only seen Brian once since the incident at the gallery. He had been sauntering down Front Street and she was walking in the opposite direction, pushing forward with her head dropped low against the wind-driven rain spatters, and she’d almost bumped into him. She pulled herself up quickly, but not quickly enough. He grabbed her elbow.

  “Hey…hey…” He dropped his head as he gave her his self-effacing half-smile, but he held tight to her elbow and leaned in towards her, even as she pulled away from him.

  She’d lunged backwards and wrenched her elbow free. He held up both hands, palms forward in mock surrender, hunching his back and darting his eyes right and left, not meeting hers. “Just trying to help, that’s all.”

  She hadn’t said a word. She wheeled around him and walked away as quickly as she could, her back straight and her head held high, but the rumble of his laughter followed her down the street.

  This morning, Moira’s car was in its customary spot at the far corner of the gallery lot. Cass wrestled the first box of bowls from the jeep seat and carted it to the front door. As she shifted the box to one arm, fumbling for the doorknob, the door opened, and she came face to face with Moira.

  Her face was slack and tired, her eyes devoid of the black liner that usually encircled them, her lips pale and pursed without her customary scarlet lipstick. Her hair was pulled back into an untidy bun on her neck, and her ears were bare, their pierced lobes unadorned by her rhinestone hoops.

 
“Moira, are you…are you okay?”

  Moira smiled weakly as she opened the door wide to let Cass shuffle inside with the big box shifting precariously in her arms.

  “I guess.” Moira waited for Cass to lower the box to the floor next to the cash register. “Cass, why don’t you stay for some coffee? I just made a pot.”

  Cass waited quietly at the office table as Moira pulled cups and the coffee pot to the table. Moira sat down heavily and sighed, pushing a cup across the table to Cass.

  “Well, Brian’s out of here.” Moira’s voice broke into a half sob. “Brian’s gone and I’ve been a fool. I’m so sorry, Cassandra.”

  Cass’ eyes widened but she kept still and silent, waiting for the rest of the story, if Moira was planning to tell it.

  Moira stared up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “I had no idea. I thought I had finally found someone, someone to love me.” She stifled a sob. “I could see that Brian wasn’t perfect, but I was lonely, and I just fell for him. I thought he needed me. I’m so stupid.”

  Cass took a sip of her coffee, keeping her eyes on Moira’s face. Brian gone? This had to be good news, even if Moira didn’t seem to see it that way.

  Moira took a deep, unsteady breath. “I’ve been missing some cash, not a lot, but the register has been coming up short almost every week.” She shook her head. “I don’t know…I wondered what was happening, was someone sneaking around the gallery, somehow getting into the till when my back was turned.” She gazed at the wall, or maybe to somewhere beyond the wall, her eyes unfocused. “I never suspected Brian.” She shrugged. “I’ve been helping him out, the fool that I am, until he found some work, got back on his feet. We figured there’d be more work once tourist season started. I won’t bore you with the details. I caught him red-handed.” Her voice was strained. “We had it out. And he’s gone.” Moira still stared at the wall, her eyes welling with tears. She took another shuddering breath and met Cass’ eyes.

  “And I’m sorry, Cass, that I blamed you, that day here. I know it wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t who I thought he was. I was jealous, so mad because you have everything…beauty, talent, youth, and I was stupid, thinking you were flirting with Brian, just because you could. I thought you’d led him on, which of course you hadn’t. I didn’t want to see the truth, because it meant that Brian didn’t love me, didn’t want to be with me.” Her mouth twisted into a wry, humorless smile. “At least, that’s not all he wanted. I guess I was handy to have around sometimes. So now I’ve chucked him out, he’s gone, don’t know where to and don’t care.”

  Cass realized she’d been holding her breath. She eased her cup back onto the table. “Moira, I…” What was the right thing to say? She wasn’t good at this. She was sorry for Moira but she was glad, really glad, that Brian was gone.

  The gallery entry bell chimed, and Moira pushed herself up from the table with a grimace. “I think that’s the mail. I need to catch Harry to give him some letters.”

  Cass leaned against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. When Moira came back, she would say that she was sorry and she’d leave. She wouldn’t say what was really going through her mind, that something was very wrong about Brian. She wouldn’t offer her thoughts unless Moira asked. She’d learned from Ryan the value of listening over talking. But she was sure that Brian was pretending to be something he wasn’t. Moira was so much better off without him.

  ***

  Cass steered into the Safeway parking lot, splashing through deep, muddy puddles, avoiding the giant pothole right in front of the driveway that looked big enough to swallow the jeep whole. She really didn’t need much in the way of groceries, but a trip to the store was a welcome break from being alone at the cabin. Almost a week had passed since she’d bared her soul to Ryan, and since that afternoon he hadn’t been by. It probably didn’t have anything to do with her. He went back to Anchorage frequently, sometimes on short notice, even though his workload in Homer kept him down here for weeks at a time now. Still, she realized that she’d been hoping to see him. She had let him into her carefully protected world. It was a little crazy, because she hardly knew him, but she found herself thinking about him, running their conversations through her mind, wondering about his life.

