by Julia Kent
“You do?”
“Sure. It's not foolproof, but it cuts down on the tears. Or you wear swim goggles.”
“If I wore swim goggles while cutting onions, I'd never hear the end of it from Jeremy.”
“How're those last five slices going?”
“Flipping them now.” Lydia had a sudden rush of gratitude to her mother for insisting on giving her aprons over the years. No one wanted to be at the mercy of spitting oil, and her front was covered when the inevitable happened.
“I think that's my one and only,” Madge said as Lydia looked at the video screen to find Ed, Madge's boyfriend, waving wildly at her.
“Hey, Ed!”
“Lydia!” He tipped his head up and inhaled in a loud, boisterous way. “I can smell those fried green tomatoes all the way here in Watertown!” He moved out of range, backing up to sit in a chair next to Madge, slowly lowering himself.
Madge patted his hand as he floomped down into the chair's seat with a grimace.
“Old bones hurt?” she asked him. He just nodded, brow low. The two sat in companionate silence as Lydia looked away, suddenly hyperfocused on her cooking project.
“How's the campground?” Ed asked, then coughed hard. Madge handed him a mug of something hot, which he took from her, blinking hard as he drank.
“It's fine. Plenty of snow up here. You coming soon to visit?”
Ed winked at Madge. “Someday.”
Before she could ask what that meant, the front door opened, a massive blast of freezing air making Lydia gasp. Mike appeared, bundled up in a snow parka and ski pants, shoving the door hard against the wind.
“Sorry!” he called out. “Wind's bad. Needed to get in. No luck. Ice's still too thin, but another week of weather this cold and I'll be out on the pond soon,” he said with a grin, unsnapping and unzipping his outerwear, eyes on the roaring fire in the big wood stove.
“Warm up!” she ordered. “Want some wine?”
“Merlot?”
“You want something else?”
The lascivious grin he gave her said that what he wanted wasn't something you put in your mouth.
Or, maybe it was.
“Merlot sounds good. As long as it’s not Jeremy’s mead.” He shuddered. “What are you making?”
She turned the tablet toward Mike so he could see Madge and Ed. “Grandma's teaching me to make fried green tomatoes.”
“With the onion and pepper topping? Feta cheese? And tiger sauce?”
“OF COURSE!” Madge shouted through the screen. “Can't serve it any other way.”
Mike craned his neck to look at the counter next to the stove, the single plate with her finished pieces looking suddenly small. “Is that all you made?”
“It was my first try. I didn't want to overcommit.”
“But what will you eat?”
Boisterous laughter from Madge and Ed made Lydia join in.
“Don't burn the ones in the pan, Lydia,” Ed warned. She lifted them one by one onto the paper towel-covered plate as Mike walked over, poured himself a glass of wine, and smacked a cold kiss on her cheek.
“You're an icicle.”
“I should be. Couldn't find a thick enough stretch to ice fish on the pond, but I tried for hours. Jeremy still with Miles doing the honey-wine thing?”
“Yes.”
Mike plucked one of the cooler fried pieces, dipped it in the cruet of sauce she'd made, and began chewing. “Mmmmmm. Too bad he'll miss this.”
“He doesn't have to know,” Lydia stage whispered, earning a chuckle from Ed.
“I need to teach you all my recipes, Lydia,” Madge declared. “Before I die.”
“Grandma! You're immortal. Stop talking like that.”
“Unless a vampire comes along to bite me, I'm definitely not living forever, sweetie.” A troubling look passed between Madge and Ed, the old man's eyes going unfocused quickly.
Mike's arm wound around her waist as she arranged the remaining nine slices, added the sauteed onions and peppers on top of each medallion, slid the cruet in the center of it all, and held the plate up to the camera.
“Ta da!” she announced.
Mike, Ed and Madge all clapped for her.
“This is beautiful,” Mike said. “Like you.” Nuzzling her neck, he added, “And after I eat this, I'm going to have the best dessert.”
“What's that?” Lydia whispered back.
“The sweetest flavor of all. You.”
