Silver Thaw (3 page)

Guy conversations were simple, no chitchat required.
How you doing
? Good.
Just calling to check in
. All’s fine
on my front. How about you?
I’m fine
. After that, the call usually ended with, “Love ya.” Jeb appreciated the brevity. That wasn’t the case with his mother and sisters, who had to fill him in on friends, gossip about a neighbor, or a great sale at Macy’s in Bend. He hadn’t minded the time Sarah had called him crying because her hair was striped with green. Jeb had found that interesting, a dye job and weave gone bad. What the hell was a
weave
, anyway? And why did Sarah, who had perfectly nice hair the same toffee color as his, feel a need to streak it with different shades of blond or red that could come out the wrong color? Jeb preferred to go with what God had given him.

Jeb began chopping vegetables for a stir-fry. He tossed chunks of raw carrot, celery, broccoli, and cauliflower over his shoulder to Bozo, keeping the onions and garlic for himself. Bad stuff for dogs. Something about causing their bone marrow to stop producing red blood cells.

Behind him, he heard Bozo gnawing on the safe stuff. Dinner preparation was
their
time. He’d been feeding the dog vegetables since he was a pup, and he’d become a greenie gobble gut. Not a bad thing, according to the vet. Jeb made a quick pot of rice in his electric pressure cooker, whipped up some broth gravy, and took a seat at the round kitchen table to devour his meal while Bozo crunched on his evening kibble.

Afterward, Jeb tidied up the kitchen and sat back down at the table with a measure of brandy to have a long discourse with Bozo about the mysterious writer of the pink slips. In between Jeb’s sentences, Bozo growled, his way of replying. Jeb followed the rules of polite exchange and didn’t speak until Bozo had had his say.

Their conversation ended when Jeb finished his
brandy. As he and Bozo sauntered toward the downstairs master suite, Jeb said, “That poor woman needs a mastiff like you, one who talks. We’ve had a perfectly fine conversation.”

*   *   *

I’m dreaming. It’s just a dream,
Amanda told herself, only no matter how she tried to wake up, she couldn’t.
Mark
. He’d locked his arm around her throat and held a partially loaded revolver to her temple as he described how her brains would look splattered all over the wall. The pressure against her larynx prevented her from speaking. All she could do was moan, quiver with terror, and pray the chamber would be empty when he pulled the trigger.

Click
. The sound snapped Amanda to a sitting position in bed. The sheet was tangled around her legs. Her breath came in wheezy jerks. Perspiration ran in rivulets over her ribs. Even awake, she could still feel the strangling sensation in her throat.
Oh, God, oh, God
. She jerked at the bedding to free herself and staggered to the bathroom to empty her bladder.
Not real. Only a dream
. But telling herself that didn’t help her to stop shaking. Too weak to stand, she remained on the commode until the nightmare released its hold on her.

The house seemed oddly bright as she left the bathroom. She went to a living room window, drew back the curtain, and saw at least a foot of snow outside. Though her heart sank, she had to admit it was beautiful. The never-used mailbox, mounted on a post at the edge of the front yard, looked like a loaf cake topped with fluffy white icing. Because she lived at the end of Elderberry Lane, a dead-end road, no cars had passed, leaving the carpet of snow undisturbed. In places it lay in powdery
drifts. The boughs of the pine trees drooped under the weight. It was a winter wonderland.

If only she could stay inside and admire it. She turned up the thermostat to take the chill off before she woke Chloe for school. Half of the old baseboard heaters didn’t work, and twenty minutes later, the house still felt cold. Chloe was tiny and thin. Amanda hated to expose her to icy drafts. Somehow she would keep the child wrapped in a blanket while she got her dressed. Otherwise Chloe’s teeth would chatter as she ate her oatmeal and a roll that Amanda had brought home yesterday from Chloe’s school cafeteria, where she worked.
Job perk
. At the end of each shift, Delores, the head cook, allowed her helpers to divide the leftovers. According to her, some law made it illegal to feed the kids day-old food. The portions Amanda received weren’t haute cuisine, but they reduced her grocery bill each month, enabling her to make ends meet. Well, almost. The cost of electricity this month might break her.

As grim as their situation was, Amanda shoved away her memories of the nightmare and felt peace settle into her heart. At least Mark wasn’t a part of this snowy picture. No angry outbursts, no blows, no furniture being thrown, no holes in the walls. As icky as the weather might be, Chloe would feel safe while they ate breakfast.

