19
Before dinner, he said to Melissa, I have something for you too.
He left the living room and drifted back outside. Retrieved something from the truck, a tall rectangular gift all wrapped in paper, and nudged his way back inside the house with it. If it was a box, it was not light.
Here, he said, setting it on the flimsy coffee table. Then, as if reassessing the table’s integrity, he lifted the gift and set it on the carpeting between Melissa’s feet.
But, Charlie, I didn’t you get you anything, Melissa said.
Not yet, he replied, grinning.
She pulled the paper off the box. Slowly, carefully. Like he had given her a bomb. Or a bowling ball. Something she couldn’t possibly use. But when the paper was crumpled on the floor, she opened the box itself to find twelve bottles of wine. She pulled each one out, marveling at the bottle she held, then stared at him. Incredulous.
This is—she said, eyes wide—like, nuts. This is bananas. I can’t… She hesitated. Charlie, I can’t accept this. I know, she said, waving her hand over the box, how much all this is worth. I could buy a car with this box.
He nodded his head slowly. If you wanted to, he said. Or you can drink them. You’re about the only person I know who would appreciate these bottles. And look, I had some time to think about it. If something happened to me, I have no idea what would happen to that cellar. Maybe—maybe—one of my cousins would know that they were worth something? But I could also see someone donating them to some church. Here, they’d say, carting in box after box of wine. Guess you should be all set on communion juice for a while. Anyway, it’s up to you now. I’d actually like to give you another case or two. If that’s all right.
He sat down in a folding chair Vivian had set up just for him, crossed his legs, and rested his hands on his stomach.
She looked at him, stunned. Okay. But, I mean, what am I supposed to get you? A grandfather clock or something? A fancy fucking shotgun? She let out a little snort. Jesus, she said, my mouth is watering, thinking about these wines.
Here, come with me, he said. Let’s talk out in the garage.
What’s happening? Vivian asked.
Oh, Charlie said over his shoulder, as he shrugged into his coat and held the door for Melissa, we’ll be back in a minute.
They stood in the garage, breath steaming out before them. There was no ceiling light, but Melissa turned on an aged yellow trouble light, and they stood there, on the cracked concrete, the cramped garage barely wide enough to fit a Volkswagen Beetle inside if it was utterly empty. Which it surely was not, between the dilapidated lawn mower, a wheelbarrow, toys, balls, bicycles, a broken washing machine, and their garbage cans.
I don’t know if I like this, Melissa said. I don’t know if I like where this is going…
I need a favor, he said quietly.
She looked at him evenly, arms crossed over her chest.
I want to take your mom on a trip, he explained. Just for a weekend. But that means she won’t be around to help with the girls. We used to take little trips back when we were married. Did she tell you about that?
She told me how poor you guys were. And that you had some kind of crappy camper or something?
He nodded and smiled in the wan light. That’s right, he said. One of my uncles gave me that old camper. It leaked any time we got rain, and smelled like mildew and rot, but we couldn’t always afford to stay in many motels. Anyway, I want to take your mom away for a weekend. A surprise.
Melissa offered a sweet small smile now. The kind of smile that suggested she knew Vivian could use a vacation, a break.
I think that’s a great idea, she said. Where are you going?
Just down to Iowa, he said. I want her—I need her to meet a friend of mine. A couple friends.
Well, Melissa sighed, how romantic. No shortage of corn anyway.
I happen to think Iowa is beautiful, he countered. And I doubt anyone from Iowa really cares what other people think about their state.
Fine, Melissa sighed. Iowa is a stunner. God, it’s cold out here. Can we, uh, put a pin in this discussion? Look, yeah. Yes, I can spare her. Christ, you don’t need my permission anyway, not really. But I appreciate it. I do. This way I can plan things out. Hopefully take some time off work. Or get a babysitter. So—yeah. Thanks. And thanks also for the wine. That was completely over-the-top. But beautiful. Okay, can we please go back inside now?
She switched off the light, and they returned to the warmth of that little home.
After dinner he helped Vivian clean the dishes. Since he didn’t know where anything was stored, it was decided he should wash and rinse, and she would dry. They stood close together at the sink. They didn’t speak but that was okay. There was a pleasant quiet in the house. The girls were exhausted. Out in the living room, the television droned on. Maybe they’d fallen asleep out there, in the blue wash of the flashing screen.
Thank you, he said, for inviting me over.
She kissed him on the lips, held his face below the jaw, rubbed his earlobes between her fingers. He wanted to return her touch, but his hands were sudsy and wet.
Will you come home with me? he asked. I think everyone’s asleep here.
She returned to drying dishes without answering him.
It’s all I want for Christmas, he said softly, slyly.
I got you something anyway, she said.
You didn’t have to do that. Honestly, Vivian.