Jeremy
The next day
Jeremy dragged the sleigh across the dense snow, his vision obscured by the snowflakes floating before him, fat and lazy but thick as cotton. Living on the coast in Maine, just far enough north to catch snowstorms that immobilized them for days, was beautiful.
But a pain in the ass when it came to simple tasks.
Lydia had asked him to cut a small Christmas tree for their cabin and a larger one to take to Boston tonight to deliver to Jeddy’s Diner, the restaurant her grandmother and brother co-owned. It was the last week of November, just past Thanksgiving, and the fresh tree Caleb and Madge had bought for the diner dropped all its needles suddenly.
Most people wouldn't care, but for anyone who owned an in-person business that catered to customers, the sooner the Christmas spirit cracked open wallets for holiday spending, the better.
And holiday trees mattered.
They’d surprise Madge and Caleb at the diner’s annual Christmas Eve celebration later in the season. Lydia’s mother, Sandy, had decided she needed to have the whole family visit her mother, who insisted on feeding anyone who came in to her old diner deep in Boston, a holiday tradition that generated more goodwill than dollars, but Madge didn't do it for the dough.
She did it out of love.
Madge’s heart attacks and octogenarian status made time seem to close off, tunneling to a pinpoint. They needed to enjoy Madge while there was still light. Madge was a tough old bat with an iron will and a no-bullshit approach to life, but even she wasn’t immortal.
Their partner, Mike, was sick with a cold, though Jeremy suspected that being mansick was an excuse to get out of this miserable tree chore. Mike was probably back at home, feet before the fire, laughing his ass off at Jeremy’s gullibility.
“Screw you,” he muttered to himself. Cursing Mike didn’t make him feel any better, though.
Oddly enough, the sun was shining in the sky, the snowstorm combined with the sunshine. The paradox threw him for a loop. How could the two co-exist?
Then he laughed, a self-deprecating sound, as he trudged ahead toward the thick bank of fir trees.
Might as well ask the same question about him and Mike. How could two totally different people be perfectly suited for Lydia?
“Hey!” someone shouted, a man familiar to Jeremy, though he couldn’t see the person. “Jeremy? You out here?”
Adam.
Lydia’s other brother (one of many “others”) was home from being on the road, where he represented the marketing and social media interests of the family-run campground. A dark figure, gray and big, became more clear as he got closer. Adam was dressed like Jeremy in a thick down coat, with black ski gloves, a balaclava covering his bearded face. A big guy, he wasn’t quite as tall as Jeremy – who was more than six and a half feet tall – but he made up for the difference in muscle.
Hulking and burly, with the grace of a guy who charmed people for a living, Adam was a perfect blend of rural Maine and sophisticated Boston.
Eyes like Lydia’s, a pale amber, poked out under the hood of his coat. “Find the right one?”
“Not yet. I’m half afraid to start chopping down a tree trunk and find myself face-to-face with a moose.”
“I don’t blame you. I’ve seen two of them out here before. I’d be more worried about bears, though.”
Jeremy jumped. “Bears?” He nearly pissed himself.
Adam shrugged. At least, Jeremy assumed he did. Hard to tell under all those layers of clothing and coat
.
“Just don’t show your fear.” His eyes narrowed. “Like you are right now, Jeremy.” His voice dropped low, a man’s timbre that made Jeremy feel stupid. “They’ll smell it on you.”
“That’s because bears terrify me,” he said slowly, not afraid to admit it. “Why do I live here when we could just move to San Diego and live on the beach?”
Adam chuckled and started up a small hill, where a perfect cluster of firs beckoned. “Because my mother would kill you if you made Lydia leave.”
“Get killed by a bear, get killed by Sandy. Looks like my options are limited.”
“I’d take being killed by a bear over Mom any day. Better odds of escaping,” Adam declared.
Yanking the sleigh parallel to the tree Adam was eyeing, Jeremy took in some deep breaths, staring up at the tall pines that disappeared like power lines going straight up to the moon. The snow was slowing down. He felt each flake hit his cheeks, the cool landing making him realize he hadn’t shaved in days. Each white snowkiss turned into a wet smack as the powder melted on his beard, dripping down his chin and making his neck wet.