Amanda walked to her daughter’s tiny bedroom, which she’d painted avocado, using what Landon Ramsey, the young owner of Sticks and Stones Building Supply, called a “residual” color. In regular-speak, that meant he’d mixed it for a customer who’d changed her mind and refused to purchase it. Amanda had figured she couldn’t go wrong at five dollars a gallon—at least Chloe’s room got clean walls. Amanda had decorated the room with thrift-store chic,
buying curtains, a cute bedspread, and old throw rugs to cover the worn linoleum.

It wasn’t a little girl’s dream, but Chloe loved having her own bookshelf, purchased for a song at Second Time Around. The proprietor, a cute brunette with green eyes named Tally Tancy, didn’t look old enough to operate a business, but her store, which offered large and small used appliances, plus furniture, seemed to be thriving. Tally delivered anywhere in town for twenty dollars, always accompanied by her Rottweiler mix, Nita, who went everywhere with a fresh knucklebone clamped between her teeth. Though rickety and banged up, Chloe’s bookshelf had been dropped off for free, and it was now filled with books that had cost only a quarter apiece.

Flipping on the clown lamp on her daughter’s bedside table, Amanda leaned over to say, “Surprise, surprise, sweetheart. It snowed last night!”

Chloe blinked open her chocolate brown eyes, so very like Amanda’s own. With a squeal of delight, she scrambled from bed to peer out her ice-encrusted window. Amanda grabbed a blanket and draped it around the child’s shoulders.

“Isn’t it pretty?” she asked.

Chloe nodded. Then she frowned. “We still don’t have snow boots, Mommy. Our feet will get wet walking to the bus stop.”

“Nope! Remember those bread sacks I’ve been saving? They’ll keep your feet dry.”

Chloe shoved a hank of curly hair out of her eyes. “But, Mommy, nobody at school wears bread sacks for boots. My friends will laugh at me.”

“Got it covered.” Amanda gave the child a hug. “When we get to the bus stop, I’ll walk around to flatten
the snow, and you can take the sacks off before the bus comes.”

Chloe reached up to touch Amanda’s cheek. “Are you going to wear bread sacks while you walk to work?”

Amanda suspected that she’d slip and fall if she tried, but she would wear them as far as the bus stop so Chloe wouldn’t worry all day about her mother wearing wet running shoes. “Absolutely! Maybe I’ll start a new fashion fad.”

Chloe giggled. Amanda left her to admire the snow while she gathered her daughter’s clothing. Then, working as quickly as possible, she helped her get dressed. Thanks to Mystic’s Good as New and the Vintage Boutique, the child had nice, warm outfits, and this coming Saturday, Amanda would walk with Chloe to town and buy her some snow boots at Charlie’s Sporting Goods, whether she could afford them or not.

*   *   *

Jeb was feeding his stock when he found two more slips of pink paper.
Damn
. This gal didn’t need a phone to be a chatterbox; she managed just fine with a pen.
My little girl still has no boots, and it’s going to snow. I’ll keep her feet dry somehow. She’ll take sick if she sits in class all day tomorrow with wet feet.
The next note read,
Our heaters are awful. Half of them don’t work, and the house is like an ice cube
. Jeb wondered what kind of heaters she had. Probably malfunctioning baseboard or wall mounts, neither of which would produce heat efficiently.
Shit
. Just what this lady needed—an electric bill the size of Bozo.

Jeb trudged through the snow with his meandering dog, who had to mark every shrub and fence post he encountered. More pieces of paper had caught on bushes and become frozen stiff. They’d drifted in last night,
probably on the south wind. Jeb turned in that direction. A few other houses were located farther south on Huckleberry. Maybe she lived right on his road.
Nope
. He’d never seen a woman walking to work along Huckleberry.

While he forked hay, he pictured the surrounding terrain and the thoroughfares that ran parallel to one another. Trying to pinpoint where the woman might live, he voted for Elderberry. It curved toward the end, putting some of those houses directly south of his and Tony’s land. She apparently worked the day shift somewhere. Maybe he’d get in his truck tomorrow morning and cruise Elderberry until nine, keeping his eye out for a woman afoot. Was it beyond all possibility that she was a knockout?

