Winter Garden

“There’s no room now, Meredith. Mrs. McGutcheon is taking her place. We never know for sure, of course, but we don’t expect to have a room available again until after July. ”

Meredith was too mad to be polite. Saying nothing, she marched out of the building and got in her car. For the first time in her life, she didn’t give a shit about the posted speed limit, and in twelve minutes she was at Belye Nochi and out of her car.

Inside, the whole house reeked of smoke. In the kitchen, she found dirty plates piled in the sink and an open pizza box on the counter. More than half of the pizza was left in the box.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

A misshapen pot sat slumped over the front burner. Meredith didn’t need to reach for it to know that it had melted to the burner.

She was about to charge up the stairs when she glanced out at the side yard. Through the wood-paned French doors, she saw them: Mom and Nina were sitting together on the iron bench.

Meredith opened one of the French doors so hard it clattered against the wall.

As she crossed the yard, she heard her mother’s familiar story voice, and knew immediately that the bouts of confusion weren’t over.

“. . . she mourns the loss of her father, who is imprisoned in the red tower by the Black Knight, but life goes on. This is a terrible, terrible lesson that every girl must learn. There are still swans to be fed in the ponds of the castle garden, and white summer nights when the lords and ladies meet at two in the morning to stroll the riverbanks. She doesn’t know how hard one winter can be, how roses can freeze in an instant and fall to the ground, how girls can learn to hold fire in their pale white hands—”

“That’s enough of the story, Mom,” Meredith said, trying not to sound as pissed off as she was. “Let’s go inside. ”

“Don’t stop her—” Nina said.

“You’re an idiot,” Meredith said to Nina, helping Mom to her feet, leading her into the house and up the stairs, where she got her settled in the rocker with her knitting.

Back downstairs, she found Nina in the kitchen. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

“Did you hear the story?”

“What?”

“The story. Was that the peasant girl and the prince? Do you remem—”

Meredith took her sister by the wrist and pulled her into the dining room, switching on the lights.

It looked exactly as it had on the day Mom fell off the chair. Strips of wallpaper were gone; the blank valleys looked like old wounds next to the vibrant color of what remained. Here and there, reddish black smears stained both the wallpaper and the vacant strips.

Outside, somewhere in the fields, a truck backfired.

Meredith turned to Nina, but before she could say anything, she heard footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Mom ran into the kitchen, carrying a huge coat. “Did you hear the guns? Downstairs! Now!”

Meredith took her mother by the arm, hoping her touch would help. “That was just a truck backfiring, Mom. Everything is fine. ”

“My lion is crying,” Mom said, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “He’s hungry. ”

“There’s no hungry lion here, Mom,” Meredith said in an even, soothing voice. “Do you want some soup?” she asked quietly.

Mom looked at her. “We have soup?”

“Lots of it. And bread and butter and kasha. No one is hungry here. ” Meredith gently took the coat from her mother. Tucked inside the pocket, she found four bottles of glue.

The confusion left as quickly as it had come. Mom straightened, looked at her daughters, and then walked out of the kitchen.

Nina turned to Meredith. “What the fuck?”

“You see?” Meredith said. “She goes . . . crazy sometimes. That’s why she needs to be someplace safe. ”

“You’re wrong,” Nina said, still staring at the doorway through which Mom had just passed.