Kissing Snowflakes

by Abby Sher

  “No, it was actually his idea to ask you,” Eric replied.

  “Well thanks, Fozzie,” I said, looking up at the sky.

  “Now, are you sure you’re going to be okay back here by yourself?” Dad was saying. He had both hands on my shoulders and he was studying my face carefully.

  “Yes, Dad. I’ll be fine.” It was the third time that we were having this conversation this morning. Besides a slight headache and feeling super-thirsty, I really did feel a lot better. I even ate a huge breakfast of whole-wheat pancakes and fresh strawberries. Dad had watched me the whole time, probably waiting for me to explode or something.

  “But I don’t mind staying back here with you,” he said now. “Jeremy and Kathy can go on, and you and I could veg out together in front of the fire. What do you say?” He tucked my hair behind my ear. Agh! I untucked it quickly, then took his hand.

  “Dad, I’d feel bad if you stayed in. Really, I’ve got books to read and a stack of magazines.”

  “She’s a big girl, Dad. Leave her alone,” said Jeremy, heading toward the door.

  “Okay, well, I’m bringing my cell phone with me and I’m keeping it on, so if you need anything at all, just give us a holler, okay?” Dad kissed me lightly on the forehead. Then Kathy stepped in.

  “Seriously, Sam. Anything,” she said. I saw Dad watching us apprehensively as she stood in front of me. She looked like she wanted to kiss me, too, but she wasn’t sure if that was okay. I wasn’t sure, either. So instead we just looked at each other, both kind of shifting our weight awkwardly.

  Once they had left, I settled back in front of the fire. I had already showered and put on my clean jeans and my black turtleneck with my purple scarf. Yeah, it was kind of silly, but I was strangely looking forward to this walk with Eric and Fozzie. Of course, I hadn’t seen either of them all morning, but I tried not to think about it too much. We hadn’t set a time or anything. Or maybe they already took off before I got up.

  Whatever, Levy — let it go.

  “Man, everybody was doing their grocery shopping today. Must be the storm!” Eric came through the front door. He was carrying at least three paper bags full of groceries in each arm.

  “Here, let me help!” I jumped up, but I guess I did it a little too quickly, and I got all of those little swimmy monsters in the sides of my vision. “Whoa,” I heard myself say, as I reached out to balance myself with the back of my chair.

  “No way, sickie.” He smiled. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Here, let me just put this stuff away and then I thought we could head out past the Gallaghers’ farm. There’s a great trail over there that Fozzie loves. That is, if you’re still up for it.”

  “Definitely.” I followed him as he carried the packages through the dining room and into the kitchen.

  “Great. Give me just ten minutes. It’s already starting to come down out there. They originally said twelve to fourteen inches but now they’re talking two feet or more. My dad went into Burlington today to take care of some business. I just hope he doesn’t get stuck there.”

  As Eric talked, he pulled out bags of oats, bunches of fresh carrots, eggs, milk, sweet potatoes, and cheese. I looked around. The kitchen was huge, with a big industrial-sized cooking range and two deep metal sinks. There were pots and pans of every shape and size hanging from a rack over a big wooden block table in the middle, and there was the tallest spice rack that I had ever seen. I had never even heard of a lot of the spices in there.

  An elderly couple came in carrying more groceries. The woman was wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron and had tight curls that were dyed somewhere between red and purple, and crinkly skin around small, deep-set eyes. The man was at least a foot shorter than her, and had olive skin, a head of full, dark hair, and a thick mustache to match.

  “Oh, thanks guys,” said Eric. “Martha, Luis. This is Sam. Sam, these are the two greatest cooks I know. They’re the real reason why this place is still here.”

  The couple put down their packages, and Martha took one of my hands in hers. Her hands were amazing. They had big bulbous knuckles and a thousand wrinkles in them, roped with thick, green veins. She kneaded my palm like dough.

  “What a pretty girl. Look at those eyes.” Then she squeezed my fingers until I thought I might whimper a little. She turned to Luis.