Well, hell, I’m really losing it.
His only consolation was that his neighbors were also curious about the message writer. He chuckled as he pictured Tony, at Myrna’s urging, licking his finger to test the wind. Jeb was tempted to do it himself.
That isn’t happening
. As curious as Jeb was about the woman’s identity, he wasn’t about to declare the pink slips of paper “finger-lickin’ good.”

The next two weeks passed quickly for Amanda. On Saturday after receiving her bimonthly paycheck and tallying her cash to make sure she could pay the electric bill, she took money out of her car fund and walked with Chloe into Mystic Creek to buy the child a pair of snow boots, pink if possible. After crossing Elderberry Bridge to the town center, which featured a fountain and was surrounded by shops, Amanda gave Chloe a penny to make a wish. As the child tossed the coin, Amanda sent up a silent prayer for a windfall, or even just a bit of good luck.
Two wishes for the price of one
.

Because of the cold, Amanda allowed Chloe to admire the natural pedestrian bridge only from afar; it was a gorgeous arch of moss-covered rock that over the centuries the rushing water had worn into a tunnel. Chloe loved the legend about the bridge, that when a man and woman met on its path, they would find true love. The girl wanted to visit the bridge every time they walked to town, hoping that her mother might meet the man of her dreams.

Not today. Amanda hustled the child along the south
side of East Main, appreciating, as always, the antiquated two-story storefronts with either living quarters or extra storage on the upper levels. Most of the shops had unique names: Simply Sensational Fragrances and Beyond, owned by a lovely older lady, Mary Alice Thomas; the Shady Lady, which Amanda surmised offered sexy apparel and bedroom toys; and the Silver Beach Salon, operated by a young woman in her late twenties named Crystal Malloy, who changed her hair color nearly as often as Amanda did her socks. There were also the Pill Minder, recently purchased by Drake Mullin, who Amanda guessed was in his early thirties; Healthful Possibilities, run by Taffeta Brown, who looked about twenty-five; A Cut Above, another hair place; and catty-corner across the street from Charlie’s, Chopstick Suey Chinese Eatery and the Jake ’n’ Bake.

The slogan under Charlie’s store sign read, “If we don’t have it, we’ll order it,” and the interior of the building bore out that promise; the narrow aisles were crammed with everything imaginable. Amanda had to ask a young lady with sandy brown hair where the children’s snow boots were located. Once she found them, she zeroed in on the cheapest brand.

When they unearthed a pink pair in the right size, Chloe cried, “Molly has pink boots, too! Now we can be twins!”

Amanda was pleased. Even these less expensive boots would set her back, but at least they wouldn’t demolish her car fund.

Before leaving the store, Amanda insisted that Chloe don her new footwear, and she stowed the child’s school shoes in her ever-present backpack. Without a car, Amanda had learned that grocery shopping—or any
other on-foot activity—required more carrying capacity than her arms alone could provide.

After leaving Charlie’s, Chloe pleaded with Amanda for a visit to the Mystic Creek Menagerie, a gigantic circular structure, once a sawmill but now converted into a mall. The center focal point was a slowly revolving roundtable restaurant. Chloe yearned to eat on what she called “the merry-go-round.”

“Not today, sweetie.” The prices at Dizzy’s Roundtable Restaurant, run by Tony Chavez, made Amanda dizzy just looking at them. “But buying snow boots does call for a celebration! How about lunch at Taco Joe’s?”

Chloe clapped her hands. “I love Taco Joe’s!”

So did Amanda. Eating there didn’t cost an arm and a leg.

As they once again crossed the town center, Amanda caught the delicious aromas drifting from Pecks’ Red Rooster Restaurant, Mystic Creek’s one fine-dining establishment. The owners, Chris and Kimberly Peck, had built the restaurant to optimize views of the creek and natural bridge, and though Amanda had heard from her boss that the Pecks were generous people, she doubted their menu prices reflected their largesse.

After a fun lunch at the taco place, with the owner, handsome young Joe Paisley, capping off the meal with complimentary root beer floats, they began the long walk home. As Chloe chattered, Amanda’s mind drifted. She was jerked from her mental meandering when Chloe said, “Taco Joe is really cute. Maybe someday you’ll meet him on the bridge!”

Amanda smothered a startled laugh. “Maybe so,” she said. But a man wasn’t really the answer to her problems.
She was still married, a concept Chloe didn’t yet comprehend.

On the way home, Chloe’s new boots leaked.
You get what you pay for
. Still, the poor quality irked Amanda. Not that she could blame Charlie Ramsey. At least he carried items for those who couldn’t afford better.