  Maybe she was just a bit lonely. Nick still came by most days, but a lot of the time he seemed distracted and he didn’t linger. He had a lot on his plate, with those two showing up and moving in. She frowned at the steering wheel as she shoved the gearshift into park. Cindy made Nick feel guilty, that part was clear, but what had happened between them was a long time ago, water under the bridge. But she had her talons into Nick now, especially with Kevin on the scene.

  Cass shook her head, ashamed of her thoughts. Kevin was just a little boy, after all. Nick clearly adored him already, though they’d only been here a few weeks. If Nick talked about Cindy and Kevin when he came to visit her, Cass ignored him or changed the subject. He wanted to bring them into her world, she could see that, but as far as she was concerned, they didn’t belong there. Cindy was likely to disappear any day anyway, since she was so out of place in Homer. Nick would obviously be heartbroken when that happened, but it seemed inevitable, and after some time maybe everything would go back to being the way it was before they arrived.

  She picked her way carefully across the parking lot’s broken pavement. The freezes and thaws of spring had crumbled patches into broken, rough craters, and she had to watch her feet. She stamped her feet outside the front door, dislodging lumps of gooey mud onto the walk-off mat. Breakup was over, but May had brought so much rain that summer still seemed far away.

  She pulled at her long skirt, caught tight under her boot. But it wasn’t caught. Kevin stood next to her, tugging at her skirt and gazing up at her with a bright, shy smile.

  “Well…hello.” Where had he come from? She quickly scanned right and left, and there Cindy was, balancing two overflowing shopping bags, walking out the front door.

  “Kevin!” Cindy’s sharp voice snapped. “Kevin, come here!”

  Kevin dropped his hand from Cass’ skirt and turned. “Mama, I’m here. It’s the lady from the other cabin, that lady Grandpa knows…” His high voice faded away as he stared into his mother’s stormy face.

  “Kevin, come here, now!”

  His brow knotted in confusion, he scampered to lean against his mother. Cindy glared at Cass, shifting the bags to free her hand to rest on Kevin’s head. Cindy dropped her gaze to stare pointedly at Cass’ stomach and scowled. “Don’t bother her, Kev. We’ve got to get back to Grandpa. He needs his truck back.” She nodded briefly in Cass’ direction, and nudged him towards the parking lot.

  Cass watched them walk towards Nick’s truck, her temper seething. She didn’t want anything to do with them, but still, Cindy’s rudeness was hard to ignore. That Cindy, she was a real piece of work. She didn’t fit in here, that’s for sure. Her goth black clothes and scowling face belonged in some sleazy city dive, not in Homer. She shrugged, turning away. Most likely, they’d be gone soon enough.

  Her shopping didn’t take long. She pushed away thoughts of Cindy and Kevin, and gathered up cat food, milk and, as an indulgence, a pint of strawberry ice cream. At checkout, she frowned and waved away Johnnie’s awkward attempt to grab and carry out her small bag. She threw it into the passenger seat and banged her way out of the parking lot, not taking the time to circle around the gigantic pothole. The right jeep wheel landed hard and the suspension groaned in protest. She swore under her breath.

  Maybe she’d stop at The Twins for a coffee. It would help her get her day back on track, help her to forget about bumping into Cindy. She’d been staying away from The Twins, knowing that Katy was still waiting for an answer about showing and selling her work, but Katy wasn’t usually around at this time of day. A coffee sounded so good. She’d been trying to follow the doctor’s instructions and only have one cup a day, but right now she desperately craved the bitter heat and caffeine buzz of The Twins’ French r
oast. She bit her lip. She’d only drink half of one. She and the baby would have to compromise this time.

  The Twins was bustling and noisy with the mid-morning rush of locals and tourists. At the register, she almost spilled her coffee when she was jostled by a middle-aged duo in bright, new, matching down parkas, which seemed to be required standard tourist gear all summer, no matter that today the weather was at least sixty degrees outside. She resisted her urge to elbow them away and took her coffee out to the deck. The day was turning fine, the sun warming the splintery deck boards beneath her feet, and she leaned against the deck rail, looking out to the rocky beach and the gray-blue bay beyond. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, feeling her mood settle. The sweet scent of hot cinnamon rolls mingled with the briny beach breeze. Seagulls squawked in alarm overhead. She opened her eyes and watched five of them surround and dive at a seemingly unimpressed eagle circling calmly at the water’s edge.

  In her mind, she played with shapes, imagining new forms for asymmetrical platters, thrown and altered bowls, and vases that swayed in rippled drapes. She pulled a pencil from her bag and sketched a few lines on the napkin she’d grabbed with her coffee. She smiled at the scrawls. Yes, that might work. The clay could fold like that if she worked quickly after she rolled very thin, very wet slabs. She took a final slurp of her coffee, finishing it off. And if she combined the folds with a heavier back wall…

  She looked up quickly as a splat from one of the seagulls landed perilously close to her coffee cup. She snatched the cup and backed away from the railing, turning as a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention. A male figure hunched over the edge of a crushed garbage can in the alley behind the far end of the building next door, wobbling back and forth on his feet, sending a jet of urine into the general direction of the can. As she watched, he turned and struggled to zip his pants, almost falling over in the process.