  “Luis, say hello.”

  He took my other hand. “Hello,” he said with a shy smile. His accent was Italian? Spanish?

  I learned that Martha and Luis had been the cooks for the Bishop Inn since it opened ten years ago. They lived one town over in Scudderville, and they had been married for forty-four years. I loved the way they finished each other’s sentences and bickered over the tiniest things as they put the groceries away.

  “What are you doing with that butter?”

  “Putting it in the freezer like I always do.”

  “But don’t put it in like that. Take it out of the box first.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Because when I go to get it I want to be able to grab one stick at a time, that’s why.”

  “Why can’t you separate it then?”

  “Because I’m a busy lady, that’s why. Just do what I say.”

  Luis swatted Martha on the butt. Eric crossed his eyes at me and smiled. I smiled back.

  “Are you sure I can’t help?” I asked.

  “No, no, this is Luis’s favorite thing to do. Right, Luis?” said Martha.

  “Sure,” he said and then when she turned around, he pretended to choke himself. I giggled. When they were done putting everything away, Eric filled a small bag with almonds and raisins for us. Then he took out some scraps of bacon from the top of the garbage and put them in a bag, too.

  “You like bacon, right?” he said to me.

  “Ummm …”

  “Just kidding. It’s for Fozzie, in case he gets too hungry,” he explained.

  “Now, be careful out there. It’s coming down pretty thick,” warned Martha as we put on our coats and boots.

  “Thanks, Martha. We won’t melt,” Eric said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “C’mon, boy!” he called, and then the three of us headed out the back door, with Fozzie leading the way.

  The air felt crisp and alive with thick, fluffy flakes. We walked down the sloping backyard and then up over a slight hill. Fozzie was definitely in charge, racing around us, stopping to sniff through the snow and then doubling back, panting with excitement. Just over the hill we came to a small creek.

  “Are you okay with this?” asked Eric, looking back at me as he stepped onto a smooth, flat rock.

  “Sure,” I said, following him carefully.

  On the other side of the creek, we went up a small bank that led into a big field. Eric explained that this was part of the Gallaghers’ farm. They grew corn and wheat in the summer and pumpkins in the fall. They also kept two horses, three pigs, a cow, and a family of chickens. The animals were all in the barn now, but when it was warmer out, Eric liked to come over and feed them leftover bread and carrots at night. The Gallaghers knew he came by. They always left the outside light on for him. We walked through the field and past the farmhouse, which looked like a small saltbox with wooden shingles and a bright red front door. Then Eric showed me how to squirm under a couple of loose boards in the fence. Fozzie knew the drill already, of course. Then up around another small hill.

  The whole time, the snow was coming down in fat, downy flakes. But I barely noticed. I was too busy taking in the amazing views, the cold air. And of course, I was talking. It was really easy to talk to Eric about anything and everything. It felt effortless. He asked me about where I grew up in New York. I told him about life in the suburbs. How I went to public school, but still felt pretty sheltered, like everybody was kind of from the same social stratum. We all wound up wearing the same clothes, listening to the same music. Eric said he knew what that was like, living in West Lake for most of his life. He couldn’t
imagine living anywhere else, but he was going to be a senior next year and he was looking to go away for art school after that. We talked about our favorite musicians, our favorite authors. He was a big fan of Thoreau. I admitted I’d never read him before. Sometimes we walked for a really long time not saying anything at all, and that was easy, too.

  And then, I don’t know what made me do it, but at one point I just came out and said, “So what are these mom issues you have? I mean, is that okay if I ask?”

  “Um …” his voice faded.

  “No, never mind. That was nosy of me,” I said.

  “No. Hey, I’ve done my share of nosing around your life.”

  And then I heard him give a small sigh.

  “Actually, well … my mom died two years ago. In a drunk-driving accident.”

  I felt my breath stop. My throat tightened. I wanted to disappear.

  “I’m so sorry,” I finally managed to say.

  “That’s okay,” he said.

