Wicked Winters: A Collection of Winter Tales

by Lucy Smoke

  Shira nodded, glancing toward the kitchen where Ravi was still banging.

  “Ravi!” Sarah called.

  “Coming!” He returned, a plate of latkes in hand. His face was red, as if he’d been standing in front of boiling oil or the oven.

  “You okay?” Shira asked.

  “Yes,” he answered shortly, holding a hand out for her plate.

  She handed it over, all the while watching. As he passed it back to her, he glanced down at his watch, and then back up at her. “Is it late?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Ravi!” His grandmother frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

  So she’d caught it, too. There was an edge to Ravi’s voice, reflecting impatience, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand what it was she’d done that upset Ravi so much. Was it the discussion of the artwork? She really hadn’t meant to bring up something painful.

  “I’m sorry, Ravi, if I upset you.” The smell of latkes suddenly turned her stomach. She lowered her voice, leaning over to whisper. “Do you want me to go?”

  “No, Shira.” He sighed, and again glanced at his watch. “No. Really. You didn’t upset me. I’m just feeling anxious.”

  “Well, relax,” Sarah huffed. “You’re finally here. I get you once a year, Ravi. Chill out.”

  Shira snorted, and finally, Ravi smiled. “There’s the dimple,” she said, and slapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Noticed my grandson’s dimples?” Sarah laughed. “You should see the other three.”

  “I have.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could reel them back. While what she had said was innocent enough, the way it sounded was similar to, “I have, and damn, they are hot!” Not the sentiment she wished to impart to their grandmother.

  But Sarah only laughed louder. “You should have seen their grandfather. The good looks come from him. Blue eyes, cheekbones, and a tush you could bite.”

  “Grandma!” Ravi propped his elbow on the table and covered his eyes, but his shoulders shook. He peered through his fingers. “You’re too much.”

  “Leave me with my memories, boy. You know I don’t have much longer on this Earth. But I tell you, when I get wherever I’m going, I better not be an old lady. If I meet your Gramps and he looks the way he did when he died, and I look the way I’m going to look when I die? Let’s just say, someone’s going to get an earful.” With a wink, Sarah speared a piece of latke. “These latkes may be my best yet. Try them, Shira.”

  The laughter had done the trick. Her stomach uncramped. She could take a bite of the food and not feel like her body would reject it. “This is amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Sarah asked Shira more about her work as a curator, but the darkness never returned to Ravi’s eyes. He seemed comfortable, posture slouched until his grandmother reminded him to sit up straight. By the time dinner was over, it was nearing nine and Shira’s tights felt as if they were going to roll down her now-full belly.

  Ravi got her coat and held it out to her. “Ready?” he asked.

  She shrugged into it and faced his grandmother. “Thank you so much for having me.”

  Sarah opened her arms and enfolded her in a hug. “My pleasure. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “That would be wonderful. If you ever want to come by the gallery, I would love to show you around.” But Sarah would have to come soon, because it was likely Shira wouldn’t be there much longer. After the complete lack of progress on the provenances, there was no way Lohse and Gottleib would keep her around.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Sarah answered. She turned to Ravi and hugged him tight. “Oh, my boy. Tell your brothers to take care of themselves.” She went on to whisper something too low for Shira to make out before she opened the door.

  “Goodnight, Grandma. Happy Hanukkah.”

  “Happy Hanukkah.” The door closed behind them with a snick.

  “Your grandma is wonderful,” Shira said as they walked to the elevator.

  “She is,” Ravi said. “She's everything.”

  Thanks to the wind, it was even colder outside than it had been when they’d gone into the apartment building. One of the things she never got used to was how frigid the city could be. The night sky was purple, and for a moment she wished she could see the stars.

  “Do you like the city?” Shira asked, imagining the place Ravi had come from. “Where you are from, can you see the stars?”

