Wintergreen

by Jennifer Greene

  “Mom! C’mere!”

  Freda clicked her tongue as Lorna rapidly brushed away the single tear on her cheek and got to her feet.

  “This is going to be a perfectly wonderful day,” she told Freda.

  “How I hate men.” Freda more slowly uncoiled herself and then dropped back down on the carpet. “I’ll finish this Zoid. I have a feeling you’ll have more than you can handle in the kitchen.”

  Lorna didn’t mind the chaos in the kitchen. She applauded the rainbow of smoke spouting from the paper volcano, laughed at Johnny’s triumphant smile. They had raided her cupboard for baking soda, evidently a necessary ingredient for volcanoes. There was a trail of it on the floor.

  Candles were flickering in the windowsills, red and green, scenting the kitchen with cinnamon and pine. More ornaments hung from her windows, hard candies that reflected the light like stained glass. The turkey was still defrosting on the counter, now surrounded by a variety of vials from Johnny’s chemistry set. Some tinsel had made its way to the floor; a strand of it lay on her son’s shoulder, another in Brian’s hair. A second tiny Christmas tree was perched on the far corner of the kitchen table, just a foot high, decorated with ribbons and bows… Lorna had two more artificial trees in the other rooms. She’d told Johnny before he was old enough to walk that it was impossible to have enough Christmas in the house…

  “Can you believe it?” Johnny demanded, looking at his lopsided volcano.

  “You’re a genius,” Lorna agreed, ruffling his tousled hair affectionately. “In the meantime, do you think there’s a chance that either of you geniuses might condescend to pick up a bit?”

  “What does condescend mean?” Brian asked Johnny.

  “She just means move it.”

  Chapter 11

  “I have no intention of leaving you with this mess,” Freda said stoutly.

  Lorna held up her friend’s coat. “Don’t be silly. It looks lots worse than it is, and the two of us have all day.” She hugged Freda and then little Brian, and the Noonans scooted out the door, destined to be at least a few minutes late for their family Christmas gathering.

  Lorna’s smile had been bright for Freda, and it remained bright as she turned back to Johnny…and the disaster zone of the living room. The sea of wrapping paper and ribbons and discarded boxes was at high tide. Something to do, she insisted to herself, and in the meantime she would determinedly pull herself together and stop feeling these ridiculous waves of aching loneliness.

  “The thing is,” Johnny said, “to get it all located in one place.”

  “Exactly.” Her eyebrows rose at the unexpected comment. Housekeeping had never been Johnny’s métier. “It won’t take us long, kiddo. Then maybe we can take ourselves outside for a good long walk in the snow and a look at the Christmas lights.”

  As she bent over to gather up some bows, she felt something light and solid hit her backside. Pivoting, she saw a flash of color hit her in the stomach. “Johnny!”

  He was bunching up wads of wrapping paper into balls and pelting her with them. Another three missiles hit her while her jaw was still gaping. “I’m just getting it all in one place, Mom. Stand still. At the same time that we get the room fixed up again, I can get my aim down just right.”

  “Why, you little-”

  She tossed one back; that made him giggle. It had landed five feet from him in the Christmas tree. Obviously, she had to try another.

  “At least try to hit me!”

  “I am!”

  When the doorbell rang, Lorna was laughing. Amid a bombardment of colored-paper balls and streaming ribbons, she made her way, protesting, to the door. Hurriedly, she tried to brush a cellophane ribbon out of her hair as she opened the door. Freezing air suddenly rushed into her lungs, and the brilliance of sun on snow momentarily blinded her. Not for long. She didn’t need to see Matthew to know his laughter, to recognize the touch of his hand. He plucked the ribbon from her hair and leaned forward to tease her lips ever so lightly with the frosty smoothness of his own. “Merry Christmas, Misha.”

