Winter Garden

“Jeff?” she called out.

Silence answered her.

At that, she did exactly what she didn’t want to do: she made herself a rum (heavy on the rum) and Diet Coke and walked out to the porch. There, she sat down on the white love seat and stared out at the moonlit valley. In this light, the orchard looked almost sinister, all those bare, crooked limbs jutting up from the dirty layer of snow.

Reaching down to the left, she grabbed the old wool blanket from its place in a basket and wrapped it around her. She didn’t know how to survive this grief, how to accept what was coming.

Without her father, Meredith feared she would be like one of those dormant apple trees: bare, vulnerable, exposed. She wanted to believe she wouldn’t be alone with her grief, but who would be there for her? Nina? Jeff? Her children? Mom?

That was the biggest laugh of all. Mom had never been there for Meredith. Now it would be the two of them alone, connected by the thin strand of a dead man’s love and precious little more.

Behind her, the door squeaked open. “Mere? What are you doing out here? It’s freezing. I’ve been waiting for you. ”

“I needed to be alone. ” She saw that she’d hurt him, and she wanted to take it back, undo it, but the effort was beyond her. “I didn’t mean that. ”

“Yes, you did. ”

She stood up so quickly the blanket fell away from her shoulders and landed in a heap on the love seat. Forcing a smile, she edged past him and went inside.

In the living room, she sat down in one of the club chairs by the fireplace, grateful that he’d made a fire. She was suddenly freezing. Her fingers tightened around the glass and she took a big gulp of her drink. It wasn’t until he came up beside her, and looked down, that she realized she should have sat on the sofa so he could be beside her.

He made himself a drink and sat down on the hearth. He looked tired. And disappointed, too. “I thought you’d want to talk about it,” he said quietly.

“God, no. ”

“How can I help?”

“He’s dying, Jeff. There, I said it. We’re talking. I feel much better now. ”

“Damn it, Mere. ”

She looked at him, knowing she was being a bitch, and unfair, too, but she couldn’t stop herself. She just wanted to be alone, to crawl into some dark place where she could pretend this wasn’t happening. Her heart was breaking. Why couldn’t he see that, and why did he think he could somehow hold it together in his hands? “What do you want from me, Jeff? I don’t know how to handle this. ”

He moved toward her then, pulled her to her feet. The ice rattled in her glass—she was shaking; why hadn’t she known that?—and he took the drink from her, put it on the table beside her chair.

“I talked to Evan today. ”

“I know. ”

“He’s worried. ”

“Of course he’s worried. He’s . . . ” She couldn’t say it again.

“Dying,” Jeff said softly. “But that’s not what’s bothering him. He’s worried about you and Nina and your mother and me. He’s afraid this family will fall apart without him. ”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, but the softness of her voice betrayed her.

“Is it?”

At the touch of his lips to hers, she remembered how much she’d once loved him, how much she wanted to love him now. She wanted to put her arms around him and cling to him, but she was so cold. Numb.

He held her as he hadn’t held her in years, as if he’d fall apart if she let him go, and he kissed her ear, whispering, “Hold me. ”

She almost cracked right there, almost broke apart. She tried to lift her arms and couldn’t do it.

Jeff drew back, letting her go. He stared at her a long time, so long she wondered what it was he saw.

For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something, but in the end, he just walked away.