  Ravi glanced up, his smooth, brown throat stretched toward the sky. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “I love my grandmother, and when I was younger, coming to the city to visit was the highlight of my year. I loved the changing seasons, and the weather. Where I’m from, the weather never really changes.”

  He gestured toward the sidewalk with his elbow, a sign for her to follow, and started to walk. They continued on in silence, the only sound the wind, and their boots.

  Shira had so many questions for him.

  Her entire life had been spent in the city. She grew up in Brooklyn, which was a big deal to her mother and father. Most of their contemporaries never left this neighborhood. But her father, an academic librarian, got a job at Brooklyn College, so off they went.

  Shira had always counted herself lucky.

  Living in a city was a mix of all the world’s cultures, but now, she felt like it would have been nice to experience those places first hand.

  “Do you mind stopping by Dov’s apartment?” Ravi asked. “Before I bring you back, I mean.”

  “Um.” She still had so much work to do. After sliding her hand out of her pocket, she shook her wrist to dislodge her watch. It was past nine. “I don’t know. I really need to get back.”

  “It won’t take long,” Ravi said. He smiled engagingly, but it seemed off to her. Forced somehow.

  And there was no dimple.

  It was like he was playing at mellow, and actually was wound tighter than a drum.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “You’re asking me that a lot tonight,” he answered. He was taller than she was and dipped his head to better meet her eyes.

  “You seem anxious.” Shira thought about him at the gallery, his grandmother’s, and now. The man was definitely on edge.

  “I’m sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not, really. I’m distracted and edgy. It’s not you. It’s just…”

  “I’ll come with you” she answered, cutting into his explanation. She wanted to know more about him. This little glimpse he gave drew her in.

  “You will?” He dragged his hands from his hair along the scruff on his jawline. She was tempted to feel his face, the scratch against her fingers. To stop herself, she curled them into fists and stuffed them in her pocket.

  “Yes,” she answered. “Lead the way.”

  He started off, and she struggled to keep up. His legs were so much longer than hers, she had to double-time her pace. “So Dov lives here year round.” She was embarrassed by how out-of-breath she was.

  “Yes. He visits our parents in Israel, but he stays here.”

  “And Pascal and Yaphet?”

  “They have obligations in Israel as well.” The way he said the word obligations made her wonder. “They have families?” Shira watched her feet as she walked, but she hung on his answer. What did it matter if Yaphet, Pascal, or even Dov, had families? She’d only just met them. The most she knew about them was their nationality.

  “No,” Ravi answered, and she let out her breath. He must have heard her because he chuckled.

  “My brothers are too busy to have families,” he answered. Why had he left himself off that list?

  “And you?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

  “No, Shira,” Ravi said. “I’m not married or have a family. I never would have asked you on a date if I was.”

  “Is that what this is?” She wondered, but he was so hot and cold. T
here were moments when their eyes met and she felt something spark between them, but others when he merely seemed to be passing the time. Like now, for example, when he was checking his watch for the thousandth time.

  “Yes. It’s not obvious?” He stopped. “This is Dov’s apartment.” He indicated a townhouse undergoing the process of renovation. Scaffolding was erected around the stairs leading to the door and to the second floor. “We stay with him when we’re here.”

  Shira trailed behind him, waiting for him to unlock the door. Inside, stairs led to another floor where she could make out two heavy wooden doors. “How many apartments?” she asked.

  “Two up and two down. Dov’s is the biggest. Two bedrooms.”

  Shira studied the interior as they walked upstairs. Tiny two-inch tiles lined the floors, but the stairs were some sort of stone, heavy and dark, and veined with white. Next to Dov’s door was a mezuzah, done in teal blues. She examined it closely. What she thought was paint was actually the way the metal had aged. “This is beautiful,” she whispered.

  “It was our grandmother’s,” Ravi replied. “She gave it to Dov when he moved here to care for her.”

  Care for Sarah? The woman seemed healthy. She’d even met them in the hall when they’d exited the elevator.

