Winter Garden

Still tired and aching from a night spent turning beneath the covers, she eased out of bed, being careful not to waken Jeff. She went to the window and stared out at the darkness. Dawn hadn’t shown its face yet. She crossed her arms tightly, trying to hold herself together. It felt as if pieces of her soul were falling away lately, like some ugly form of spiritual leprosy.

“Come back to bed, Mere. ”

She didn’t look back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. ”

“Why don’t you sleep in today?”

It sounded good, the idea that she could bury herself in his arms and under the blankets and just sleep while life ticked on without her. “I wish I could,” she said, already thinking of what she needed to do this morning. As long as she was up, she could get to work on the quarterly taxes. She had a meeting with the accountant next week and she needed to be ready.

Jeff got out of bed and came up behind her. She saw a silvered image of their faces in the blackened window.

“You take care of everything and everyone, Mere. But who takes care of you?”

She turned to him, let him hold her. “You do. ”

“Me?” he said sharply. “I’m one more thing on your To-Do list. ”

At another time—last year, maybe—she would have told him that wasn’t fair, fought with him about it, but she was too depleted now to bother.

“Not now, Jeff,” was all she could think to say. “I can’t have this conversation. ”

“I know how much you’re hurting—”

“Of course I’m hurting. My dad died. ”

“There’s more to it than that. You’re doing too much,” he said quietly. “You’re still hell-bent on getting her attention, just like—”

“What am I supposed to do? Ignore her? Or maybe I should quit my job?”

“Hire someone. She doesn’t give a shit if you’re there. I know it hurts, baby, but she’s never cared. ”

“I can’t. She won’t let me. And I promised Dad. ”

“What if she breaks you? Is that what your dad wanted? Does she ever even look at you?”

She knew he was right. In times like these she wished they hadn’t been together so long, that he hadn’t seen so much. But he’d been there on the night of the play—and other nights like it—and he knew her heart and how much pain it sometimes held. “It’s not about her, even. You know that. It’s about me. Who I am. I just can’t let it . . . let her go. ”

“Your dad was worried about this, remember? He was afraid our family would break apart without him, and he was right. We’re falling apart. You’re falling apart and you won’t let anyone help you. ”

“Doc Burns says Mom will be okay in a little while. Once she’s fine, I promise I’ll hire someone to clean her house and pay her bills, okay?”

“You promise?”

She kissed him lightly on the lips. It was over. For now. “I’ll be back for breakfast, okay? I’ll make us omelets and fruit. Just you and me. ”

Easing away from him, she headed for the bathroom. As she was closing the door, she thought she heard him say something. She caught the word worried and closed the door.

In the dark, she dressed in her running clothes and left the bedroom. Downstairs, she turned on the coffeepot and collected the dogs and headed out into the cold early February darkness.

She pushed herself harder than ever before, desperate to clear her mind. Physical pain was so much easier to handle than heartache. Beside her, the dogs yelped and played with each other, occasionally running off into the deep snow on the sides of the road, but always coming back. By the time she had come to the golf course and doubled back, dawn had gilded the valley. It hadn’t snowed in almost two weeks and the top layer was crusty and glittery in the pale sunlight.

She veered into Belye Nochi and fed the dogs on Mom’s porch. It was one of the many changes in Meredith’s new schedule. She always did at least two things at once. She slipped out of her running shoes and went into the kitchen, where she started the samovar, and then climbed the stairs. She was still red-faced and breathing heavily when she opened Mom’s door.

And found the bed empty.

“Shit. ”

Meredith went outside to the winter garden and sat beside her mother, who wore the lacy nightdress that Dad had given her for Christmas last year, with a blue mohair blanket draped around her shoulders. Her lower lip was bleeding from where she’d bitten it. Her feet were covered in stockings that were gray with damp and brown with dirt.