A sudden flash of Lydia naked, riding him, came with the visceral feeling. He hardened, pulse racing, suddenly needing her so madly his legs started to turn toward home.
“How about this one? Thick around the middle, nice curve to her, and I’ll bet she’ll last as long as we need her,” Adam said, clearly evaluating the tree but hell if his words didn’t make Jeremy hornier for Lydia.
Adam’s sister.
“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy stammered, hoping to God Adam couldn’t read minds. “Looks good.”
“Grandma will love it. She’ll hang some Christmas truck nuts all over the damn thing and cackle with glee.”
“Christmas... truck nuts? Do I dare ask?”
“You really want to know?” Adam asked with the laugh every single member of the Charles family used when they talked about Madge.
“No.”
With an expert’s hand that Jeremy appreciated, Adam got down to business, clearing smaller branches from the bottom of the fir, then taking it down with ten minutes of ax work. Five minutes later, Jeremy helped him haul the tree onto the sleigh.
“You do the smaller one for your cabin,” Adam offered, pressing the ax handle into Jeremy’s right hand. Lydia’s father, Pete, did this – showed you how to do something, expected you to pay attention, then made you do it yourself to prove you'd learned it.
Jeremy smiled to himself as he imitated Adam, moving slower. Pete had taught him to take great care around sharp, big blades. He handled the ax with a reverence befitting a tool that could take down a small tree.
And soon enough, the whole thing fell to the side, a muffled flumpf! on the snow indicating his success.
“Well done,” Adam praised him. Thunder rumbled suddenly in the sky. Surely Jeremy was mistaken, his ears confusing something else for the sound.
“Thundersnow,” Adam declared, looking up. “Haven’t heard that in ages.”
“It’s a thing?” Jeremy asked, wiping water off his neck. A burst of cool air chilled his wet skin, making him take inventory of his body. Piping hot torso. Freezing calves and lower thighs. Wet chin and neck.
And a fading hard-on that needed some relief.
He grabbed the sleigh’s rope and began the slow trudge home. Adam was at his heels.
“Hold on! Need to get the smaller tree loaded!”
Jeremy stopped and took a deep breath. The woods felt claustrophobic. Rumbling in the sky made the air sinister. Adam felt it, eyebrows turning down.
“You okay?”
Or maybe Adam didn’t feel it, and Jeremy was going nuts.
“Yeah. Sorry. Distracted.”
“It’s okay. I get it. I can see why this place makes you nervous.”
“Huh?”
Adam finished settling the second tree on the sleigh, trunk to treetop, both stacked neatly. He grabbed the rope from Jeremy and started pulling. With his free arm, he pointed to the left. East.
“That’s the cliff where Mike, you know...”
Where Lydia and Jeremy’s partner Mike almost died.
A shiver rippled through every pore of Jeremy’s skin, starting with his neck and shoulders, spreading through his body until the tremors couldn’t be contained. He forced himself out of his frozen stance, unable to look toward the ocean. A strange magnetic sense pulled him toward the cliff where Mike had nearly perished a few years ago.
He moved fast, lifting his feet and stomping through the thick snow, quickly winding himself. He didn’t care.
“Jeremy!” Adam called out, hoofing it to catch up. “Jesus. Sorry, man. I didn’t think it would upset you this much.”
“It shouldn’t,” Jeremy shot back.
But it did.
As the faint outline of cabins at the campground came into focus through the trees and the falling snow, Jeremy’s heart slowed down, the creepy sense that he’d fall over the cliff back there fading. A looping image of him, Lydia, and Mike falling into white space wouldn’t leave his mind. Smoke poured out of all of the small homes on the grounds. Each of Lydia’s siblings had a permanent home here, as did her parents.
Only her dead brother, Luke, didn’t occupy a house, though there was one he’d built back before he’d died.
It remained vacant.