  “I hope she’s all right,” she said. Ravi shrugged again, and pushed open the door.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, flicking on lights as he went into the kitchen.

  “No.” Shira spun in slow circles, admiring Dov’s home.

  It was beautiful. Details original to the building, such as window casings and columns, shone with fresh paint. She breathed in. The smell still lingered as if the paint had barely dried. “He must not have been living here very long,” she noted. On the mantel were a series of photographs, some old and sepia-toned, while others were new. One showed all four of the brothers. They squinted in the bright sunlight where they stood against the backdrop of a clear blue sky and full green trees.

  Edging closer, Shira peered at it.

  “Here.” Ravi stuck a glass of wine under her nose. She accepted it even though she hadn’t asked for it, and sipped delicately. The wine was sweet. It must have been meant to be paired with a dessert.

  “Where is this?” she asked after swallowing, eyes still on the picture.

  “Our family farm.” Ravi picked up the framed photograph. It wasn’t lost on Shira that he didn’t have a glass in his hand.

  “I’m the only one drinking?” she asked.

  “I put the kettle on for tea,” Ravi said and sure enough in the distance she could hear water popping against the interior of a metal kettle.

  “This is going to make me sleepy,” Shira said after another sip. “It’s lovely but I can’t finish it.” She placed the glass on a coaster set on the coffee table. “What did you need to get?”

  Ravi glanced around, as if he’d forgotten his purpose. “I had to get Dov a change of clothes and bring them to him at the hospital,” he said. “He forgot them.”

  “Oh,” Shira said, at a loss for what else to say.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” Ravi backed toward the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared through a nearby door, closing it gently behind him. Shira could hear him, rustling through drawers. The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle and when it was clear he wouldn’t be returning to take it off the burner, she hurried to do it for him.

  Two mugs sat next to the stove, both with tea bags stuffed inside. Pouring the water on top of the bags, Shira breathed in the herbal scent of steeping tea leaves. She didn’t recognize the flavor, and lifted the mug.

  The string and tag attached to the teabag gave no indication of what was inside, so she sniffed again. And again.

  That’s how Ravi found her, eyes closed, sniffing her tea.

  “It’s called Egyptian Licorice.” He chuckled and Shira’s eyes popped open. “It has cardamon, cinnamon, and orange. It’s Dov’s favorite.”

  Her face felt hot, like he’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t. “I’ve never had it before.” She took a sip, but the liquid hadn’t cooled enough. It scalded her tongue and the roof of her mouth, so she set the mug on the counter.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Just burned myself,” she answered. It felt as if a layer of skin had been scraped right out of her mouth.

  “Let me take your coat.”

  She suddenly noticed that he’d lost his somewhere between the living room and Dov’s bedroom. He stood now, shirt sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms, waiting for her to hand him her coat.

  “I need to go soon,” she said again.

  “Tea first?” he said. “The night is bitterly cold.”

  Shira glanced down at her watch again. Nine-thirty.

  “I really can’t stay,” she said.

  “But baby it’s cold outside…” he sang. His voice was deep, and swoon-worthy. The notes glided into each other. The man was an old-fashioned crooner!

  “I got to go away…” She couldn’t help herself.

  The man who burned hot and cold smiled, his dimple appearing in his cheek and his eyes sparking with mischief. “But baby, it’s cold outside.”

  Shira laughed, the sound bursting from her and she nodded. “Okay, okay, Dean Martin. You got me. I’ll stay.”

  Ravi’s smile stayed on his face as he reached for her mug and handed it to her. “Cream and sugar?”

  “No,” she replied. “It’s fine.”

  They went into the living room where Shira placed her mug on a table next to the couch. Unbuttoning her coat, her gaze was drawn back to the mantel. “You have a farm?”

  Ravi sat next to her, turning so one knee was drawn up on the cushion and his arm rested along the length of the couch back. “Yes. We have a citrus grove. My grandfather started it.”