On Monday morning, she stowed Chloe’s regular shoes in her school backpack and slipped bread sacks over the child’s feet before putting on the boots, hoping that the plastic would help keep Chloe’s socks dry as they trudged to the bus stop. She thanked God for small blessings when it worked.

*   *   *

A little over a week before Thanksgiving, on a Monday afternoon, Amanda was surprised when, just after lunch cleanup, a time set aside for the cafeteria team to do next-day prep, Delores announced that she was letting everyone off early.

“School is closing early, too,” she explained.

Amanda’s heart sank. Normally her shift ended well before Chloe, attending first grade in the same building, hopped on a bus, giving Amanda time to reach the drop-off point before Chloe did.

“The forecast says an ice storm will hit sometime tonight, with temperatures as low as minus thirty,” Delores continued. “Right now, freezing rain is falling on top of the accumulated snow, which is turning it to solid ice. It’ll be dangerous getting home, and I’m guessing if the storm actually hits, school will be canceled tomorrow.”

Again, Amanda’s heart took a plunge. She got paid only for the hours she worked, and received no health benefits. She couldn’t survive if the school stayed closed for long.

Mary Lou Hansen, another assistant, with kinky red hair and merry blue eyes, said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it that cold in Mystic, and I’ve lived here all my life!”

The gray in Delores’s brown hair, twisted into a French roll, gave testimony to the twenty years she had on her helpers. Wiping her hands on a chef’s apron that barely covered her belly, she fixed a solemn blue gaze on them and said, “Back in the eighties it got that cold, or at least close. Living in Mystic Creek ain’t for sissies.” She took her apron off and tossed it in the laundry basket. “Andy finished up early and has our car heating.” Delores’s husband was the school janitor. “Anyone interested can divide the leftovers. If the power goes off, you’ll have no way to heat them without a gas stove, but if you’re low on groceries, cold food beats nothing.”

Amanda wasn’t one of those lucky few who had a propane range, and she was always low on groceries. As she and Mary Lou began divvying up the food into containers that they washed and brought back each morning, she prayed the power wouldn’t fail. She and Chloe would freeze without electricity to heat their ramshackle rental.

As Amanda left the cafeteria with farewells and be-safe wishes, she dreaded her mile-plus journey home.
My own fault, having to walk
. She’d never told Delores or her coworkers that she had no car because she didn’t want them to feel obligated to give her rides. Amanda had also feared that she wouldn’t get the job if the school board learned she had no vehicle, so she’d lied on her application. It wasn’t really a falsehood; she had two legs that provided her with reliable transportation.

Freezing rain
. Not only would it hurt when the bits of
ice hit her face and bare hands, but it would also be cold. And slick. She absolutely could not slip and fall. Her tight budget left no room for an injury that would make her miss work.

Outside, Amanda hid in an alcove and waited until she heard Mary Lou’s vehicle leave the parking lot. A sense of urgency bubbled at the base of her throat, a need to connect up with Chloe, but she couldn’t risk being seen on foot.

When the sound of Mary Lou’s engine died away, Amanda stepped carefully out of her hiding place. The concrete walkway and the recently plowed asphalt, now covered in a sheet of ice, were so slick that she could barely stay standing.
Oh, God.

Amanda picked up her pace as much as she could. Chloe would be frightened if Amanda wasn’t at the corner to meet her.

Thirty minutes later, Amanda crossed the East Sugar Pine Bridge. In the distance, she saw Chloe standing like a forlorn waif at the end of Elderberry, where the school bus had dropped her off. She waved and called out what she hoped was a reassuring hello.

“Stay right where you are, baby. I’ll be there in just a minute!”

Amanda was shuddering with cold by the time she reached her daughter, whose teeth were clacking like castanets. Grabbing Chloe’s hand, she guided the child over the slick ground toward the house, fairly certain that she looked like an inebriated ice skater to the many neighbors along Elderberry Lane.

After a long soak together in the ancient claw-foot tub filled with piping-hot water, Amanda dressed Chloe in double layers before putting on her own clothes. Then
she grabbed blankets from her bed and led the way to the kitchen, where she wrapped the girl in worn fleece and deposited her on a chair.

