Dust of Snow (2 page)

“Congratulations, Amal,” I blurted out of
nowhere, and all eyes turned to me. A little less enthusiastically,
I added, “I’m sure you and your wife are thrilled. Babies are…
great.”

“Yes,” he beamed. “It’s a girl, Amelia, and
she’s perfect.” He dug for his phone.

In the meantime another amused gaze sized me
up. “Have you taken an interest in babies, Greg?” Mr. Montgomery
asked as he dumped two sugars into his coffee.

I didn’t think he meant to make fun of me,
but my cheeks flushed anyway. “I just wanted to say
congratulations.”
This was why I should just keep my mouth
shut
.

The co-ops got up to smoke—or whatever they
always went outside for, snow or shine—and Amal shoved his phone
under my nose. I
oohed
and
aahed
appropriately over
the bundle of pink, and excused myself as soon as I deemed it
polite.

“Your cuff links don’t match,” Mr. Montgomery
noted as I passed him.

I almost tripped over my own feet. Why was
Mr. Montgomery even looking at me? He was so new we’d never
exchanged more than a good morning. “It’s the new fashion,” I told
him.

His cheeks dimpled. I fled.

The afternoon whipped by, but I managed to
get most of my to-do list checked off. More snow had fallen, and I
ended up scraping ice from my windshield with a credit card,
swearing colorfully under my breath. Last year’s scraper had
snapped clean in half the week before. I really needed to get
around to buying a new one. By the time I was done, my fingertips
were numb despite my gloves. At least the interior warmed
quickly—thank Jesus for heated seats—and I didn’t have to deal with
fogged-up windows on top of everything else.

Dinner consisted of leftover lasagna because
poking the microwave was about all I could manage, although I knew
the tomato sauce would bother me during the night. The lasagna was
still cold in the middle but I ate it anyway.

I fed Curlywurly, my large and extremely lazy
Norwegian Forest cat, combed the tangles from his long coat, and
listened to Jacques Brel on my old record player. When Carl had
given me a bunch of records with French songs on them, I’d politely
considered him crazy. French songs automatically reminded me of
Celine Dion, and I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard
screeching out Beethoven’s entire Ninth Symphony.

I had to admit, reluctantly at first, Brel’s
hair-raising, anxious voice had grown on me. So much so I’d looked
for translations of some of his songs. Conclusion: I’d listened to
worse things in my life.

Don’t leave me
, Jacques begged now.
Don’t leave me
.

I’d never begged for anyone not to leave me
in my life. But as I watched the snow fall through the window, I
felt like I was right back where I’d been when David left me last
winter just before Christmas.

I sighed, my stomach churning. How long would
it take before I’d get over it? I knew David would say I was being
needy, and he’d be right. But… If he’d cheated, if we’d argued
incessantly, if I’d seen it coming—maybe it wouldn’t be so damn
hard. We weren’t perfect together, but what couple was? He hadn’t
been able to give me a reason even as he’d packed his bags. I
rubbed my chest and got up to find some antacids. On the way to the
kitchen I turned down the thermometer a notch. For some reason I’d
begun to sweat.

I wasn’t good enough. What other reason
would he need?

At eleven I crunched a few antacids, brushed
my teeth, and crawled into bed with my phone to play Candy
Crush.

The next morning brought more snow, and this
time not even a hot shower could shake the cold after I’d shoveled
my way through it. I barely managed to mumble hello to anyone I
bumped into in my rush to see if there was more delicious,
heartwarming, soul-strengthening, life-affirming coffee waiting for
me.

There was not.

Instead, a large, slightly awkward-looking
package in plain brown paper with a tasteful little blue bow lay
across my keyboard. I’d have immediately suspected human error if
it weren’t for the
G.P
. curled in neat handwriting on an
otherwise empty white card.

“Ohhhh,” someone cooed behind me. Patricia
set a cup of disappointingly normal coffee on my desk. “Who’s that
from?”

“I didn’t see you there.” I cleared my throat
and reluctantly admitted, “I don’t know.” The less attention the
better: that was my motto in life.

“Go on, open it then.” Patricia blew her
brown bangs out of her eyes and slurped her coffee as she watched
me.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you? Whatever it
is?”

A strange look passed over her face; it
softened her features and made her look five years younger. “Not if
you don’t want me to, no.” Her voice was lower than I’d ever heard
it. “Sorry if I’m bothering you. I can leave if you want.”

“No,” I quickly said, afraid I’d offended
her. “No, not at all.” I worked the tape loose from the paper and
carefully slid the package open. Inside sat a huge glove—something
that looked like an oven mitt but with a scraper on the end of
it.

“That’s… really disappointing.” Patricia
looked like the dog who’d lost out on the bone. I, on the other
hand, felt like the third one who’d gotten away with it. My heart
skipped. Someone had seen me fighting with the ice on my windows
yesterday and had done this for me. But why the secrecy?

I was still grinning when Carl strode past.
Even the fact that he was already rolling up his sleeves before
entering his office couldn’t ruin my good mood.

Just after eleven, Mr. Montgomery appeared at
my desk. I had the phone wedged between my ear and shoulder while
typing away at that morning’s weekly meeting minutes, readying them
to send out department wide.

“I’m on hold,” I clarified when he said
nothing.

“You’ll get a crick in your neck.”