  “I’m confused, I thought he was a doctor here?” Shira blew across the tea before risking another sip. It had cooled enough that she wouldn’t need a skin graft.

  “That’s my father’s father. My mother’s family is Israeli. They went there right after World War II.”

  “Wow,” Shira replied. Israel after the war was dangerous, but exciting. It would become the homeland for all Jewish people, whether they were born there or not.

  “My grandfather had a vineyard in France, but then they were occupied by Germany. So they lost it. They lost everything.”

  “Everyone?” Shira asked.

  “My grandfather, his brothers—they all survived. I’m sure there were cousins, but he never spoke of them,” Ravi said.

  “So he went to Israel and started again. That’s so brave.”

  Ravi opened his mouth as if to argue, but then shut it. “Yes. It was.”

  “And you grew up there?” she asked, imagining the four brothers running wild on a farm.

  “We did.” He stared out the window. “It was the best childhood anyone could want. Animals, trees to climb. All our family around us. We came here for Hanukkah every year because that’s how my dad grew up. In Israel, Hanukkah’s not that big a deal.”

  “Well, I’m going to get an ear load from my grandmother when she finds out I skipped out on her Hanukkah for your grandmother’s.” Shira laughed, but a flutter of nervousness in her stomach reminded her she was in for it.

  “I never thought of that,” Ravi said. “It’s the thing about those neighborhoods. No secrets.”

  “No,” Shira said. She took another sip of tea. Now that her mouth had cooled off, she could taste all the different flavors. It had a heat to it, apart from the warmth of the liquid, that soothed her insides. Unsure what to say next, she sat there, holding the mug between her hands.

  “Are you feeling better?” Ravi asked, his voice quiet.

  Confused, Shira met his gaze. He’d narrowed his eyes and roamed her face, studying her features.

  “What do you mean?”

  “From your mugging.” He reached out, smoothing his hand down her
hair and then lacing his fingers through the strands to touch the back of her head. “You hit the ground so hard.”

  “I’d never been so scared,” she whispered. His touch gave her the strength to say the things she wouldn’t otherwise. “I thought I was going to die.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Ravi dropped his hand to his lap. He shook his head. “I never wanted that.” His words didn’t make sense. It wasn’t as if he knew her before she was mugged. No one wished an attack on another person.

  “I’m okay now,” she said. “My head doesn’t even hurt.” She touched the back of her head. The egg had disappeared. “The worst thing right now is not getting enough sleep. This auction is—let’s just say when it’s finished, I will be too.”

  “I don’t understand.” Ravi canted his head to the side. Red flushed from his neck to his cheeks. “Are you in danger?”

  “No! No.” That wasn’t it at all. “I mean—I’m going to quit, or I’m going to be fired. Either way, my time at Lohse and Gottleib House will be finished.”

  She linked her hands and sighed. Pouring out her fears to Ravi hadn’t been her plan, but he was easy to talk to. Relaxed. And he didn’t seem to mind her probing questions about his family, or her tangents.

  “I’ve never seen someone work as hard as you do.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. Shira let him pull one of her hands between his to link his fingers with hers. The warmth of his skin seeped into hers and she held on.

  Shira snorted. “I don’t think you’ve known me long enough to know what sort of employee I am.”

  “No,” Ravi replied. He played with her fingers, brushing from her knuckle to her nail with his fingertip. “But I didn’t need much time to know what kind of person you are. You’re good, Shira. Honest and kind. And I’ve watched you do the very best you can do.”

  Her eyes flooded with tears and she dropped her gaze to their laps to hide her face. She hadn’t expected him to respond like that. It was like he saw her, really saw her, and appreciated who she was.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He touched her chin, skimming his fingers along her neck and then beneath her chin to lift her head. She blinked the tears from her eyes quickly, but he saw them. She could tell from the way his eyes followed the track they made down her cheeks. Slowly, he leaned toward her, broadcasting his intentions.