  For just an instant, her heart stilled. Only for a moment. The sadness haunting her eyes abruptly shimmered tremulously, trying to escape all at once in two huge tears as she threw her arms around him. “You didn’t call, damn you!” she whispered. “Matthew, I…”

  His eyes glinted past her, even as his arms were drawing her close. “Merry Christmas, Johnny! I found a package under my tree this morning with your name on it…” Lorna would have at least drawn back slightly, suddenly aware of her son standing so still, but Matthew wouldn’t let her. He cradled her close with one arm, and extended the shiny scarlet package with the other.

  “Thank you,” Johnny said uncertainly. But he didn’t take it. “Matthew, I didn’t know I was supposed to buy you a present.”

  “Because you weren’t. This isn’t even new, Johnny, I just thought you might like it.”

  Johnny took another look at the long, powerful arm around his mother, but resentment was clearly doing battle with simple curiosity. Slowly, he came forward and took Matthew’s gift. “Can I open it?”

  “I can’t imagine why not.”

  While Johnny was very carefully removing the wrappings, Matthew took off his coat. “I missed you,” he mouthed silently. His hand reached up to touch her cheek, his thumb moving slowly back and forth on her soft skin. She leaned her cheek into the cradle of his palm. As if a huge bubble had suddenly filled her soul, she felt lighthearted, champagne-high. Matthew had understood her the other night. He would not have come back if he didn’t believe her. She could see the love in his eyes.

  “Mom…”

  Lorna pivoted back to Johnny, who was frowning worriedly at her. “I don’t think I’m supposed to take something like this,” he whispered anxiously.

  The scarlet paper had covered a long, rectangular wooden box, exquisitely carved. Johnny opened it, to reveal a chess set with ebony and alabaster figures. Real ebony. Real alabaster. Her son’s surprise and delight were an easy read in those big dark eyes of his, but Lorna had engrained in him not to covet things that could not possibly belong to him.

  “I warned you it wasn’t new,” Matthew said easily. He crouched down next to the boy. “I had it when I was a kid. So did my grandfather. I guarantee it’s a good set to learn chess with. And I just thought maybe you might have some interest in the game…”

  Johnny did. Immediately. Lorna watched, like a statue, the two of them together. Matthew forced no closeness, and perhaps that was why Johnny gradually forgot that moment of resentment when Matthew had first walked in. Lorna could almost hear the little wheels in her son’s head turning. So Matthew was not always mean. Johnny had smarted over that incident with the neighbor. He was not going to commit any rash action again that he didn’t think out very, very clearly…but he wasn’t used to anyone really coming down on him hard when he misbehaved, any more than he was used to a man spending time with him.

  Johnny glowed, eventually. And Lorna turned her attention back to Matthew. The gift to her son said it all. An heirloom that was passed down in the family… Matthew was wearing dark slacks and a cranberry wool pullover, a Christmassy shade that enhanced his dark coloring. His eyes never flickered to hers, but she knew he was aware of her. He reached for the coffee cup before she’d even set it down, tugged just for an instant at her wrist to ask her to stay next to him.

  She did, with her white wool skirt tucked under her. At least she tried to keep it that way. She listened to Matthew explaining why the pawns were the most special pieces on the board, even though most of them would have to die. The queen’s incredible powers; the knight’s subtle ability to protect a piece. She listened to him talk about the queen and the knight and wondered vaguely how everything suddenly had a sexual connotation. She had to pull herself together, yet when she tried to get up to restore order to the drastically chaotic living room, Matthew tugged her skirt unobtrusively, and she settled back down again. She wanted to hear about quee
ns and knights anyway. And in the meantime, she was within touching distance. Within at least smelling distance.

  Matthew wrinkled his nose.

  “Johnny gave me perfume for Christmas,” she informed him.

  “It took my whole allowance,” Johnny admitted expansively.

  “Johnny,” Matthew said gravely, as he moved forward a pawn, “you’re due an increase in allowance. You’re nearly ten, aren’t you?”

  “In just a couple months.”