Standing at the sink, Amanda gazed out at the frozen world beyond the frosty glass. Her heart squeezed with dread. She considered going to a motel, but that would cost money she couldn’t spare, and the conditions outside were too dangerous for pedestrians. If a vehicle spun out of control, she and Chloe might be hurt. The safest option was to stay put and pray that the power stayed on.

Just then, the small house filled with the deafening sound of sleet hitting the roof. Startled, Chloe jumped up, tripped on her blanket, and would have fallen if Amanda hadn’t caught her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Amanda said as she sat down on an old dinette chair and drew her daughter onto her lap. “It’s only frozen rain.”

Chloe stared at the ceiling as if she expected it to collapse on top of them. “It sounds like marbles hitting.”

“Yes, it does.” Amanda raised her voice to be heard over the din. “I’d say it’s turned to hail. Hail can be as big as marbles, and it makes a very loud sound on roofs. Let’s have a snack and then we’ll sing songs so the noise doesn’t bother us.”

*   *   *

During the summer, when he had a vegetable garden to shield from frost, Jeb checked the Weather Channel on his cell phone daily, but he seldom looked at a forecast during the winter. He preferred to take whatever came and be surprised. His mother, on the other hand, lived by the reports and called him at about eight that evening.

“That was one heck of a hailstorm we got earlier,” Jeb said as a conversational starting point.

“That was only an appetizer,” Kate warned him. “Before the night is over, it’s going to get really bad. Is the heat lamp in your chicken coop wired to your backup generator? They’re saying it could drop to thirty below.”

Jeb couldn’t remember Mystic Creek ever having temps that low. “Mom, only a fool or a weatherman tries to predict Oregon weather. For an accurate forecast, look out a window.”

Kate Sterling made a disgruntled sound. “I mean it, Jeb. You need to get your livestock inside shelters, and if your coop isn’t hooked up to your generator, you should bring all the chickens indoors.”

Jeb gulped back a laugh. Only his mom would think to rescue his poultry. “No worries. I bought a generator that supplies all the outbuildings with emergency electricity. The animals and chickens should be fine.”

After Jeb told his mom good-bye, he considered calling Tony to make sure he was locked down for a storm, but then he decided that the old man had been farming too many years to appreciate advice from some young fart across the road. So instead of dialing his neighbor, Jeb thought of his message writer.
His
message writer? When had he started to think of her that way? He looked out his kitchen window, once again wondering if she lived on Elderberry. She might be in for a cold night if the electricity went off. Jeb could only pray that didn’t happen—and that she had a strong roof. His had taken a real beating earlier.

Nothing on television interested him, so he coaxed Bozo from his hiding place under the dining room table and turned in early to finish the espionage novel he’d been plowing through. Hail resumed thrumming on his second-story roof, which, as loud as it was, created a
soothing drone downstairs. After reading the last page, he judged the book to be so-so. Yawning, he tossed the paperback onto his nightstand and turned off the light. He smiled when he felt the mattress sink beside him under Bozo’s weight. The dog seemed to think Jeb wouldn’t notice that he had a sleeping partner if he waited for darkness before jumping up.

*   *   *

At a little after ten, the hail stopped, giving Amanda’s ears a rest. To stay warmer, she’d bedded down with Chloe on the sofa where the high-back cushions and padded arms offered more insulation than the beds. Nervy and restless because of the weather, she was driven from their warm nest to pace from room to room. At a window, she looked out at the silent, frozen landscape. There it was again, the feeling of being cut off from meaningful human contact. She slipped into the kitchen to write a few notes on pink paper, then braved the blasts of freezing wind on her porch to release her messages.

Afterward, she snuggled with Chloe on the couch to get warm again and retrieved her love story, drawing solace from Chloe’s small, toasty body. A few minutes later, the house went suddenly dark. From the kitchen, she heard the old refrigerator’s motor chug to a stop.
Thank goodness Chloe is asleep. The pitch-blackness might frighten her.
Groping her way to the kitchen, Amanda fetched the candle and matches she’d left on the table. She nearly lighted the taper but changed her mind. She had only this one, and she needed to use it sparingly. Careful not to trip in the dark, she pulled the blankets and comforters off both beds, and added them to the pile on the couch. With the power out, blankets and body heat were all they had to keep from freezing.

Within ten minutes, the drafty house became unbearably cold. Amanda collected more pillows, bath towels, and sheets from the linen closet to provide them with extra warmth. That helped, and clutching Chloe close against her, she finally fell asleep.