  There was another long silence then, but this one didn’t feel so great. My heart was pumping double time. I wanted somehow to make this moment okay.

  “I told you sooner or later you’d want me to shut up.” My voice sounded small and weak now.

  But Eric stopped walking and turned toward me. I stopped, too. His eyes were soft and almost smiling, and he took my mittened hand in his.

  “Seriously, Sam, it’s okay,” he said. “I wanted to tell you. I think that’s why I reacted so strongly to you and your … stepmom.”

  “Yeah, I guess that seems pretty silly, when you think about … I’m sorry.”

  “No, I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. Please.” Eric held my arm, and I could feel his eyes without looking at him. “And if I wanted to, I could’ve easily lied. But I wanted to tell you, because … I don’t know. I felt like you’d get it.”

  “I do. I think,” I said.

  Then we came to a dense clump of trees. Eric ducked his head under a branch and went in, with me right behind. The trees were so tightly woven overhead that there was barely any snow on the ground in here. Just a bed of pine needles that crackled and crunched under our feet. Eric stopped and looked up.

  “This is my favorite spot. There’s a quiet out here that I can’t find anywhere else.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders and led me into the center of the patch. Then he came around and faced me again, this time lifting his head up to the sky, his eyes closed. I did the same. He was right. There was an incredible hush all around us, like the whole world stopped within these trees. It felt like I could hear each snowflake landing and gently melting. Like I could hear to the other end of the world, but was protected from it all in this peaceful cocoon.

  Eric took in a deep breath. And then I pictured him standing there in front of me, his eyes closed, too. And now I could hear my heart pounding, pounding.

  Levy! What was that about?

  I wondered if Eric could hear it, too. I opened my eyes. He was still standing there, only now he was looking right at me, his eyes the most spectacular, earthy green. Completely open and so honest that I had to look away into the trees.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “Do you come here a lot?”

  Ugh, Levy! Really smooth. But at least I hadn’t said, “What’s your sign?”

  “As often as I can,” he said.

  “By yourself?”

  “Well, Fozzie.”

  “Have you ever slept out here?”

  “Yeah, once or twice.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Sure.”

  He started laughing softly.

  “Sam?” he said.

  “Yeah?” I looked back over at him. He was smiling.

  “Never mind,” he said. “You okay to go a little farther?”

  “I think so.”

  We came out of the trees and followed a path through a narrow opening between two big boulders. The land unfolded in front of us in glittering white hills. It was hard to tell where the mountains ended and the sky began. We kept on walking, the snow swirling all around us.

  “Look at that!” Eric whispered as we came near another bunch of trees, putting his arm out to stop me. There was a deer hiding behind one of the pine trunks, every muscle in her body still except for her tail flicking wildly. She was the most beautiful shade of chestnut, with long, sculpted legs. I felt like I could see every muscle in her body even as she stood there. Then her head moved sharply, like she heard something in the wind, and she galloped off.

  We continued on. We walked for miles, I’m sure of it. And I could’ve kept on going miles more. Eric stopped when we got to a ledge overlooking a small valley.

  “Come here. Get a good look,” he said. I stepped forward slowly.

  The view was spectacular. There was a small village below us, rooftops covered in a silky-smooth white, and chimneys with puffs of blue-gray smoke drifting up into the sky. Trees bent together under the weight of the newly fallen snow. It was coming down really fast now, melting on my cheeks, my nose, my eyes.

  “Oh, I would love to live there,” I sighed.

  “Yeah, that would be fun, huh?” said Eric. And then I felt his hand gently rest on the small of my back. It was that place just below my ribs where my mom used to rub me as I fell asleep at night. She had the gentlest hands, the smoothest touch. If I was crying or scared or I just couldn’t fall asleep, it was always the spot that soothed me. Nobody since then had ever touched me there. Until this moment. And now, even through my thermals, my sweater, my jacket, I could feel my spine tingling.

  “Well, I guess maybe we should head back. It is coming down pretty thick,” Eric said.