I wanted to, she said. Anyway, I hope…
You hope what?
Nothing, she said, glancing down. Anyway, let me get it. Your present.
She left the kitchen. He turned on the sink and filled a glass with cold water. Drank the water down. It was warm in the house. Warmer than he ever kept his own home. That smell was there too, though he didn’t want to think about it, coming up through the vents. He propped the window over the sink open just a bit, enough to let in a little stream of cold air.
Here, she said, a thick present in her hands, all wrapped up in handsome red paper and tied with a neat green bow.
It looks big, he said, whatever it is.
She perched on a chair while he shook the box, chewing at her fingertips, like she was nervous.
Should I sit down too?
No, she said, you stand. You’ll want to stand.
He opened the package to discover in his hands a beautiful camel jacket. He held it to his nose, and the jacket did not smell like the house, but only her. Only her soaps and shampoo and whatever lotion it was she wore. He allowed the length of the jacket to relax and fall, and though he knew it was somewhat gauche, he looked at the label near the collar.
Burberry, she said, helpfully.
Well, even I know that brand, he said, raising his eyebrows. But, Viv—how did you…? His voice trailed off.
I found it, she explained, clearly pleased with herself. At a resale store. They must not have known what they had. And here she allowed herself the softest of laughs. I was so, so thrilled. Come on, you have to try it on.
He slid his arms gently into the sleeves, preparing himself for the fact that the jacket, by all rights, should not fit. But it did. It fit perfectly. He’d always wanted a camel jacket.
It smells like you, he said.
She stood, kissed him again on the lips. Yeah? she whispered in his ear. Well, I slept with it last night.
This, he decided, was the sexiest thing a woman had ever said to him. Ever done for him.
He whispered back in her ear, Please?
She withdrew, gently, and studied him, his face.
Please, what? she asked, smiling.
Please, he said again. Please come home with me. There is something I’d like you to see.
He reached for her hands, and they stood that way for a moment. Then she nodded, and said, Let me get some things. Go warm up your truck.
Before he left the house, he peered into the living room. Melissa was asleep on the couch, both girls snuggled beneath her arms. The television was still on. He stole into the room, in his new jacket, reached for the remote control, and shut the screen off, then blew a kiss at the girls and their mother.
***
They drove to his house in companionable silence, holding hands. The headlights caught snowflakes in their projections. Big slow-falling snowflakes. He parked the truck outside of his house, and when she began walking to the door, he smiled.
Hey now, he said. There’s something I want to show you. Over here. Come on.
They walked to the barn beneath a festival of swirling snowflakes. Inside, he flicked on a long bank of lights. The old building smelled of hay and of horses. She looked at him. At his face. Just like a girl on Christmas morning surprised by some gift she had thought entirely unreachable, unobtainable, if not almost unimaginable. Much of her life, in fact, she had imagined just this. Just this barn, just the sound of a horse greeting her, those low nickering and huffing sounds.
Come on, he said, this way.
At the horse’s stall she reached her hand beneath its muzzle and nuzzled her head against the animal’s thick neck. She ran her hands from poll to withers, and he stood back, leaning against the old cedar post of the next stall, which was empty.
Where’d she come from? Vivian asked.
Montana, he said quietly. I have a friend out there putting his ranch up for sale. Wanted to sell his favorite horses to a few good homes. He wasn’t so sure about selling her to me, I should add, but then I mentioned you, and he came around. Said he had a special mare that might be okay with a big trip east.
What’s her name?
Shelby. On account of that’s where his wife was born. Shelby, Montana.
Vivian rested her head against this sweet animal’s neck again.
The wife died then? she asked.
No, he said quietly. But she’s got Alzheimer’s. I guess she knew for a little while but didn’t say anything. Knew they’d have to sell the ranch. Move into the city. She was a country girl, through and through. Lorna is her name.
You knew her? Sorry, you know her.
Yeah, Garth and I worked together on the railroad. She ran the ranch while he was gone. Brilliant woman. And tough as nails to boot. We used to like to shoot clay pigeons when I visited. I never bested her. Not once.
I’m sorry, she said. Sorry to hear about your friend.
She’d be happy to know that Shelby was here. That you’ll take care of her.
She turned to face him, said, You’re such a different man, Charlie, than you ever were.
I was a boy then. He shrugged. I wish I could do it all over again. Wish there were a way to go back and make different decisions. You and Lorna, you would have been friends. Maybe we would have traveled together like some couples I know. Taken trips to Europe, or Alaska. Stayed out at their ranch.
She ran her hands along the horse’s muzzle one last time and then took his hand, and they walked into the cold, quiet house, slowly summiting the stairs to his bedroom, and on this night, they fell asleep quickly, exhaustion overtaking them at once.