I set the receiver down and pressed the
speaker button. “What can I do for you? Carl—Mr. Bourdon is in a
meeting right now. It could go on a bit.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Mr. Montgomery gazed
down at me and his brown hair tumbled disarmingly over his
forehead. I felt caught in his dark eyes. He looked larger than
life in that moment. He was wearing a light-gray suit, not at all a
color appropriate for winter if anyone were to ask me. Not that
they would. He’d left the jacket open, and with his hands stuffed
in the pockets of his pants his blue shirt stretched taut over his
muscular chest. I swallowed thickly.

We weren’t required to wear ties in the
office, but I always did, and I’d noticed Mr. Montgomery did too.
Today he wore a dark-blue one that offset his eyes, which shone
like black jewels. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but I guessed late
thirties. There were little lines around his eyes and mouth when he
smiled, like now. The silence stretched past awkward, and I began
to wonder if I’d been staring too hard when he spoke.

“Do you know if there’s a date set for the
office party yet?”

“That was next on my list of things to do
today. It’ll be the first week in December.”

“Great.” Mr. Montgomery smiled. He had very
white teeth. I almost asked him who his dentist was but managed to
keep my mouth shut on that one. His eyes fell on the snow scraper
and flickered back to me. “Is everything all right?” At my
non-comprehending stare, he added, “You seemed in such a rush this
m—”

We both startled as the phone on my desk
crackled and a voice began, “Good morning, Blue Cr—” I flicked off
the speaker and gave him an apologetic smile. He offered a
good-natured shrug in return and wandered away as I checked in with
our insurance. I watched him leave, and realized the person on the
other end was waiting for me to speak.

At five o’clock I began to plan my escape for
the day. My Thursday evenings were reserved for a dinner date with
Mother. Sometimes we went out. Sometimes I bought groceries on the
way there, and we cooked something nice. I doubted she’d want to go
out in this kind of weather, so I quickly browsed roast chicken
recipes while I waited for a final contract renewal to come
through. My e-mail pinged just when Carl waved me into his
office.

“Holiday party,” he said as soon as I stepped
inside.

His sleeves were still rolled up, reading
glasses pushed to the top of his head, and his neat hair had been
manhandled out of its usual shape. He’d been rubbing his forefinger
and thumb in his eyes, but he’d straightened when I walked in.

“Can we try to avoid the stripper this year?”
he asked.

“Ah.” I went bright red and studied the
watercolor painting of a lonely boat on a big lake hanging behind
him. “That was, um, a practical joke. The co-op responsible has
been taken care of.”

“Taken care of?” Carl asked, wearily
amused.

“You know…” I made a strangled noise and a
throat-slitting motion with one finger.

Carl laughed, low and hoarse. “I was thinking
we could try to do… What do you call it? Hidden Santa Clause?”

For a second I stared at him, blinking
dumbly, imagining dressing up in a Santa suit and hiding while the
entire office searched for me. Maybe Carl would track me down in
the broom closet and finally abuse a few positions with me. “Oh,” I
said, understanding dawning. “Secret Santa! Yes, that’s a good
idea. I’ll get right on it.”

“Not today, Gregory. I know it’s Thursday.
Catering has been booked?”

“Yes. I hired a lovely Italian place that
will take care of everything, including drinks.”

“Wonderful. You know, it’s such a relief to
be able to rely on you. You make my life much easier.”

“Oh, well.” I cleared my throat. “My
pleasure, Mr. Bourdon. It’s my job, after all.”

“And you do it very well. My regards to your
mother, Mr. Peck.”

I’d been dismissed in the nicest way
possible, and I gathered my things with a warm glow in my belly,
almost forgetting to check my e-mail before I powered the laptop
down. Instead of the expected contract, Mr. Montgomery’s name
popped up.

From: Montgomery, Ashley

A bunch of us are going for drinks after
work, you want to join?

Ash

I typed a quick reply that I was busy, but
thanks for the offer. The e-mail was on my mind during the entire
grocery trip, though. I didn’t know people from work met up for
drinks like it was a regular thing, but come to think of it, that
wasn’t unusual. I’d never been invited along before, though. Since
Mr. Montgomery was new, maybe he was just being nice. I couldn’t
think of another reason why anyone would suddenly want me to come
along now.

Mother kissed my cheeks three times, as she
had done since I was a child. Her hair was tied back in a curly
ponytail, streaks of gray interweaving the ash-blond color I’d
gotten from her. The only makeup she wore was a hint of muted red
lipstick. “You look a bit thin, darling,” she said. I smiled
noncommittally. She’d been saying the same thing all year. This
time she might have point, because my stomach had been acting up
more than usual.

“How have you been?” I asked as I stepped
inside her little condo. I hated that she’d had to sell the house,
but the community seemed nice and well maintained. It had a small
indoor and a larger outdoor pool Mother used regularly. Lawn
service was taken care of, her driveway was cleared every morning
in winter, and she could call maintenance for anything from a
leaking heater unit to a broken light bulb, which set my mind at
ease.

It was a far cry from the old house, but that
was life. The Jacques Brel song echoed in my mind, and I wondered
if Mother had begged my father not to leave her.

“Do you sometimes think of our old ranch?” I
blurted out before I could stop myself.

Mother turned, her eyes wide in surprise.
“Sometimes. I used to a lot more than I do now. Why, do you?”