  It was true. It looked like one of those snow globes that Ashley was talking about, and it was getting hard to see. Still, I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want our afternoon to end. But, of course, I said, “Okay.”

  Eric called out Fozzie’s name. I had forgotten all about him. There was a rustling in a small line of trees ahead of us and then Fozzie leaped out, bobbing over mounds of snow, his coat white and sparkly.

  “Good boy,” said Eric, rubbing him down. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a piece of bacon for him. Fozzie jumped up and down, licking his lips. “Home, boy! We’re going home!”

  Without missing a beat, Fozzie started back in the direction of the inn.

  “He knows the way,” said Eric.

  We walked back in silence. The wind had picked up now and was blowing everything sideways. Fozzie had his head to the ground, and I could only see his tail at some points. The whole left side of my face was soon wet and frozen. My left eye was caked in snow and I could feel my eyelashes frozen together. But I didn’t care. I loved every minute of it. I loved the knowledge that Eric and Fozzie and I were walking through this storm together. It felt like we were explorers, like Lewis and Clark or maybe Ernest Shackleton, and we were marching toward new lands and new heights.

  “There’s gold up in them thar hills!” I said into the wind at one point. I know, dork. I had heard it in one of those films they make you watch in history class. It made Phoebe laugh whenever I said it.

  I didn’t count on Eric hearing me, to be honest. But then he called back, “By Jove, we’ll find it. Even if we have to die tryin’!” and then we both laughed, even though that meant swallowing a bunch of wet snow.

  By the time we got back to the inn, the sky was a deep plum color and there were thick piles of snow against the back door, draped over the lamps, the porch, the eaves.

  “Where were you?” Martha cried, taking Eric’s face in her hands. “We were so worried about you! Come here! Come here!” She helped us peel off our jackets and we went into a small pantry, where we could leave our drenched boots and scarves, hats, and mittens. Then Martha gave us fluffy blue towels to help us dry off. Luis toweled off Fozzie, pulling clumps of ice out of his paws.

  “Your father called from Burlington. He said he was going to stay put until the storm died down a littl
e,” Martha told Eric. Then she turned to me. “And your father called to say they were at the chalet eating French fries, waiting for the plows to come through. I didn’t tell either of them that I thought you got buried by an avalanche. Look at you! You must be freezing! Can I make you something to eat? I bet you’re starving. What if we pull out some of these new groceries and make a picnic here in the kitchen?”

  “Sounds good,” said Eric. “We’ll help.”

  I went upstairs and changed into another pair of jeans and my warmest sweater. Then the four of us pulled out fresh mozzarella and roasted peppers, green olives, avocados, and crisp spinach. Martha sliced up a long baguette that was still steaming from the oven. Luis opened a bottle of red wine. “Ssh, don’t tell your papa, Eric,” he said smiling.

  We pulled up stools in front of the big island in the middle of the room and just ate and drank and talked and laughed. This time I was careful to take small sips of the wine. Martha and Luis told us about meeting in Florence. Martha had been traveling with her girlfriends after college. Her parents were very nervous about her going that far away, and she was only supposed to be there for a month, but instead she stayed ten years. We heard about their kids, their grandkids, the house they had in Scudderville, where there was a squirrel living in their roof and a shed where Luis was trying to make a rocking chair.

  “He’s been working on that damn chair for three years now,” said Martha. “At this point it should rock itself.”

  “I’m almost done,” he said, nudging her in the side.

  “I hope I see it before I die,” she said, grinning. Her teeth were stained purple from the wine.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Eric and I sat in front of the fire. Eric brought down a game of Scrabble and we played on the coffee table. I got thirty-four points for the word apex but he still beat me with a triple word score on juggle. Then we just sat and stared at the fire some more. Fozzie was snoring and making little yip yip sounds in his sleep. I wondered what he was dreaming about.

  I started dozing, too, until Martha came through the door.

  “For you, my dear!” she sang, handing me the house phone.