  “Six months.” She smiled. So he liked L’air du Temps, and not Lily of the Valley. Unfortunately, she still had to spray on more before they all got up to leave. Matthew’s mouth twitched, but Johnny knew too well she always sprayed on perfume before going anywhere.

  She wasn’t even sure where they were going. For a drive. Matthew vaguely promised Johnny something about seeing an electric train that took up an entire basement, but she hadn’t really listened. It didn’t matter. What mattered was being with him. Hearing his laughter blended with Johnny’s. He held her hand as they walked to the car, ignoring her son’s sudden silence, ignoring again the short spell of sullenness when Lorna took the front seat next to Matthew and motioned Johnny into the back of the sedan. The mutual laughter happened again as Matthew described the pitfalls he had encountered as a child trying to put together a train while hampered by a toddler brother in diapers.

  Johnny described the pitfalls of putting together a Zoid, hampered by a very pretty woman in a white skirt and a Christmas-green blouse.

  Lorna leaned back and relaxed as they drove. Almost as soon as she’d been aware of Johnny’s possessiveness, Matthew had handled it. It would go away, she believed, as Johnny got to know Matthew better, as he grew to like him. They both were more than halfway there. Meanwhile, Matthew drove over snow-mounded roads and past Christmas lights, decorated trees in picture windows, and people dressed for the holiday, laughing in expectation of seeing their families. The university was closed, lonely. She felt inclined to pick up the small dog she saw wandering as if lost in the road. She had an urge to soothe a small child she saw crying over a broken toy through a living room window. She felt exhilarated and high; she felt she could take on anything and win.

  Matthew turned down a road that seemed vaguely familiar, though Lorna couldn’t quite place it. She sat up, though, giving him a curious look, wondering about his mysterious destination. She had put the tiny turkey back in the refrigerator; they didn’t have to be back at any set time, but this was turning into a rather long drive. She hadn’t traveled these roads in a very long time. Since…

  He turned again, and she frowned. “Matthew?”

  He reached over to cover her hand, but he didn’t look at her. Lorna stared at his profile, suddenly set in very determined lines. When he glanced back to answer a question from Johnny, he managed to throw a soft look in her direction, full of love.

  He turned toward the road again. Her palm, nestled in his, suddenly turned damp, and she tried to pull it away. He wouldn’t let it happen, imprisoning hers that much more firmly. His fingers did the holding; his thumb tattooed a lazy, soothing caress on the inside of her wrist.

  The spiked wrought-iron gates opened when Matthew flicked a button on the console of his car.

  “Wow!” Johnny breathed. “Whose house is this?”

  The drive cut through five acres of snow-covered lawn. At the end of it was a three-story gray stone house, tall and imposing in the wintery landscape. Lorna felt a tight and painful lump lodge in her throat. She wrenched her hand free from Matthew’s and clamped it to her side.

  “It’s my father’s house,” Matthew told Johnny easily, darting a sharp glance toward Lorna. “The house where I grew up. We’ve got the electric train set up in the basement, and I think you’ll find my father is the perfect one to teach you to play chess.”

  “Okay.” Johnny vaulted out of the car, full of enthusiasm and energy. Making him sit still for an hour was like trying to leash atomic energy.

  Johnny closed the car door, leaving them in privacy. Lorna turned to Matthew with despairing eyes. “How could you do this to me?”

  Those obsidian eyes of his were so soft, yet so full of steel. “Misha, I told you a long time ago that I didn’t give a damn what happened between Richard and you. That happened to two other people, a century ago. The only reason I didn’t call was because I knew damn well you didn’t want me to until you were convinced I was sure. I am sure. I love you. I believe in you, and I don’t want any more questions of that kind between us. What better time to show you than on Christmas Day-what better way to convince you than by bringing you here.”