Colored holiday lights covered the trim of each of the cabins, even the ones they rented in the summer to eager campers. Lydia’s mom, Sandy, loved giving the campground a small-town look, each cottage festive and homey. Jeremy had to admit it did the trick.
He couldn’t wait to get home.
“I’m going back to my place for a minute, Adam,” he said as they passed the first cabin. “Can you take it from here?”
Adam’s eyes held questions, but the topaz irises stayed calm. “Sure, man. See you at the lodge.”
And with that, Jeremy raced home, driven by a force he couldn’t name. By the time he reached his own front door, his skin felt like it was stretching off his bones, all impulse control gone. Needing Lydia and Mike, he burst through the door, assaulted by heat.
“Lydia?” he called out, disappointed by silence. “Mike?”
Nothing.
The collision of heat and chilled skin turned his pores into pinpricks, his cheeks stinging with the temperature change. Where were they?
Half frantic, he marched into the bedroom and found his phone, plugged into the charger next to their California-king bed. He checked his texts.
Nothing.
“Must be at the lodge,” he muttered, cursing himself for not just going with Adam. As he left the cabin, he walked down the front steps, a new inch of snow covering the previously shoveled steps. Powdery, light flakes continued to fall in lazy spirals.
He barely noticed.
Five minutes later, he found the lodge door, the snow at the entrance crushed by what was clearly a fat tree, the marks streaking the mounds of snow accumulated from the walkway being shoveled earlier. Inside, he found a roaring fire in the enormous stone fireplace, Lydia and her parents, her brothers Adam, Dan, and Miles -
And Madge and Ed from Boston.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” old Madge blatted, giving Jeremy that strange combination of a glare and a grin that only Madge could manage. She got up slowly, her bones popping audibly, and folded her body into his, the hug almost a joke as his enormous frame swallowed her. Since her heart attacks a few years ago, Madge had gotten more frail, her bones poking under wrinkled flesh.
Time burrowed its way out of her, joint by joint.
Over her head, he spotted her boyfriend, Ed, sitting in a wheelchair, grinning madly as Lydia’s dad handed him a beer. The old couple was well into their eighties, happy as two ancient people finding love in their last years could be.
“I thought we were coming to you!” Jeremy said, unable to contain his surprise as Madge pulled away. “We just cut down the tree for Jeddy’s.”
Lydia’s sce
nt filled the air next to him. Suddenly, her fingers worked the buttons of his coat, and he was staring at the part in her hair. Her hot breath melted the snow on the surface of his thick down jacket.
“We made a change. Caleb’s staying back in Boston, and you can bring it down tomorrow. Ed and I wanted to come and be here now,” Madge rasped, sitting in a comfortable, over-stuffed chair next to Ed. He patted her knee with familiarity and grinned like smiling was about to be outlawed and he needed to do as much as possible before the law changed.
Jeremy pulled off his coat and slid his arms around Lydia, burying his nose in her neck. The strange sense of being perched on the edge of the world, obscured in white and disconnected from everything abated with each breath, the tick-tock of the mantel clock tracking a different kind of time.
“You’re wet!” Lydia squealed. “And stubbly!”
He didn’t stop. Her squirming turned to a tense freeze, then a slow melt in his arms. She stayed in place, he knew, because she sensed his need.
That was love. Real love.
Mike walked into Jeremy’s line of vision, carrying two open beers, one ready to hand to Jeremy. Ice-blue eyes met his, powerful and knowing. Something deeper than relief took over Jeremy’s cells as he stood there, Lydia touching him, Mike in the same frame, too.
His people. He had his people. That’s all he really needed.
“Hey,” Lydia said softly in his ear. “What’s wrong?”
Jeremy shook his head and just inhaled deeply. The change of plans was welcome. Christmas had come early to the small campground in Maine. He cradled Lydia’s face in his hands and kissed her, the taste of her tongue a tether, holding him in place, keeping him from tipping over the edge and into the pale, snowy abyss.
As the kiss deepened, he felt Mike’s hand on his shoulder, heard the cackle of Madge’s ribald comment, smelled the heady scent of burning wood.
And he was home.
Really home.
2
Lydia