  She shook her head wildly, tears stinging her eyes. “Matthew, I can’t go in there. I don’t want to see your father. Do you know what he called me the last time I saw him? And to bring Johnny into it! You’re cruel,” she hissed, her temper rising. “Worse than cruel, Matthew. He doesn’t know-”

  “And it’s not going to be easy for you,” Matthew agreed. He leaned over to brush the lone tear from her cheek and smooth back a strand of her hair that really didn’t need smoothing. “My father knows you and Johnny are coming. I told him the way it is, Misha. He doesn’t like any of it, but Misha…” His voice softened, though his eyes continued to have that no-give look to them. “You’re still back there, worrying a long time ago. You’ve got to get past it. I think this really is what you want, or what you need-to bury old ghosts. To give your son and my father at least a chance to have a relationship.”

  She thought idly that the tone of ultimatum was familiar, even so gently delivered. She’d used it herself, when she’d told him they simply had no future if he wouldn’t trust her, believe in her. He wanted the same affirmation of faith, proof that her own feelings for him weren’t colored by the past. He’d tried to convey the symbolism by waiting until Christmas Day, by bringing her-and her son-here…

  And it was true that for years she’d felt saddened by Johnny’s having a grandfather he could never know. She desperately wanted Richard’s son acknowledged if only for his own security, in the event something should happen to her. “But not today, Matthew,” she said desperately. “Not now. I need time…”

  He shook his head, his eyes suddenly cold. “You’ve had nine years. You were innocent, Misha. That’s what you told me and what I believe. I trust you. But, there’s a lonely old man rattling around in that house who thinks he has no grandson, when he does, and has a right to get to know the boy-has deprived himself of that right for all this time.”

  He put a fingertip on her lips when she tried to say something. “I know,” he said roughly. “I know exactly how my father feels. But you’re going to try. Because that’s what it’s going to take to put the past behind you.”

  Johnny thumped a gloved fist on the window, his face peering in impatiently at them. “What are you two guys doing still sitting in the car? Come on!”

  As they walked up to the house, Lorna shoved her gloveless hands in her pockets and stared straight ahead, her face pale. Johnny raced ahead of them, carrying the box that held his chess set, stomping his feet in front of the two huge oak doors.

  Dread was pounding so hard in her temples that she couldn’t think. She stared up at the doors. No one could know what going back into this house again would cost her.

  “Misha?”

  She glanced at Matthew, her face as stiff and fragile as an alabaster statue.

  “No one’s going to hurt you,” he whispered. “No one, Misha.”

  The long dining table could have seated thirty. The serving dishes were sterling; the hand-painted china had been handed down through generations of Whitakers; the crystal was so expensive that Johnny seemed terrified to risk taking a sip of water. A lush poinsettia perched in the center of the table, flanked by tall, flickering white candles. Carved duckling and prime rib were served and then left on the table in case anyone should want second helpings.

  Lorna kept watching her son out of the corner of her eye. In part,
that was easier than risking eye contact with Matthew, who had lazily and easily included her in the conversation whether she wanted that or not. Eye contact with Matthew confused her. She resented him more in those moments than she had ever resented anyone in her life. Simultaneously she also loved him more than she had ever conceived of loving anyone. Eye contact with Richard Whitaker, Sr., was out of the question. She had known exactly where she stood with him the moment she shook his hand. That left Johnny.

  Her son had been struck dumb the moment they’d walked into the gracious and elegant house, a situation so rare that Lorna normally would have been amused. More than that, she was ridiculously proud of him. No, he wasn’t certain which of three forks to choose, but the manners that counted were there. She felt a little like a lioness, as she casually lifted her fork to her mouth; she was prepared to protect her cub fiercely three seconds before anything could possibly threaten him.

  No one had threatened him. She hadn’t walked in and said, “Mr. Whitaker, this is your grandson.” Mr. Whitaker hadn’t countered that by saying, “He isn’t, you adulteress.” Richard, Sr., had directed four polite questions to Johnny, which Johnny had answered while the rest of them sipped sparkling rosé wine before being ushered in to dinner. Matthew was so good at controlling the conversation that no one really had a chance to say anything awkward.